The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

A Night-Time Assignation.



*For Adults Only







He suckles on her flesh and her nipple hardens, thanks to his tongue and lips.



Rachel lies back, as she clutches the duvet, knuckles turning white.



Knowing why he was there, she had raised and parted her legs, as he had entered through her open window.



From half-asleep to fully awake and aroused took seconds, due to her compulsion, to satisfy their mutual need.



And, as her eyes widened and her pupils dilated, her arousal grew and the burning ache between her high’s ached for satisfaction, as he approached the bed.



And, as he smiled she thought back, to just a few hours ago, as she had begun to grow impatient for the night to arrive, for him to visit.



**



Come mid-afternoon and the sun got really bright, she had lain back on her comfortable bed, having closed the curtains.



She had stayed there, as the normal family sounds passed by her bedroom door.



Her Mother had come home from college, then her Father from work.



Neither had disturbed her, noting well the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on her door.



“Typical teenager,” she’d heard her Father say.



‘How would he know,’ she mused: ‘he only has me. And, I’m not typical, whatever that is!!!’



Her short tufted and gelled hair, narrow cheekbones, green brown eyes, heavily made-up, to match her style of clothing, there were those who would describe the slim young woman as a Goth. She wouldn’t, preferring as she did, the term ‘individual.’



Rachel sighed heavily, it was hours to go and she was impatient.



Fumbling beneath the bed, her fingers passed by the cheese-sandwich on a plate and found her phone and she re-read the text: “B ur way tnite. C u?”



And, she lay back on her bed, looking at the screen, with a fixed smile on her face.



She ‘ever-so’ liked the way he asked; he was so-polite and, well-mannered.



In this day and age, of take, take, take; he was an exception. And she turned, to lie on her stomach, her hands on her chin, as she gazed in the past and their online meeting, just a week or so ago.



Even then, when they’d got really talking, via IM, he had been really careful in stating his needs and what he was looking for; careful, yet stated. After all, it had only taken a few nights for them to both realise that their needs were ‘simpatico, as it were.’



‘Isn’t that how he’d phrased it?’ She mused, hurrying the seconds of the clock on, with the power of her mind.



And for an hour or so, kids TV and the music channels became solace for Rachel, as the fingers of the clock moved on resolutely slowly.



Finally she noticed with pleasure that it was becoming darker outside and, her anticipation began to grow even more.



“Soon,” she kept muttering, “soon.”



For years she had held out the hope that she would meet someone like fake, but not till those messages would she dare to hope that such as he existed. Now she could not just hope, but also an expectation, that tonight would bring her the fulfilment required by both of them.



Although she had held the belief that one day she might meet someone such as he, now that dream had the prospect of becoming a reality for Rachel and, time passed far too slowly. She was becoming impatient: and, there was awhile to go.



‘Awhile to go?’ She mused, ‘time to get ready.’



Getting ready meant lighting the candles for her room, several of which would provide a sensual fragrance; and the, just as she had finished undressing, Rachel realised that she still hadn’t opened the windows.



The invitation had to be more apparent than in email, she knew that.



And, with her headphones on, she listened to tunes, as the seconds continued to tick by: and then, he was in the window. Quickly moving to the end of the bed, where he stood, eyes alight with desire.



He moved with extreme speed, to the side of the bed and grasping her shoulder, she found herself staring into his dark eyes, as he asked of her: “Are you sure?”



She had nodded silently, and then waited for his kiss.



And, although a diet of Hammer films had taught her what to expect, nothing was quite as expected.



He had been gentle in his embrace, as he pressed his lips to her, seeking entrance to her mouth with his inquisitive tongue, which quickly grew to know her well.



They had tongue-duelled for minutes, before he pulled away and began suckling on her right ear lobe.



And Rachel turned her head a little, to expose her jugular, to his gaze.



Yet, to her surprise, He ignored the obvious and continued hisa kissing, following a soft downy tail toward her belly button, pierced and jewelled, with a winged tribal tatt in heavy black, which swept out, either side.



And, the kisses carried on downward, his hands parted Rachel’s thighs as he lowered his upper body between her legs. And, she couldn’t help but moan through clenched teeth, hoping that no-one could hear her, with her guest for the night.



Then he began moving further down her body further still, enjoying the taste of her, as he sought out the pulsing beat within her inner thigh.



She lay back and sighed, as he drank, from the two puncture his incisors had made. And just for a second, she couldn’t help from grin at a thought she knew her church-going Mother wouldn’t approve: ‘The Christians were right,” she thought, “it’s far better to give, than to receive.”

COMMENTS

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ladyofdragonrose
01:04 Jun 25 2009

totally awesome!

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mbillie1125
02:19 Jun 25 2009

Wow. That is beautiful. I hope you will write more.

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crowgirl
14:42 Jun 26 2009

Winged tribal tatt, hmmm??? lol. AWESOME. Totally awesome. I love it.

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SheWolf85
09:27 Aug 03 2009

Love this one! *smilez*

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POST COMMENT

A Nights Sojourn.





He walked, with a tall slate-blue brick wall to the right, the old industrial area across the road on his left.



Keeping well within the shadows cast by the wall, he walked on toward the roundabout he took a right turn at the end of the wall, crossing a small side-road, a patch of gravel, then made his way onto the pavement, the dockland on his right, all brightly lit, as men continued to work throughout the night.



He carried on walking, toward the blue iron swing-bridge, then on the footpath on the side of the bridge.



To the right side of the bridge were the locks that serviced the basin to his left and the docks to his right.



He reached into his pocket for his tin. Lifting the lid he fingered the contents: there were nine rollies inside.



He recalled much that his Mother had told him, paramount being: “All thing’s in moderation.”



But, he had time to kill and if he had one, there’d still be eight more for the rest of the night’s sojourn.



So finding a concrete bollard that overlooked the dock, he sat and smoke, enjoying the feel of the night, as he stared at the small yellow pinpricks of late that denoted where life still carried on, while others slept.



‘Granted,’ it was a quiet night, ‘but that’ll change. It often did, when least expected.’

That was the joy, of his trips into town, at this time.



Then tossing the butt in a high arc, he stood and began to walk back, following the same path he’d taken earlier, with a definite air of expectation, as he reached into his coat pocket, to ensure he was prepared.



Over the road a figure appeared from one of the many streets between the industrial units across the way.



Richard Thompson smiled, a leering kind of smile, as he realized that the night had gone his way after all: it didn’t always, but it had tonight.



Short, with blue-eyes that stared out from gold-rimmed round glasses that fir snug to his face, he had wiry blonde hair, cut close to the scalp; his gut hung a half-inch over his belt.



He wore a shirt, slacks and tie-up shoes, with a half-inch sole, all in black, as was the trench coat he wore.



And, as the blonde paused to cross the road, she sighed heavily.



Yvette Newson swept her bleach blonde hair back from her face, as she stood at the kerbside. She wished she’d attended to her roots.



‘But hey…’ she thought with a grin, “it won’t be my roots they’ll be looking at.”



Yvette wore black heels and self-support hose, with a mid-thigh length denim skirt, with a black low-neck sleeveless tee-shirt, over which she had on a white puffa zip-up jacket, that reached to her waist, still trim for fort-two.



She’d shaven well and worn her best deep purple pants, ‘with a delightful satin feel.’

And, with the self-support stocking’s, she’d have no trouble removing them easily.



And, with her heart beating fast, with anticipation of the night and, all it could bring Yvette thought to herself, “Will the punters be out tonight?”



She needed coin, and needed it bad. McEvoy down the street was getting on her back about the loan she’d made. So, she needed that money for him, soon.



And meanwhile, high atop the tall, where it was divided by a slip road that led to the community college, a figure crouched.



Lien perched on the apex of the bevelled cornice stone, his fine Italian shoes finding purchase with an inhuman sense of balance.



Dressed similarly to Richard Thompson, he rested his elbows on his knees, as he crouched there, looking down, as Thompson kept to the shadows, watching as the blonde crossed the road.



Lien had been watching the hunter seeks his prey for weeks: and tonight, the hunter had become the hunted. He just didn’t know it, yet.



And, a slow feral grin stretched across his mouth, exposing his canine teeth.

COMMENTS

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ladyofdragonrose
00:57 Jun 21 2009

yay! so cool.....wonderful...:)

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POST COMMENT

An ordinary day-off



Based on the Characters created by Angelus And Lady of Dragon Rose from the short story “An Ordinary Day” written by Angelus and continued by Lady Of Dragonrose and Angelus.



*For Adults Only







Just turned twenty-one and still looking as young as she had way back when, Alice smiles, as she remembers that it had been John Summers smile that had softened her fears, as she stood before the stern Chinese woman she’d heard called ‘Mistress Yumi,’ on several occasions, by those young men and women who’d attended to her every need.



She was a dangerous woman indeed. And, Alice knew more than most alive, of the woman’s callous nature. It had been Yumi who had ordered her abduction: well, not her per se, but those who had been taken that night off the streets, with her.



Alice had stood there naked and trembling, tears pouring down her face, as the woman had walked slowly round her, then dismissed the two burly men, who had stood either side of the doorway.



She had been dressed in fetish-wear Alice had not seen before, but then she’d never been stripped and showered by naked slaves before either.



Yumi had walked round her slowly, inspecting her body, as if she had been an animal being inspected by a vet. Fingers had probed every orifice, making her wince with the act, the pain and the humiliation.



“Stop crying!” She had snapped striking the side of Alice’s face with an open palm.

“Your new life is beginning, away from drink, drugs and all you knew. You are just property, to be used for the pleasure of a Master, or Mistress like myself.”



That pronouncement had turned her stomach and she wanted to pee herself: and, Alice had stared down at her toes balefully.



“I have guests who have need of a slave. Are you that slave?” Alice had looked up and stared at the woman, uncomprehending what had just been said to her.



‘Slave? What was that she had just said?’ She had thought, her head roiling.



And, as Mistress Yumi had placed her right forefinger under Alice’s chin and she lifted the young woman’s face to look at her own: “Are you that slave?”



That was then she had noticed Summers, sitting there in the background. He had stood and, placing an arm around Yumi’s shoulders looked at Alice with a warm smile.



“I like her. So remember Yumi, you owe me. And, I want her,” was what he had said.

There had been no further inspection, as she witnessed with others, as she waited to be shipped out. Instead, she had been placed in shackles, as they would also be, then told to sit.



She had stayed with Summers for a year, then been totally pole-axed, when he had said to her, “I will send you home if you wish.”



‘Home?’ For her it had been the streets. She had left her mother when she was just seventeen, after enduring her endless succession of boyfriends for years; then one day when one’s action became decidedly inappropriate, she had left, as her Mother would not believe her, when she had told her what had happened.



“But, what can I do Sir? I have nowhere to go and, I like being…” She was going to say, ‘being told what to do and, be looked after.’ Alice had sat, looking at her Master with wide eyes. She had felt very small and tearful.



“Little one, the choice is yours now, you can decide what to do yourself…” Summers had said to her, stroking her almost bald scalp. She had cut it off herself months earlier, when he had instructed, one quiet evening. But, on that day the man’s strong hand ran over the bristling small hairs, as he waited for her response.



“I have nowhere to go…” she had said to him, looking her and looking very childlike.



Summers had grinned down at her, “That’s alright, there are options little one.”



And, that was how she had found herself with Master Jared, who she so adored, he who she cared for and laboured for. And, come his needs and desires, gave her body to his use and abuse as he might want of her.



Now today she had a day off. ‘A day off? A slave with a day off, what luxury! And, all because Master Jared’s new slave Alex was being tutored today.’



She walked down the main drag swinging her arms, military style, occasionally looking up at the buildings that people rarely saw; that she’d not noticed at all, back then.



People walked by her, on a road that had carried traffic, and since it had been the pedestrianised carried people, with the old road surface being removed and replaced with pattered brick. ‘It was all so different from what she recalled.’



And, the slender waif-like creature, her face was made up to look doll-like, with an emphasis on blue; her hair was cut short, gelled to be spiky. Around her neck was a white-studded collar and she wore a short-sleeved tee-shirt and blue-jeans, that were at least a few years out of fashion; but what did that matter of Alice?



Jared had given her a day-off. It was unheard of. And now, here Alice was. She was walking round the city centre, in her new calf-high black, low heel boots



She stopped and turned slowly, her arms outstretched, palms uppermost, as she felt a raindrop fall on her forehead, as passers-by glanced at her and continued to walk on, one or two shaking their heads in surprise at what she was doing.



Alice turned slowly, as a light-rain fell on her face, looking up at the blue-skies and slowly moving white clouds.



Tomorrow she would rise at five, to get herself ready, to serve her Master. But today, she would taste freedom and, all that entailed; yet all the while Alice would be looking forward to hearing he alarm ring, all the time.

The beginning of an ordinary friendship



Based on the Characters created by Angelus And Lady of Dragon Rose from the short story “An Ordinary Day” written by Angelus and continued by Lady Of Dragonrose and Angelus.



*For Adults Only





John Summers sat in his chair facing the window watching the wild thunderstorm that had been going on for close to an hour, his gray eyes watching the trees being whipped into frenzy by the wind. He smiled in remembering how he had come into ownership of Marley’s, the BDSM club that he owned, ‘No longer owns’ he corrected himself.



Sandrine, his young lover had errands to run and he thought of the wide smile she had given him, when she asked for shopping money. He had handed over a thousand dollars; granted may have been too much, but was worth the smile she had given him. Owning Marley’s had brought him fame and fortune. And. as for the wind, there had been storms far better than the one he was now watching.



He had started clearing out his office for the new owner to take over and as he had cleared out his desk earlier found photographs of a time long since passed. One was of Celine. “Mistress Celine,” he corrected himself. John knew first hand what the title had cost Celine. There they were, sitting at a table, outside café in Marseilles. They had met there on a sunny afternoon, two people not really searching for anything, amongst the exquisite smells of fresh coffee and pastries.



He had seen her previously on the beach, laying in the sun, her long hair was put in a comb to lay up off her neck, wearing a bathing suit that was a purple little number that barely covered her assets.



Summers had walked by and had smiled. Returning to his hotel looking over the beach, he watched her long lovely body baking in the afternoon sun. She had turned her head to look at him as he passed and been startled by her face. High cheekbones with the most beautiful smoky brown eyes he had ever seen. Her smile was soft as he smiled back. He watched her get up off the beach as she took down her hair. He watched with fascination as she shook out her long hair that fell to her waist. She was a beauty.



John sat back and gazed at the picture again. His mind played back those sweet memories: he had been almost like a boy around her. Her voice was soft and lyrical, almost hypnotic with a little bit of a southern accent. Her hands were small and quick.

He had been afraid to touch her; afraid she would break.



But he soon found out Celine was every bit of a dominant as he was. They both shared a passion for the bdsm lifestyle. He had enjoyed being a switch from time to time with his Mistress but soon learned that Celine would never give up control. She had fought hard. But in the end he remembered feeling her body shake with pleasure on those rare times when she allowed him to take her and took her hard, driving himself into her, looking into those dark eyes, as if to mark her as his.



He sighed loudly and closed his eyes and could feel himself harden thinking of her. She could bring out the worst or best of any man or woman. He had seen her too many times in action. But knew she would be sleeping with him on those occasions. And he fought the jealousy hard. The relationship had been stormy. Two doms in one household was too much. The constant topping of one another, the arguments how they each interpreted the other, John’s problem was he wanted to own Celine. Celine’s problem she didn’t want to be owned. She saw herself as a Mistress. And wouldn’t be topped by anyone.



He knew it was over the night he had brought home a male slave. Celine’s eyes went wide, first time he had ever brought a slave to their house. He took the young man down to the basement to their dungeon that he and Celine and built.



The young man shook with anticipation at the thought of the Major training him. Celine came down to watch, curious as to this new intrusion in her life. She walked up to the young man and stroked him, watching his eyes as she did. He seemed to cringe at Celine’s touch. Her eyes went to John as he bent down to attach shackles to the young man’s ankles.



Celine never knew that John went both ways. It was one of many secrets that he had kept from her. She watched as John put the slave through his paces. Listening to the young man’s cries as John flogged him. Making him submit to his Master. And submit he did. As John’s hands stroked the slave’s body, Celine watched with a dull ache. Knowing that her relationship was over. It wasn’t the slave that bothered her. It was the fact John had kept it from her. That was the one thing she couldn’t put up with. If John held back that secret, what else was he hiding? She decided she didn’t want to know. She watched as John’s hands pulled the man’s hips back to his as he began to give him long strokes.



John had never looked Celine’s way as he fucked his slave long and hard. John knew he couldn’t keep this a secret forever, yet never told Celine. He wanted to show her, and hoped she would understand. As he came, giving loud moans, he had glanced toward Celine. It had been the only time he ever saw her cry. She had turned and left. Then as John finished with the slave, he paid him some money and sent him off in a cab.



They had fought like never before. Celine hated secrets. And although John knew it, he had hoped she would have understood. ‘No, she didn’t understand why he couldn’t tell her.’ She had made up her mind to leave and leave she did. She packed as they were arguing and were still doing so as she left, slamming the door in his face as she walked out to her car. John watched as she drove off, wondering if he would ever see her again.



But out of all of it, when enough time had passed, they mended their fences and became friends. He would much rather have Celine as a friend than an enemy. She would be no ones fool. One other secret that John failed to tell her, was how most of the slaves he found were from the illegal skin trade. He had profited from it for the last several years. He bought and sold young men and women into servitude. Some he just bought for his own amusements and others he would sell to other masters and mistresses. Of course he would train them. Some would cry at first wanting to go home.

John would listen to their stories and tell them once they had done what he wanted he would send them home if they wished. That only happened once. The majority of those ended up staying; realizing that the life they lead now would be better than the one they had been living.



John looked once again at the picture, blue sky, Blue Ocean. And Celine. He stroked the picture, wondering if she knew what her leaving had cost him as well.



The knock on the door interrupted his train of thought as Chevy, the barman, self appointed body guard to John opened the door. “Major, I must leave for a bit if that’s alright with you,” he told his boss.

“Sure, just be back by the time we open. Going to announce the club sale to the regulars tonight” John replied. Chevy nodded his agreement and shut the door.



Celine would be taking over the club.



Summers smiled, as he knew no one else better to run it but the high mistress herself.

‘Damn,’ he thought, ‘ She was no Ordinary woman.’ That much he knew. He knew it in his heart that there would never be anyone that could hold a candle to her. Sandrine wouldn’t exactly take Celine’s place. But he was in love with Sandrine: she made him happy. ‘And besides,’ he thought, pouring himself a drink, ‘it was fun to show her the lifestyle and it was amazing to watch it through her eyes.’



Summers sat back at his desk, placed his feet up, and cradled his glass in both hands, “Aye,” he said to the walls and raised his glass in salute, “that had been an interesting beginning to a not-so ordinary friendship.”

Eating Out.



“Ever head the expression ‘eating someone with one’s eyes?’”



*Intended for adult readers.







As the train sped through the night, he glanced across the aisle to the girl in the far window seat; and, he couldn’t help but stare. She was lovely.

He watched her, as a ticket inspector passed him and walked into the next carriage.



And, he continued to do so, even when he realised she had noticed him staring, on one of the many occasions she’d looked at her watch.



To anyone who watched her, the blonde fitted the archetype. She wore heavy denim faded light blue hipster jeans, that ended just above the ankle, with a three-inch turn-up; a yellow sleeveless tee-shirt that was short enough to reveal her almost flat stomach and navel, pierced and sporting a clear stone, set within one end of a short gold bar.



Her long slender fingers danced over the miniscule keyboard of the small mobile phone she held in the palm of her left hand.



Occasionally she would look up from what she was doing, to either check the time from the slim gold watch on her slim left wrist, or around herself, as if she was waiting on someone, or something.



They each sat in a group of four high, padded seats. He sat in a window seat, his bags in the empty seat across the small table from himself. She sat in a manner that mirrored him, with her long legs out beneath the table and, her bare feet on the seat before her, on which her own bags sat.



Suddenly she drew her legs up and, she slipped her black high heels onto her feet.



“Will you look after my bags for me?” She asked, turning to smile at him, as if suddenly aware of his presence.



“Uh huh,” he nodded, unable to find any words.



Seconds after she stood so did he, as if to rearrange his larger bags on the shelf above the seats.



Swinging her hips, she swished past the where he stood and Richmund momentarily looked in his pale blue eyes and licked her thin shapely lips and seductively caressed the crotch of her heavy denim faded light blue hipster jeans.



And glassy-eyed, he watched as she walked.



Her green, almond-shaped eyes stared ahead as she walked toward the WC.

Green arrows at head height easily marked the path to follow. And, she smiled.

Nadia knew the suit’s eyes were riveted to her cute, swaying ass.



Fromes swallowed hard, as he watched her open, then close the dividing doors, between his carriage and the next.



Without looking back, Nadia reached behind herself and erotically caressed his ass-cheeks.



‘By now, that fella is throwing some serious wood,’ Nadia thought to herself as she exited the carriage and walked into the next, the one with the toilet.



William Fromes mouth went dry, as he watched her move down the carriage.



His knees felt weak. He felt a sudden urge to drop to his knees and press his face into the crease between her bubble-butt cheeks.



“This girl, this girl…” Fromes muttered, as he sat once again, his hands sweating and, his heart beating faster.



He had tried to avoid temptation, ‘But, this girl…’



Fromes picked up The Metro, although he’d already read it from cover to cover. He’d been trying to distract himself since she got on, just after him. And, not even Lise, who wrote and drew Nemi the Goth character he liked reading so much, could take his mind off the way that the young woman had walked to the toilet, her undulating buttocks, a vision in blue-jeans.



* *



The small metal-lined toilet was cool and Nadia felt her nipples harden. She was curious about the fellow in the grey suit; surprised that he had not made a move on her before he had. ‘Shy, or gay?’ She wondered briefly, as she eased her jeans down over bird-bone hips.



Normally a man, any man, would stare, turn his head and, continue to stare, as she walked past, his eyed fixed on her derriere.



Thankfully, for her ego, he had done as expected; otherwise she’d have felt crestfallen. Nadia was proud of how she looked.



And, she was encouraged in her thoughts, as those she passed on the way through the carriage toward the small cubicle, currently unoccupied. As she walked, her arms swinging briskly, she glanced either way, pleased to note one or two sets of eyes intently watching her every move.



And, at the toilet, she slid opened the lock and stepped inside, quickly looking down the aisle, to see three heads quickly turn away, to look ahead once more.



Once inside the tiny metal lined WC, Nadia wriggled out of the miniscule purple panties, just really two triangles of purple nylon gauze attached by purple elastic, covered by ribbon; enough to coven her shaven mons and make headway, into covering her bubble butt.



She sat for awhile, the man still on her mind, as her long slender fingers slid through the moist folds, opening herself, as she ran them upward to the small nubbin of flesh that ached for further attention.



Instead of doing what her body craved, Nadia drew her fingers away, from the heat that needed cooling; and, taking a couple of sheets of toilet paper, she wiped away the residue of her desire.



Nadia redressed, ran her fingers back through her hair undid the lock and opened the toilet door; and, walked slowly back to her seat, a light smile on her face.



Fromes looked round as she called musically, “Thank you.”



He grinned in response, “Hey, no problem.”



It had been anything but a problem.



“It’d been a pleasure,” he muttered, ‘just watching her walk, in those tight blue jeans.”



“So how come you’re travelling?” She asked brightly, as she sat back onto her seat, kicked off her heels and placed her bare feet on the seat before her once again.



He looked. He stared and abruptly, dry-mouthed said to her: “You look like a young Daryl Hannah…” In a way, Fromes hoped that he might please her, by telling her.



But instead, she just stared blankly at him: and William Fromes realised sadly, that once more s term of reference had been lost, on someone who appeared so much younger than him.



Nadia Bellis was not to be deterred. She was bored and wanted company, any company: she tossed her head and looked at Fromes, running her fingers back through her hair.



“So, you never answered me, how come you’re travelling?” She wet her top lip with a moist tongue staring at him, waiting for his response. Nadia had noticed the bags. He’d had a lot of them with him and considering he looked smart, there was just something about him, something ‘off.’



“Business,” he answered finally.



‘Perhaps he’s not gay after all,’ Nadia mused, quite delighted by the attention she got, as she noticed him licking his top lip slowly, quite unconsciously.



Nadia settled into her seat, wriggling her toes.



She knew that in the long silences, he was looking over now and then, his gaze fixed on her bare feet.



‘He looks more like he’s an old pervert, with a foot fetish…” she thought with mild amusement. Nadia was rarely wrong about men, but this one was a curio.



For a brief second she turned to look at Fromes directly, licking her top lip, slowly, from her right to left.



And, if he were to look beyond her lips, he would notice her tug at the waistband and clasp of her jeans, pulling the tight crotch even tighter, against the heat of her arousal.



Fromes noticed what she did and, down below he twitched.



‘Oh God, oh god, oh god, oh…’ he thought on one level, whilst on entirely another, the mild-mannered looking businessman pictured a wholly different scene.



He could see blood and flesh; and hear screams of pain and pleasure. And, none of it was anything his forebrain wanted to acknowledge.



After all, the doctors had all said he was ‘cured’, that’s why they had let him out.



Tbc.?

COMMENTS

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Synster
04:17 Jun 15 2009

Omg! I love this one...More?!

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Afternoon Delight – the invitation.



*Intended for adult readers.







Drury drew her legs up slowly in a languid manner, parted them, eyes closed: with her feet upon the duvet: and, ran her hands up the insides of her taut thighs.



He was on her mind again. And, this time, she didn’t mind.



She lay back on her wide double-bed, the curtains partially drawn against the bright mid-afternoon sun.



Her husband Lukas wouldn’t be home for hours. And, this time was hers.



Drury had been afeared of the dreams at first, particularly when they had begun to intrude on her waking hours.



But now, the sheer intensity of these lucid dreams had awakened something deep within: something innately primal.



The slim brunette trembled with the latent sexual thrill that had begun to rouse as she revelled in the sensations wrought by her long, slender fingers.



And, so intent was she on her own self-pleasure, that Drury noticed the slow insistent rapping on her window.



Her eyelids opened a second, and then closed again, as Drury continued to drive her fingers back and forth.



And, as her hips rose and fell, in rhythm with her pistoning motion, something, somewhere in her backbrain, heard the insistent rapping on the window-pane: as wind blew a branch upon it.



“Come in,” she called out softly, a sibilant whisper on the breeze.



And, on the edge of town, in a well-padded comfortable coffin, inside an ornate crypt, thin lips drew back into a rictus like smile, that bared two pronounced canine.



The vampire Lien was satisfied. The days of sending had proven fruitful. The invite was all he’d needed: and, tonight he would feed.



.

COMMENTS

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crowgirl
23:45 Jun 04 2009

0.o m.....more? Please? with sprinkles on top?

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ladyofdragonrose
00:13 Jun 09 2009

your such a tease....grins....

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Rachel’s Ordinary Morning.



Based on the Characters created by Angelus And Lady of Dragon Rose from the short story “An Ordinary Day” written by Angelus and continued by Lady Of Dragonrose and Angelus.



*For Adults Only



Rachel woke, stretching her arms and momentarily, she winced. Her shoulders still ached through her spell hanging from shackles attached to her bedroom wall.



And, what worse was that it was all because she had cheeked Mistress Yumi.



As she winced again, Rachel almost glowed with pride for a second; until she recalled that her Mistress would not be pleased that she had such discourteous thoughts.



After all,’ she mused. ‘it was my way’s; my manners, that brought me to her attention.



This time, she allowed herself to feel pride. For she was proud, that Mistress had chosen her. Even so, Mistress last night had to punish her last night, she knew that.



‘But, even so, I did enjoy the look on her face.’ She knew that by all she should rights she feel ashamed, for such a gross act of impertinence, but she didn’t.



Since her change in status, from Slave to P.A. Rachel had her own bedroom: not too luxurious, but, it was her own.



And, it’d been her punishment last evening, to endure being stretched “tippy toes,” from eight in the evening, until twelve midnight; just for reminding Mistress Yumi of the status her Mistress now occupied in their community.



She had turned quite incandescent with rage and to save face, her Mistress had then ordered the punishment.



Of course Yumi had wanted her fellow countrywoman “as naked as a slave should be when punished.”



And, then they had sat and talked; the two Mistress casually drinking white wine, sitting on her single bed, as her arms had felt as though they would tear from their sockets, as time had passed and the clock read eleven forty five.



Then, before she had released the shackles, Yumi had stood before her with a triumphant sneer on her face. She had twisted Rachel’s nipples, each in turn.



And though she didn’t want Mistress Yumi to take pleasure in her pain; she had groaned in agony, with eyes closed.



“That was for the sheer impertinence of speaking as you did,” She had snarled, her beautiful face contorting into an ugly facsimile of self.



Rachel stretched her arms again; and winced once more.



She looked at the clock, it was, it was 5 a.m.

“Yes, just another morning,” she said softly to herself, with a smile.