The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Late-night chat
02:00 Jul 28 2010
Times Read: 1,031




Dressed in the shapeless Baggies, tee-shirt and pyjama bottoms, she knew he wouldn’t mind, the blonde paced the kitchen, making her sandwich, in the kitchens bright light. Just moments before, she’d stood at the door to the yard, with a desire for a smoke. But, it was raining. That was when she’d decided to finish the sandwich, as they continued to chat: and he’d told her of his wariness of blondes and smiled, when she’d explained at one point that her eyes weren’t always brown, sometimes they were blue. She had eaten her sandwich, listening to the rainfall, the kid’s busy watching teevee, as they continued to talk, about things that neither had imagined they would once again. And, as he touched base, with a remark that he had made, that caused her embarrassment, the blonde blushed, as she hesitated with her response, ever so-pleased that her laptop didn’t have a cam…

TeeVee Time
01:50 Jul 25 2010
Times Read: 1,054

*Contains Adult themes.







James Buchannan, or Jamie to his friends, not that he had many of those, since he had become a houseparent, with a small world that consisted of full nappies that needed to be changed and baby talk and, seemingly little else.



Buchannan left the twins bedroom, ensuring that their door was left ajar, so they could see the landing light.



With tousled fair hair and pale blue-green eyes, James had a rangy frame; and, was wearing just his tattered old blue-jeans; and currently they were well-soaked: Jamie had bathed the girls, before bed and, he was now quite saturated.



‘Gina and Cindy had fun,’ he thought, and couldn’t help but grin at the memory of the two girls playing happily in the bath.



But now, James was shattered and he still had the bathroom to tidy.



He looked at his watch and looked at his watch and sighed: it was ten after twelve.



His programming had started and, he had missing the beginning.



“Damn,” he exclaimed. He did like to watch from the start, as then he felt like he knew the person better. Though that didn’t really make sense and James knew it.



He sighed again, as he made his way to the bathroom, content that the house was finally quiet. The girls had been playing him up all evening it seemed, since his wife had gone to work, at seven.



And, though all he wanted was a whiskey and his teevee time since the girls were settled, James picked up the bath-towels, to put in the wash before Tina came home.



‘Tina,’ he thought with a smile, as he cleaned the tiles; ‘most beautiful woman I’ve ever known…’



His wife of five years was half-Venezuelan, with a petite frame, long-dark hair and eyes; and the most luscious full lips he’d ever seen: “Except perhaps for Angelina Jolie, perhaps?” He thought with a grin, as he turned off the bathroom light and padded downstairs.



Even now, James was amazed, that her figure had recovered so well, since the birth of the girls. But then, he’d been made redundant from his job: and though they had put it down to the recession, James always figured the Chief Librarian had it in for him, just because he looked at a goth social networking website during his break-time. After all, ‘the grey-haired, diminutive troll’ had not got rid of any of the female staff when the cuts had been announced, just him.



But as it was, Tina had found work while he could not; and, it had been well paid.



She worked nights, as a casino hostess she told him, explaining yet again, why she wore so much lippy and, so much flesh on display.



“It attracts the punters,” she had told him before she went out, reaching behind, to zip up her figure-hugging, mid-thigh length, little black dress and, slipping into a pair of black killer heels.



“See you tomorrow hun,” Tina had said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek; whilst being careful not to smudge her rich, thick lipstick.



And then, as she had gone out of the door, Gina woke and began bawling. it had set the seal on the night, once one was awake, so was the other:



But now, late as James was, it was his time. He sat in his armchair, a glass of whiskey half-full, in his hand, the teevee on, the remote in hand.



Sure, he had missed the beginning of his usual girls, but here were other channels, so he began to surf, via the guide.



“Ninety-nine, ‘Forty-Plus Readers Wives,’ well that sounds interesting,” he muttered, before taking a sip of his whiskey; “And, it doesn’t start for twelve minutes, ideal.”



As he waited, James listened to the baby-monitor: ‘asleep, perfect.’



He watched as the programming started with an over eighteen warning, and he smiled: ‘Well, that’s good,’ he mused, ‘it is why I wanted to see this after all.’



The expected advert for the commercial channel they had run, then ‘a real milf’ came online and, sipping at his whiskey, he sat back entranced.



On the screen was a short-haired blonde, wearing just black filmy panties, with surprisingly pert breasts, for her age, with nipples that stood proud; hair blowing gently, ‘assisted by a fan’ he considered.



She was laying reclined on a back sofa, cushions beneath her left shoulder as looked to the camera, undulating her belly as she spoke into a phone and musak played.



He picked up the remote and turning the sound down on the tv, he found something more appropriate to play awhile, Kate Bush's album 'The Dreaming.'



James switched off the main lights, leaving the room illuminated just by the tv and the light from the open kitchen door.



Picking up his scotch, he sat back into his favourite chair, stretched out his legs and sighed: ‘This was his time’ and he was determined to enjoy it.



And, though his eyes were closing, they stayed awake



The blonde spread her thighs, heels together, her crotch rising and falling and falling, as she continued talking, caressing her breasts and belly with her free hand.



Abruptly she sat and waved to the camera, smiling broadly as she picked up a microphone and, to James delight, picked up a pair of light, half-frame glasses, with she perched on the end of her nose, to read the autocue.



It didn’t matter what she said though, as he’d heard much of it before, “my name is and you must be over eighteen to watch this show” and really, none of that mattered.



It was his chill-out-time and, ‘time to unwind: that’s what it was,’ he idly mused, little knowing that the blonde, calling herself Crystal, was announcing the next woman to come on the present the show, while she went to answer text awhile.



James arose, poured himself a second whiskey and, taking his seat once more, he returned his gaze to the teevee and the attractive brunette, who had just taken her seat on the couch.



Her long dark hair was waxed and brushed back; a black PVC corset covered her petite frame; her dark eyes staring at him; and the most luscious full lips he’d ever seen, bar Angelina Jolie, were pouting.



Other than the corset, she wore crotch-tight clack cotton panties, fishnet tights and, patent leather thigh-high boots adorned her shapely legs



It was Tina; in an outfit that would have come straight from one of the magazines she no longer let him read.



And, James jaw went slack, “Tina?”



He stared at the text at the bottom of the screen - Call Now: 09822 930 4444

£1.50 min. From mobiles: 09520 40+ readers Wives

Be sure to have the bill payer’s permission.



Time passed slowly, as his wife caressed herself slowly, undressing herself for the audience at home, smiling enticingly ‘to attract the punters’; and he made a decision.



And with a wry smile, James reached down, with his left hand and picked up the phone: although he mightn’t be the bill-payer, this was a call he wanted to make.

A Doctor’s... Help. ~ Redux
13:25 Jul 18 2010
Times Read: 1,060

*Contains adult themes





It was early evening and the teen was the last patient of the day. She had entered the teak panelled small office sucking slowly on a lollipop, wide eyes staring from side to side, at the framed certificates, a testament to his learning.

“Hello Doctor Winterton.. I’m pleased.. you could see me.. I’ve..” She said, removing the lollipop briefly, licking at her sugar-sweet lips: “I’ve heard so much, about you.”

He glanced up and smiled; looking at the short tartan skit, white socks rolled down to her practical brown sandals.

Bespectacled and wearing a waistcoat and cravat, the man was in his early sixties, an unlit pipe in the crook of his mouth, between the greying goatee.

He sat on a large winged red leather armchair, his notepad on his lap, legs crossed, right over left, drawing his trouser up to show his Simpsons socks.

“Who from, Miss..?”

“Yolanda Khan... Sir.” The teen told him, as she twirled a pigtail.

“An unusual name Miss Khan.” Michael Winterton said distantly, his eyes drawn to her chest and how she filled her blouse: how it was apparent she wore no bra, the impression of her nipples clearly evident.

“My grandfather was Indian.. and.. I was named after my Mother, from Yugoslavia.”

“Yet you have such blonde hair, freckles and fair skin...” he said slowly, appraising the girls looks.

“Why thank you,” she giggled; “I try to keep out of the sun.”

Yolanda continued to giggle, as she walked slowly to him, again sucking the lollipop.

“Well, do come and lie down and maybe I can help?” he told her, gesturing with his pipe, toward the black leather couch to the left of his seat and next to the wall.

She sat, for a moment, swinging her legs back and forth, looking at Winterton straight in his eyes, pulling the lollipop from her sugar-coated lips, which she licked with the tip of her tongue.

“Do I lie down, while we talk, like they do in the movies?”

“Yes, that’s the idea,” he assured her gently, his hands on her shoulders as he helped her lie back, placing a read cushion beneath her head.

Then Winterton sat as before, his concentration fixed on the teens pale thigh, as his pen hovered over the pad.

He reached over with his left hand and lightly stroked her hair.

“So, what brings you here?” The Doctor asked.

“I told you, one of my friends said you helped her... after her parents broke up,” she replied, talking into her chin softly, drawing her right leg up to a crooked position.

The tartan skirt fell away at the side, where it’d been loosely pinned, exposing the side of her white cotton panties.

Breathing hard, Winterton set his notebook and pipe down by the side of his chair and knelt at Yolanda’s side, his right hand on the teenager’s calf.

“And was I able to help your friend?” He asked, feeling the flesh tremble as his fingers brushed the tartan skirt aside.

Yolanda turned her face to the wall.

“You helped her... make a decision...” she told him, speaking from around the lollipop, her hands at her sides; the small fists clenched, knuckles showing white.

He couldn’t help himself, Winterton thought, pressing his lips to her bony right hip, his right hand on her thigh now.

“So what’s her name, the one I helped?” he asked, drawing back a moment.

“Heather Cirrone…” She whispered, as he cupped her right breast in his left hand; the mottled flesh a contrast to the white of her blouse.

He liked the feel of her pert bosom and easily mistook her rapid breathing for passion.

‘Heather Cirrone?’ The name meant nothing to him; there’d been so many in here, on that same couch.

“Do you remember her?” Yolanda asked, as she turned to watch the older mans mottled baldpate, as he pressed his face to her soft belly.

She didn’t smile, as she queried him.

“Yes,” he lied easily; as he undid his zip and drew his aroused manhood into the open.

“I’m pleased you remember her, Doctor Winterton..” Yolanda expressed softly, smiling again, recalling exactly why she was here.

“I’m very pleased.. you remember Heather..” she murmured, as the Doctor mauled her body.

The smile widened as she drew strength from the Full Moon, allowing the power it instilled to course through her, as the change began.

Yet obsessed as he was, with the nubile body before him, Winterton didn’t notice her eyes turn from blue to amber, as her pupils became elliptical: and she bared her canine teeth.

He even smiled, as Yolanda leant over and ran her right hand over his back, upward, toward his neck.

Abruptly he felt the pain, as nails turned talon long and sharp, tearing at his flesh, cutting deep.

She raked flesh from him and blood showered the black leather couch, as the teen leapt upon him, taut thighs round his back.

Winterton fell forward groaning loudly, clutching at the wound in his neck; so was unable to fend away any further attack.

“Help..” he cried out.

Yolanda’s eyes burned with her rage, raking her claws through his shirt, ripping open his stomach, bloody entrails spilling forth.

Still he lived.

Turning, he looked up, at the lupine avenger.

“Why?” He tried to ask around the blood frothing in his throat, choking him.

All the sound he made though was a gurgle, as he rolled over into the viscous crimson mess, that had issued from him.

“Why?” Yolanda snarled as she stood: “Is that what you want to know?”

Her blue eyes calmer, as was her demeanour, Yolanda crouched down to retrieve her skirt.

“I’ll tell you why,” the teen told him, her eyes now blue once more; “Your help led to a good friend killing herself... Doctor Winterton.”

He heard her words from a distance, as he watched her dress.

And Michael Winterton remembered Heather Cirrone, moments before he died, as Yolanda walked out of the office and into the night; pleased, her coven sister would now rest easy.





*





This is as it should have read.

'Bad-Timing and a Good time' - Rudux
17:14 Jul 01 2010
Times Read: 1,088

*Contains Adult Material









'Bad timing and a good time'





His right hand cradled his head upon the pillow – and fragmented memories swam into mind for the young man, as he lit a cigarette... and the sun shone through the barred window and directly on his face… recalling that days events.

Four burly men had rushed headlong into the poolroom shouting.

It had resembled a violent scene from the seventies cop show, ‘The Sweeny.’

For moments time had frozen for the young man as two of the men had run toward him. Then he had found himself beaten and kicked, till finally he had been thrown backwards onto the pool table. A bearded face had leered into the bloodied young mans face and the aggressor had said: “We’re the police, you’re under arrest.”

Handcuffs had been put on him an he had been sat out of the way awhile, as the man whose cannabis he had sold and his son were also arrested.

*

The police drugs raid had been costed for thirty days: a high tech operation.

Several micro cameras had been employed, four plain-clothes officers and about ten uniformed officers.

There had been three cameras located in the poolroom, where the operation had centred; one in the dartboard; another in the plaster feature above the door, whilst the last was located in the fan.

The pub manager’s husband, already in trouble with the law over a motoring offence, had persuaded his wife to let the police in the pub, to ‘get the dealers.’

The operation had been geared up for someone selling speed. But, for a couple of weeks prior to going to the bust he had stopped going to the pub, instead allowing someone to sell in his place.

Then, on the last day of the surveillance, they had struck, early in the afternoon.

Four officers had kicked and beaten a postman in his late forties of slight build; and a young man who was a care assistant ‘on the sick,’ with a stress-related disorder, due in part to his relationship ending, to his best friend, as it turned out.

Perhaps the police had waded in as they did because they wanted to portray a good image for the Granada television cameras stationed outside the pub, as was evidenced by several passers-by at the time: or, perhaps, their overt aggression was due to the four hours of drinking upstairs, which had later been corroborated by the ex-barman.

Either way, both the men sustained quite a kicking and were soon subdued and in handcuffs.

None of the footage taken by Granada television of the bloodied suspects led out of the pub, their heads covered by blankets, ever made it to the television screen.

None of the kicking was on any of the one hundred and ninety two hours worth of videotapes surveillance, surprisingly.

In fact, there was a man-made blank on a tape just prior to it ending, just after they entered the pool room and one officer is seen to lift a polythene bag of foil wrapped weighed eighths of cannabis resin up to the camera above the doorway.

The police had also arrested the father and son who were also charged: and then eventually, after serving time on remand the young man had found himself out on police bail.

The charge had been ‘conspiracy to supply cannabis resin’ and the young man wanted to oppose the charge as it stood, for while inside on remand, he had read up the book Archbold, one and two and had decided to go ‘not guilty.’

But, The Crown Prosecution service would not accept a lesser charge and pursued that of ‘conspiracy.’ Yet in Archbold, a legal textbook, he had read of how one had to have ‘intent to commit a criminal action.’ There had been no intent to supply and this was how he would argue, he had decided, there had been no ‘conspiracy.’

Granted, he was guilty of ‘supply;’ but that was not what he had been charged with.

Plus, on the depositions, it had been stated that sixty-eight wraps of cannabis resin had been found, whereas only forty three had made it into forensics … and, officers had hurt him, using ‘undue force’; he wanted that known; he wanted his day in court.

And, the young man, who I shall call Kevin, had returned to the place he grew up, for it was his parents who had stood surety for his bail; and, he was determined to make the best of every day of his freedom, until he had to go to court again.

*

Mrs L… or, Mrs Robinson, as I will write of her, was forty-seven when they had met.

As the young man had learnt, her husband had been involved in an auto accident that he had recovered from, but that he had sustained some irreparable damage, that had left him impotent, or so he had been told…

There were three children to Mrs Robinson, the eldest girl was married, the younger at university, whilst the lad was at college.

She had a good home, comfortable, with every modern household convenience that could be used to ease her workload.

She even had a part-time job, which gave her a break from the house and a little extra in her purse: and an interest in all things Italian, which manifest itself in her cooking and apparel.

Being well provided for, she wore her expensive wardrobe of designer label clothes to their best advantage, wearing long flowing dresses that billowed like sales as she strode out on her walks, clinging to the woman’s slender body and long shapely legs.

As the young man had been a boy the woman had strode past his home and he had heard his father remark, “There she sales, the galleon.”

The comment had amused the boy, who had thought it appropriate, but a tad inaccurate for the long-haired, straight backed woman had reminded him more of a tea-clipper out on the high seas, as she strode along the pavement.

Yet, he hadn’t seen her for many years: Until that particular sunny afternoon.

The young man had only just returned to his hometown and it had been on his third day out and about that he had met her again.

The last time he had met her she had been the mother of the girl, her eldest, who had followed him everywhere, with the eyes of an adoring puppy.

But, this time it had been summer and she was wearing light clothing.

He was sitting near the back of the bus on the top deck when the slim brunette had stumbled up the stairs and down the upper aisle and toward him.

He was on his own as she had stumbled a little on her high heels, giggling to herself as she did so…

She was wearing a light tan summer jacket, white blouse and a dark coloured tight-fitting skirt that hugged her derriere and thighs.

“Hello,” he had said to her, smiling brightly.

Her heels had skittered slightly as the bus started up; and, grasping a support pole, she swung into the empty place next to him, sitting heavily, giggling girlishly.

“Do ‘scuse me,” she’d giggled, adding, “we had the office party and I think I may of drunk a little bit too much…”

And she had giggled once more, putting a hand to her mouth to stifle escaping wind, a burp; “Oops… pardon!?!”

The young man turned to her at the sound and found he was looking down the brunette’s blouse, his gaze drawn to her deep cleavage. Her mauve lacy chemise fell away a little from her left, allowing the slightly drooping breast and the erect nipple to be fully in view.

He was entranced by what he’d seen…

With eyes slightly downcast, the older woman had turned towards him and caught the direction of his eyes.

“You like what you see?” Elaine Robinson had asked Kevin, who had not heard the words, at all, only the sound of her soft voice.

She was aware of him looking at her and with inhibitions loosened by the effects of alcohol, she had giggled once more, thrilling with the delight of the attention shown.

“Haven’t seen you go past for awhile,” he said in turn and her voice turned sad a moment as the brunette responded, “My dog died.”

As she spoke, the young man heard little, for he was interested not in what the words said, but rather, what her body said, which showed her interest, as the nipple stood firm and erect: blood engorged and firm.

As if it that had not been arousing enough, he had realised she had been wearing suspenders, extremely aware of the suspender clasp pressing into his thigh as the bus turned a corner and Elaine pressed against him.

“Good way to get to know one another,” he had said, smiling broadly.

And, their eyes had met: her brown, his blue; as he had noticed her lips part, just a little, lips that looked oh-so-moist.

They had stared into one another’s desires and he knew that she wanted him, as he wanted her; with a physical yearning for the contact of the others flesh.

She shivered, with thoughts of anticipation, of possible pleasure of the flesh; and he noticed, asking her, “Are you cold?”

“Oh no,” she had replied, aware that she was hot: burning with suppressed lust.

The two looked at one another again, their eye contact steady; and the little distance between their faces closed further still.

“I’m married,” she had said, very softly.

“So?” He had replied, staring into her eyes.

And, their lips had touched; only touched, at first.

Then the kiss had developed, as the couple’s lips ground together, as his hands had sought to traverse every contour of the brunette’s slim body.

Brushing material away, he had taken the nipple between forefinger and thumb, as their eyes connected and her body thrilled with delight at his touch; his hand on her stocking-clad knee, till they had parted as she had said, “This is my stop.”

He had followed her backside down the stairs and they had both disembarked, then walked in silence towards her home, until she said to him, “Don’t come any further.”

She had been worried the neighbours might see her with a young man.



*



Though rebuffed, Kevin had walked home, on a fine spring day, with passion on his mind and thoughts of how her body felt, providing the fuel that stoked the fires of his desires…

And then several days later, he had increased his pace as he noticed her walking before him, a heavy bad full of shopping in either hand.

“Can I see you again?” He had asked brightly.

He had taken the bags from her and they walked side by side, as he carried her shopping much of the way home for her.

“Why don’t you come in for a cool drink?” she had asked, fully aware that he had been devouring her with hungry eyes.

They had entered the house and with the back door to the garden closed, the couple stood in the middle of the kitchen, very close, looking at one another.

He had reached out his right hand and caressed her cheek, sliding his fingers into her hair and clasping her head in his hand.

Kevin found her dark brown, almond-shaped eyes feline: and quite entrancing.

They had stared deep into one another’s eyes; and in that moment, both realized they knew the physical yearning that each felt was reciprocated by the other.

He had drawn her to him and they embraced, kissing deeply, their tongues entwined; as they turned and twisted, their passion unbound, as they fell against the table, the door and finally the cooker.

Their tongues meshed together, Kevin had hoisted her skirt high, to reveal her long, stocking-clad legs and bare thigh.

Gently pushing her against the cooker-top, he withdrew from her arms a moment and sank to his knees, drawing down her black silk panties.

She was trimmed and clean tasting he had discovered with his eager tongue, as Elaine ran long manicured painted nails through Kevin’s hair, saying, “Mia amore, that’s so nice.”

Her eyes closed, as she had centred her mind on the tongue opening her, licking and pleasing her and Kevin took his hard, cut length out of his trousers slowly with his left hand, his right caressing nylon-clad flesh.

Then he had stood, lifting the brunette’s legs up and wide, so her backside rested on the cooker-top and he sank into her moist warmth.

With intercourse, each sighed; he with pleasure at his conquest, she replete with the fulfilment that the pleasure of flesh upon flesh gave…

As the svelte mature brunette had lain back eyes closed, Kevin viewed the delight that she demonstrated with her wanton behaviour with relish, realizing that this might not be the one-off that he had thought it might be.

And then Elaine had opened her eyes, reaching down her index finger of her right hand, toward her glistening pubis, coating the digit with the young mans fluid: and Kevin watched this older woman, his own Mrs Robinson, savour with obvious pleasure, his ejaculated fluid.

Panting with exhaustion, he had helped her stand, sliding his hands over her nylon clad legs and the naked thighs, to grasp her buttocks firmly.

“Let me?” She told him; sinking to her knees and licking clean his now flaccid manhood of any fluids left.

Only when she’d drained the young man did the sated Elaine L. stand, a little unsteady on her black stiletto high heels.

“Was that nice?” Elaine asked the young man, as she smiled and licked at her lips lasciviously, while Kevin finished dressing, smiling broadly.

“I do hope I can call again?” He had asked.

“Yes,” she’d replied, “and if you ring first I’ll try to arrange things for you...”

“Arrange things? Like what?” He queried, as he had opened the door to leave.

“Like dressing-up for you. That sort of thing… if there’s anything special you’d like?” she informed him, suggestively.

“Anything special?” He’d repeated, mind racing, with imagery floating through his minds-eye; “I’ll phone,” he had assured her, and then closed the door behind himself as he left.

Kevin smiled a lot, as he’d walked home – already looking forward to calling again.

And so, a pattern had been established: Kevin would have his lunch with his parents, then walk past the post-box and toward the telephone box on the green.

He’d phone Elaine and say he wanted to ‘call round.’

She would dress as a schoolgirl, naughty secretary and whore, for him: anything he might want. And as time passed, they shared many fantasies, revelling in this, as they enjoyed the pleasures each sought to provide for the need of other.

Elaine didn’t deny how she felt, revelling in his attention – almost needing it.

She’d considered her time spent with him special, acting as it did to mask her sexual repression. Besides which, she’d enjoyed herself, as she pleased him.

Thus, the summer had passed. He had told him of her crime and his expectation of ‘doing time:’ holding her hand and watching her eyes as he did so, ever-so pleased when she’d chosen not to reject him. Instead, she had squeezed his hand and told her lover, “Let’s just enjoy our time together.”



*



So, toward the end of September they had gone for a walk on a sunny afternoon and; they had enjoyed each other one final time, at the bottom end of a cornfield which broached woodland.

Her summer dress hiked up, she had wrapped her long legs round him, nails raking his naked shoulders, her heels digging into his lower back.

They had both known it was to be their last time together: their kisses filled with fervour, as he thrust deep, driving them toward that final, sweet orgasm, his seed filling her; that he had drunk from her splayed thighs, as her closed lids fluttered.

He had stood, helping Elaine rise: and then they had walked homeward.

The summer had ended and his court case was due the next week: Kevin even had his tobacco and radio, ready to take with him from court, upon a ‘guilty’ verdict being given. And, they had kissed one final sweet kiss.







*





Reworked from the original, badly written and used in 2006