The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

*not for children









The long-legged twenty-two year old stormed across the quad, her hands behind her back. She was livid, incensed with rage and, plain forgetful.



'And, it isn't necessarily in that order,' she considered, as she got to her destination and found that the library was closed.



It was closed and, her bag and study books were inside.



Scowling, felicia checked her watch.



"Oh..." she muttered, "I was distracted."



And, she had been.



There were those who considered her 'flaky', and others 'weird;' but they also considered themselves popular, so she didn't mind what they thought.



Those who knew Felicia and, she allowed some to do so, thought she was a little flaky, but also intelligent and a good friend.



And, it'd been one of that small group of individuals who had kept her talking, when she'd left the library, to go get a juice and something to eat.



Now, the library was closed and, Felicia doubted she'd finish her paper without the notes she had taken earlier.



Something had to be done, 'but what?' That was the question.



Felicia looked about, noting to her displeasure that there was no-one about.



"How... how... irksome..." the young woman muttered, her green eyes alight with annoyance; at herself and, the circumstance she found herself in.



And sighing briefly, she began to walk round the building, her mind still idling on the assignment they'd been set: "Can reality come from false concepts?"



'It was a good question,' she mused, idly checking each casement window she came to,



And though she hardly dare hope to find egress, felicia did.



On her fourth try, she found that one window was ajar, just.



She eased the window further up, then looked around once more.



'Still no-one in sight,' he thought, just a few seconds before she decided to act.



And, being careful to look for an obvious alarm she might set off, Felicia climbd through the window and entered the dark of the empty library.



"Now to find where I was sitting," she mused, as she set her feet down, allowing her eyes a few moments to adjust to the gloom of the room she found herself in.



She looked around, noting the microfiche machines on a desk nearby.



"That's something I know..." she thought with a smile; "now I have my bearings."



Felicia had sat studying with her back to this very room.



So, being careful not to make any noise, she turned the door handle, thankful that it wasn't locked. She then made her way passed several sets of bookshelves, to the table where she had sat earlier.



There, where she had left them, were the papers on the table and her bag, by the chair leg.



As Felicia picked the papers up she saw a beam of light shining to her right: 'Security?' she wondered, ducking down by the side of the table.



Abruptly the light went out and she heard hushed whispers.



Felicia strained her ears, to hear what was said, but to no avail. And, with mounting curiosity, she made her way to where she assumed the voices came from, being sure to stay low, so as not to be seen herself.



But to her chagrin, Felicia found nothing.



Then, just as she had decided that it was a good time to go, something found her: and bright light shone on Felicia's face, momentarily blinding her.



"Who... who is it?" She asked, her anxiety evident in her voice.



"Who is it?" A deep voice asked in return, the merest hint of humour to his voice.



"Don't you know me?" He asked, in that rich Ghanian accent she recalled so well, ash he crouched by her side, stroking her face.



Felicia shook a little at his touch; touch that she recognized: 'Kellog?'



"Kellog, is that you?"



"Uh huh babe..." he acknowledged, drawing his right forefinger along her lower lip.



Felicia opened her mouth a little and he slid his right middle fingertip into her mouth and she began to suckle on it, as if it were the 'right thing to do,' as he caressed her face, with his left hand.



"Nice,' he murmured, his left hand moving down her neck to her collar-bone. And, undoing the top button on her blouse he eased his hand inside, to cup her right breast in hand, his thumb and forefinger teasing her nipple into hardness.



Felicia gasped aloud around her saliva-coated digit, as he continued his caress.



Then Kellog lowered himself to her side and, he began to finish undoing the buttons on her blouse.



Once the blouse was undone and her breasts were unveiled he eased the bra cups from her warm skin and began to suckle on her nipple, causing Felicia to gasp with pleasure.



Moving to her neck, Kellog kissed her flesh, then suckled at her earlobe; and, she wrapped her fingers in her hair as his lips found hers.



And, Felicia's mouth opened as he took posession of hers with his own and his fingers found the buttons on her skirt.



Kellog unfastened the button, undid the button then the zip and, moving aside a little he eased her skirt down.



Then he leant over her and began gently giving her belly, down to her belly button, as he inched her panties down her thighs.



Felicia drew her legs up, sliding the scant material from them and, she gasped again, as his right hand found her buttocks and eager fingers entered her liquid warmth.



"Here?" She asked unnecessarily, draping her long legs over his shoulders, as he lowered his face to her heated sex.



Kellog drew his tongue up and down, lathing her petals as he seemed to revel in her taste.



"Yes, here..." she murmured, turning her head from side to side, as he pleasured her, with fingers and tongue.



And Felicia undid his zip, searching for his erection, that piece of flesh she so wanted inside her.



Kellog groaned as she she drew him into the open, then continued to unbutton his jeans.



Both parted a moment, as he finished removing his jeans, then manoevred himself between her splayed legs.



Kellog looked into her face and close-to, she stare back, holding his face, as he entered her honeyed liquid warmth.



And, his hands on her cheeks, she held his, while he began to rise and fall.



Soon, they found a rythmn that suited them both and their coupling quickly became heated, as heated as their passionate kisses.



And, as their tongues duelled, Felicia's hands roamed over his broad shoulders, narrow waist and long back.



And, their kisses continued, as he drove his hard length in and out.



Then, as he thrust deeper, she wrapped her legs round his buttocks, in an effort to draw him further in.



Then their lips parted and, Kellog raised himself on powerful arms, as Felicia held him tight: and he began to the speed of his actions, to power-fuck his lover, staring deep into her eyes as he did so, sweat dripping off his brow.



And, Felicia grunted with each thrust of his hips, as Kellog continued to enjoy her body.



This was animal-lust and with wide-eyes they reached a mutual climax and, he collapsed upon his lover, sighing with satisfaction.



And, as he filled her with his seed, Felicia closed her eyes, her muscles suddenly very tired: She closed her eyes, only to open them seconds later, as from somewhere deep in the back of her brain, she heard a voice: "Libraries closing, in five minutes..."



'What the...?' her mind screamed, as she sat bolt upright in her seat.



"What the...?" She said aloud, looking at her watch.



It wasn't even evening, yet...?



Felicia stood collected her books her books and papers together and shoved them in her bag. If she hurried, Felicia knew she could make her date with Kellog.



Then as she stood, Felicia realized how damp she was: 'The dream had been so damned real.' And Felicia grinned, as she left the library, to get back to the dorm to get changed.



And with a smile, she told herself: "Perhaps I'll learn if a reality can be borne from a false concept?"

COMMENTS

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BluSpirit
08:03 Dec 28 2010

Very nice!



And, I believe it can.

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spookshow
20:00 Dec 28 2010

Yet again very well written

need these in a book and quick

so i can read them when i like



and sorry i'm on catch up with your posts

been very slow of late

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Msknowledge
20:36 Dec 28 2010

;)

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*not a children’s story







My black brim was worn down mid-point on my nose, on which my round gold-rimmed glasses sat, as I rested into my seat, back to the drivers cab.



As ever, I had dressed in black, bar the blue-jeans, hem furled up a little, worn over my black ankle-length boots, with Cuban style heels.



I’d crossed my arms and, was trying to doze awhile, as the train moved, it’s movement rocking me to a rested state.



And I’ll swear down, I don’t know what prompted me to look up just then, but I did.



Across the aisle, further down, there was a fellow watching me, someone I recalled, from somewhere, sometime. And, he was staring at where my coat parted a little, at my crotch.



Suddenly, I recalled where I knew the fellow, who looked for all the world like a cousin to Richard O’Brian, the sorta gaunt that belongs on a mortician, or something.



That’s when I decided to get off at his stop, to see how the afternoon might play out, just from that one decision.



Standing slowly, I used the handrail, as I swung round into the aisle and then walked to the doors, aware that he had stood, as well.



He watched me, as I got off the train and, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had remembered.



Then, as we walked down the path to the roadway he glanced in my direction, his face showing recognition: “I know you, don’t I?”



I smiled at that, ‘oh, he knew me.’



“I know you live round the corner from here,” I told him, “and, I know you serve guess sherry… and, that you have an old-style fifties open fire-place.”



Confusion showed in his voice, as he asked, “So I do know you?”



I stopped to turn at look at him, as we neared the end of the pathway; “And I also know you have a sister…” he stopped walking, to look at me.



Now he was looking at me askance, “okay, I have to know now, how’d you know?”



Beneath the brim of my hat I grinned.



“Because a few years ago, you invited me back to yours…?” I told him.



“And?” he quizzed, his face nearing mine.



“You showed me a dress to be worn and we were interrupted,” I told him with a grin.

“You wore one of my wife’s dresses didn’t you?” He quizzed in a quiet voice.



“And after you taking a piss, we were interrupted…” I remembered with a smile, recalling how his wife’s dress had drawn up, to expose my stocking-clad legs, as I’d knelt in his bath, my mouth open, for the golden stream.



Then I had stood and he had taken me in his arms and I’d nuzzled my face against his neck, as his hands eased up my dress to cup my buttocks in his hands.



“You going to fuck me?” I had murmured against his skin.



“Oh yes,” he’d assured me, as I had suckled his earlobe.



“And then my sister called, didn’t she?” He enquired.



The bell had rung for ages and ages and, he had parted from my arms, to answer the door. And, then, I’d changed at his insistence and left by the back door, as they’d talked.



“Yes Oliver, that is what happened…” I told him, as I began to walk again, taking a right at the end of the path, in the direction of his home.



“Where are you going?” Oliver asked me.



“Well, do you want company?” I asked in return.





Fini

Then caressing her face briefly, she told him, "You can join me, if you want?"



He sat up quickly smiling, "Do I want?"



His eyes followed her naked derriere as she made her way to the bathroom and turned the shower faucet on and, Mark smiled, feeling relaxed.





Chapter Eleven



"Water's ready!" He heard Kristen call from the bathroom and rising from the crumpled sheets Mark padded across the room, suddenly aware of how thick the carpeting was.



They showered slowly, their hands caressing; then they dressed fast, as each of them stared at the other, with eyes that still spoke of their time together.



Finally, Kristen poured her coffee from the flask on the sideboard and, turning to Mark she smiled, "Time to phone the manager and, tell him there's a bomb on the premises..."



"We are running late Kristen," Mark told Kristen looking at his watch, his voice sounding panicky.



"Well, maybe we spent longer in the shower than we should have; but it was pleasant wasn't it?" Kristen responded with a smile, as she crossed her legs.



And Mark blushed, 'he actually blushed,' she thought with a grin.



"Don't worry 'bout it fellow," she said, the grin widening; "we just go with plan 'B'"



"Plan 'B', what's that?" Mark queried.



"Well, it starts the same as Plan 'A'" She answered.



"And that is...?"



"You phone the manager and, tell him there's a bomb on the premises..." Kristen responded, enjoying her moment of levity.



Mark's eyes opened wide.



"Ah yes," he sighed, "that."



"That... is the first step, alright?" Kristen explained slowly.



Mark nodded and picked up the receiver: "Put me through to the Manager."



The call lasted less than five minutes.



Needless to say, he had been pleased to find that the device reported to be in his laundry was defused, 'but a bomb?' That happened to other people.



The Manager, Brian Weston phoned security within seconds of putting the phone down, well aware that soon homeland security would be on his door; and there were things he needed tidied first, monies that needed to be hidden quickly and, guests who needed their privacy, informing as quickly as possible.



He picked up the phone, with the intent of phoning one, a famous film star and his male friend, as Mark finished trussing Kristen up.



"Now what?" Mark quizzed, as he stood away from the chair and the bound Kristen.



"Now you phone the blues and tell them you have a bomb and the bomber. Use our names: and make sure you tell them where the bomb is..." she explained; "And, make sure you tell them I'll only talk to Creavey..."



"Uh-huh..." he nodded.



"And there's one thing Mark..."



"I'll have to look like you captured me..." She clarified.



"Huh?" He quizzed.



"Hit me," She told him, "and, make it look good..."



"I can't..." He looked at her, recalling their love-making.



"You've the police to phone..." She reminded, "now man-up and hot me!"



It was the last thing he wanted to do.



But, before Kristen could instruct him again, he launched the first of two blows to Kristen's face, her lovely face.



The first blow caught the corner of her right eyebrow and, the second caught the right side of her lower lip.



Kristen smiled at Mark, tasting the blood that flowed into her mouth and down to her chin, where it dripped down onto her skirt.



"Now, gag me and phone the police..."



"The police?" Mark repeated, picking up the scarf he intended to gag her with.



"And hurry, you didn't know whether the hotel manager has already done so!"



Adjusting the material to suit, Mark queried: "And, what makes you think Creavey will be listening?"



"I told you earlier Mark, I know him..."



"He'll have ears on every band, won't he?" Mark queried, in response.



Less than twenty-five minutes later Mark had his answer. He had phoned, as instructed, then ensuring that Kristen's gag was in place, again, he paced the room, while downstairs a mêlée took place, as sirens announced the blues arrival.



Then the police held back the public, as the bomb-squad made their way into, then out of the laundry, where Kristen had planted, armed then disarmed the bomb.



The alarm continued it’s keening shrill and, got momentarily louder.



The door to the room gave a click, just prior to opening and a man entered, who Kristen knew only too well: sharp suit, sharp face, with piercing blue-eyes over a hawk-like nose and, hair swept back and oiled.



Then the door closed shut again.



Mark looked round and, Kristen's eyes swung sharply to the right.



It was Creavey.



"Mark Field, who'd have thought you'd have brought this one in and, defused a bomb?" He opined, sarcasm dripping from every word.



"How'd you get in?" Mark queried, his anxiety levels rising.

And, once again he thought, 'Field work is not for me.'



"Handy thing these. Opens up almost anything in this hotel. Such are the joy's of modern technology..." He explained gleefully, as he held up that plastic card, that acted as the hotel pass-key.



"Uh-huh," Mark acknowledged, with a shrug of his shoulders, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.



"And, you got McNamara?" He exclaimed, as he stepped forward, then ran a couple of fingers across Kristen's chin.



And, Creavey would have wondered, if he'd been able to see beneath the gag, 'why is she smiling?' As it was, he couldn't see beneath it, so the question remained unasked.



Yet, she did smile.



"Now what?" Mark asked, recalling that there was a bottle of a reasonable brandy, not too far away.



"Now?" Creavey began, one hand clasped over the other, behind his back; "Now you leave the room for fifteen minutes or so. When you come back, things will be sorted..."



Mark looked to him, then to Kristen, who blinked once, which he seriously hoped meant, 'yeah, go for it. I'm alright.'



Yet, he didn't know she'd be alright. All that Mark was sure of, was that he was so far over his head, it was stratospheric.



"Certainly Sir," he told James Creavey, his hand on the door-know, hoping that Kristen really did know what she was doing.



At that moment, the alarm ceased ringing and Creavey smiled, 'his sharks smile', Mark thought.



"Well you can use the lift now... if you need it," Cravey informed Mark, while rubbing his hands together: He felt good.



"Yeah, might go to the bar Sir. It's been a really long day..." Mark told his superior, as he opened the door, trying to remember the name that Kristen had given him earlier. It seemed there was a phone-call to make and, either way, he had fifteen minutes to wait.



And, as he caught the lift down to the ground-floor and, the bar where he'd have his whiskey, the thought occurred to him that he was running out on Kristen. 'Yet it was what she seemed to want?' he told himself.



Back in the room, Kristen wondered whether having what she wanted was so good after all, after the second punch to her gut.



"Damn bitch," Creavey snarled, "why couldn't you just die like I wanted?"



He punched her again, harder this time and, Kristen doubled forward, groaning.



James Creavey was allowing his anger full reign now and, as the red mist descended, there were things missed, that he normally might have noticed.



He dragged Kristen up by her hair with his left hand, and then launched a powerhouse blow to her gut again.



Once more Kristen doubled forward, as far as her restraints would allow, restraints that gave way easily, beneath the keen blade she had palmed earlier.



She reached up slowly, her body covering her movements, as she found the small pistol she had secreted.



Suddenly she sat bolt upright, the drugs she had taken earlier providing the kick she needed, to throw herself and the chair to the left.



Kristen drew her legs free, then directed herself toward her enemy in a roll, which she came out of, as she lay on her back, the weapon directed at Creavey in a two-handed grip.



"What the...?" The startled man exclaimed, a mille-second before she pulled the trigger and crimson erupted from the wound in his shattered right knee-cap, with small shards of bone.



He screamed as he fell and, Kristen stood, the gun now pointed toward his other knee.



Snatching the material from her mouth, Kristen allowed the smile to take its place, as she fired the second shot.



"How many died James? Do you even care...? Just... tell me, why?" She queried of the man on the floor, already holding the fresh would, as blood spread through his fingers.



Creavey had already turned ashen and, his pain was apparent, but that wasn't enough for Kristen McNamarra: 'too many innocents had died.'



Placing her heel on his left knee, where the flesh was torn away and the bare bone was visible through the ugly wound, she ground down.



Again, Creavey screamed.



Kristen removed her heel and stood back, her arms crossed now, as she stared down at the broken man, she hated so much.



"I had... my own man.. ready... for the Afhan mission..." He told her, staring down at where he used to have knees, the pain almost unbearable, he thought.



Glancing at her watch, Kristen noted that the fifteen minutes were nearly up and Mark would be back soon: 'he won't be able to deal with this,' she thought, momentarily unaware that Creavey was edging back toward the door, dragging himself by his elbows.



As he tried to stand, Creavey groaned, as the pain he thought intolerable, grew up worse still.



And, watching him struggle, Kristen smiled.

She lifted her arm and directed the weapon toward Creavey once more...



"Bang bang," she began, then pulled the trigger a third time: "And, the problem goes away..." she murmured to no-one in particular, as the bullet entered through Creavey's forehead. And, as the bullet exited, it took away much of the back of the man’s skull, blowing his brains and blood and bone against the door.



As Creavey fell to the floor, Kristen stared blankly ahead, her lips moving, as she soundlessly repeated, 'too may innocents died' again and again...



Finally she stopped, knelt down and retrieved the keycard from Creavey's lifeless right hand, "Don't think you'll be needing this now."



She opened the door and, as she stepped out of the room, she turned right and, into Marks arms.



"Ah," he mumbled, "you're alright." Mark had noticed the gun in her right hand, held listlessly at her side, but didn't say anymore; instead he slid his arms around her waist and held her.



"And you are alright, arn't you?" He asked anxiously.



Kristen composed herself quickly, quite enjoying being held in Marks arms.

Finally she broke from his embrace and, noticed that he was blushing again.



"I'm alright," she told him, caressing his cheek; "but there's a vacancy in your office now..."



She grinned and, Mark returned the grin with one of his own.



"But, I guess I should phone Markham, just to put him in the loop..." She added.



"That's done..." he told her.



"Well then," Kristen began, as she linked her right arm with his left, "perhaps you'll buy me a brandy then? I could kill for a drink!"



And, as they walked to the lift, Mark sighed, thinking of all the paper-work that was going to follow on from this incident.



'Yessir,' he mused, 'there are spies for the front office and those for the back. And, field-work is definitely not for me.'



He pressed the button for the groundfloor, still linked to Kristen, suddenly feeling content, with his lot in life.





The End

COMMENTS

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Oceanne
01:27 Dec 02 2010

Nice!

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