The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

About twelve foot, I think.
00:02 Aug 25 2009
Times Read: 977

Having come out of a relationship, wherein the pain of the first had been replicated by the second, not a job, nor the voluntary work, was enough to distract me from the dark thoughts, when they chose to hold sway.



I’d worked the set backshift, so the operator could go home, to her young Lover, or fall sleep over the set; although truth be told, I don’t figure that was the bosses intent, as she was also seeing him, as an aside from his wife.



Then on the weekend, when the club goers were seeking a way home; and the coaches were dropping off, I’d stand at the top of the steps, from the fly-ridden cellar where they main set was; looking out across the Mersey to the twinkling lights of Liverpool; as I stood there my clipboard in hand, trying to keep a semblance of order, by writing down name, date and the destination, for each car that had been ordered for each person before me.



And the drink being the drug that it is, there were changes in my customers that made them into a Hyde to the Jekyll they’d have been the day before, or even the day after, as I’d seen time and again.



And, there were many tussles and fights and with the women, it was always’ over a guy that a friendship would be lost; or a new dress would be queried as to cost, which would lead back to a tussle and fight, in which more than once, that new dress had been ripped, before my eyes.



I recall one particular night, a fight occurred on the steps, between a woman at the top and, another on the bottom, with me in the middle, which hadn’t been the place to be… which brings me back to that night, or perhaps I should say, early that morning and hours before dawning, as the coaches droppedoff, not once but thrice; there were ninety odd punters there, many of them testy, all wanting their taxi’s home.



And the stress of the moment, coupled with my

Feeling of utter loneliness, amidst ninety odd

people, just churned at my gut and messed with

my head at a time of the morning I wished I were abed.



“They’re cars mate, not planes,” I’d said to more

than one punter, when they’d asked me, “How

long is my car going to be?” Either that or, “About twelve foot, I think.”



And, as I stood there, bereft of a sense of me, it’d surprised me to see coming toward where I stood from my left, supporting a fellow either side of her, was a young woman I knew, in black, purple and blue…



She’d walked straight toward where I stood, my

clipboard in hand, intent on getting her friends

and herself home, after their visit to the tram sheds and the beer festival, which they’d evidently quite enjoyed.



“How are you?” She asked, with a beautiful smile, that seemed to warm that darkest place in my heart long enough for me to pause a second before I had answered honestly, “Shit.”



And then I’d just looked at her; and the tears had silently run down each cheek as I could contain them no longer. And as I had cried, in front of about ninety odd people, she took me in her arms and had allowed me the honour of feeling one person can give to the other, with the warmth of a hug.



And that’s the story of how an embittered man learnt to touch and feel again, through the good grace of a compassionate woman and, a hug.

An Ordinary Day – Endgame: Part Four
23:59 Aug 16 2009
Times Read: 996

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





Trevor had been given the keys to his Master’s second car, with simple instruction.



“Go to this address and do a reccee, I’m going to the club and see what I can see.”



Trevor finished towelling his hair, and then began to dress.



There was much to do and, the sooner it was all done, the sooner he could return to the life he so enjoyed as a submissive, to a real man.



‘But for now, there was work to be done…”



Trevor picked up the keys once dressed, then left the house.



At that moment, brow furrowed, ‘The Major’ sat at his desk, elbows on his desktop, his hands clasped.



"Boss.. she's after your money!!" Summers sat back and listened to the two men talking, as he heard Chevy Markham's words in his head.



A user the fellow was: and, driven by greed. But, he'd always proven adept with the information he passed on.



So the question he had to ask himself was why was he warning him of this now? After all, he'd been seeing the woman for awhile now.



Drumming his fingertips together, his brow furrowed, John Summers asked himself again and again, 'why now?'



The only thing that had changed was Celine's disappearance.



"Is that it??" He exclaimed, standing up and away from his desk, supporting himself on his fingertips on ht desktop, as he leant forward.



Ben and Jared looked at one another.



“Yumi is many things,” Ben opined, prowling back and forth, “but she isn’t stupid.”



He paused, then carried on speaking, “She won’t have Celine at her place. Of that I’m sure…”



Summers looked up from the table desktop, then smiled: “Maybe you’re right, but I know her well. She’ll use whoever, or whatever it takes to get what she wants.”



“So?” Jared queried, “Where are we going with this?”



“Sandrine,” he muttered in answer, “Ben tells they’re lovers.”



He waited, to see if the others in the room had listened, “So I’m guessing she’s involved, somehow…”



“Hmmmm, talking of Trevor,” Ben drawled slowly, “he’s checking on some things for me, as we speak.”



Jared turned to look at his friend, “Ever the planner.”



Ben just grinned: of the two of them, it was true he was the planner. Yet that said, Jared’s determination, nay downright stubborn streak, was just as useful as Ben’s ability to plan, his friend considered.



Moreover, it would take the pair working in tandem to solve this one, or so it seemed.



Summers had been crestfallen, at first; but Celine was his sole concern right now; the same as it was for Jared and Ben.



“I’m glad you came to me Ben. Yumi’s been an Albatross round my neck for way too long…”



“Howso?” Ben quizzed, his right eyebrow arched.



“Stuff she knows, like where I got Alice from…”



At his slave’s name, Jared turned ashen.



“I’ll be back in five minutes,” he exclaimed hurriedly and left the room.



For a moment Ben and The Major looked at one another in bemusement.



Finally Summers broke the long seconds of silence and pronounced, “Well, I’m sure we’ll find out what was so important soon enough.”



The tension in the air had been broken: and, when Jared returned to the small office, he found to his consternation that both men were laughing.



“So what was so important?” They both answered in unison.



“It was the mention of Alice,” he began, looking at the toes of his boots.



“Uh-huh,” Ben nodded in acknowledgement.



“Well…” Jared muttered.



“Go on,” The Major prompted, a grin spreading across his face, as he noted the look of embarrassment on the younger man’s face.



“I left her tied up…” he admitted, looking suitably abashed.



Again, both Summer’s and Ben began laughing: they just couldn’t help it.



Jared just stood there, listening to their infectious laughter and soon Jared too was laughing.



And suddenly, Ben’s phone rang.

An Ordinary Day – Endgame: Part Three
00:26 Aug 15 2009
Times Read: 1,002

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





There had been a demonstration from one of Celine’s male protégé Jared, when David Stapleton noticed there was something wrong.



The dark man’s eyes had bulged wide, as he watched his Mistress waver a little, then fall forward, landing face first onto the table.



David immediately rose from his knees, to ease her into an upright position.



Then, voice panicky, he had called to Rachel, “Get an ambulance!”



He hoped she had just fainted, ‘after all,’ he reasoned, ‘it is hot and… her clothes are restricting.’



Within seconds, Sandrine had been at the table, assuring them, ‘thing’s will be fine, an ambulance is on the way…’



And, there had been: the one that Yumi had organised earlier.



So it had been that Mistress Celine had been taken, just as her phone sitting on the table rang, when Ben called her, to ensure she was alright.



And, it was as Jared neared the end of his exhibition and raised welts slowly appeared on the back of his favourite slave Alice, who hung from chains attached to her the shackles round her wrists, from a ‘Y’ shaped post, that he caught a commotion occurring from the corner of his right eye.



The fair-haired Asian Rachel was there, as were several other faces he recognised at her regular table: ‘and there’s David,’ he noted; ‘But where’s my Mistress .. Celine?’



Alice turned her head, to watch as her Master drop the whip and strode across the room, towards where David and Rachel stood, looking at one another.



The smells and noise of the club dissipated into nothing as he approached the tables noting the look of distress on Stapleton’s face and Jared asked, “What’s the matter?”



Tears forming in his eyes, the dark-skinned slave told him, “They took her away.”



And, as tears began to flow, Jared turned to the ashen-faced Rachel.



The normally self-composed Asian stuttered as she answered, “Mistress fell unconscious and, an ambulance was called. They took her away.”



Feeling assured that he’d been brought to speed Jared felt calmer, as he asked Rachel, “Which hospital did they take her to?”



Pausing to think, Rachel looked shame-faced as she told Jared, “I don’t know.”



“What the fuck!?!” He exclaimed in disbelief.



“Do you know?” He snapped, turning to David, who was now sniffling back his tears and wiping his nose on the back of his left wrist.



“No,” the tall dark slave admitted morosely.



Jared whirled back to face Rachel and barked at her, “So tell me, who ordered the ambulance?”



And, as if one person, David and Rachel turned to look at one another and say the same name: “Sandrine.”



At their mention of the French girls name, David looked to the bar.



With a glance of his eyes, Rachel saw what he had; or didn’t see what he had noticed.

The young French woman was gone, leaving the bar virtually unmanned.



“Sandrine?” Jared repeated quite unnecessarily.



“Yes, they both answered, as one.



“Okaaaay then,” he drawled, more to himself than to those around him, “I think I need a word with ‘The Major.’



Both Rachel and David felt as though they should do more, say more; just, do something. Yet what?



“Never liked it…” Rachel mouthed to David, as Jared walked toward the bar and the last member of bar-staff now working the bar, a young man by the name of Alex, someone knew well.



And, from her vantage point, Alice watched her Master drag the former executive across the bar by the scruff of his shirt-collar.



“Tell Summers, Jared wants a word…”



“Yes Sir, yessir…” the submissive answered, slurring words one into another.



Alex found his feet and quickly made for the door that led to John Summers office.

Angel for Lunch
01:10 Aug 10 2009
Times Read: 1,021

Adult Fanfiction, written for a friend.









Slowly the young woman ran her hands across his broad shoulders, to the buttons on his white cotton shirt, all the time looking up, into his eyes.



On by one, she undid the buttons on his shirt, till none were fastened and with a slight tug, she was able to loosen it from his tight leather trousers.



Running her right hand across his chest, the young woman was well aware of his heartbeat, as it increased in speed.



She ran eager hands across his defined pectoral muscles to graze her thumbs over the tips of his ever-so sensitive nipples and he closed his eyes, sighing with pleasure.



* *



The show had ended hours earlier and he rested in the hotel room that had been provided as part of the tour.



Resting his left boot on the edge of the coffee table Chriss lifted his right leg up, lay his right heel on the edge of the sofa, his clasped hands over his crooked knee.



Joanne wouldn’t approve he thought, displaying a mirthless grin.



‘Then again,’ he mused, ‘all I have of her now is earache from his lawyers.’



Then there’d been those comments made by Perez Hilton, ‘the idiot,’ he mused; a critic who he’d let get under his skin for a split second, which he’d later regretted.



And then, there’d been that Hefner cast-off Holly: all he’d been to her was public exposure, a hand to hold when the paps showed up. He was nothing to her, of that he was completely sure.



Chriss stared at the boob-tube, thinking back to happier times, when the thrill of performing had been all: that was, until ‘they’ started taking ‘their’ cut, from his invention, skill and enterprise.



‘If Magic is the new Rock ‘n Roll,” he muttered, “then Elvis has left the building.”



He picked up the remote and changed the channel: the news was boring; his visit to England seemed the only event of any note, no matter which channel he tried.



‘And that,’ Angel concluded, ‘was sad.’



‘I am an entertainer, no more than that,’ he kept assuring his staff, fans and the numerous reporters that visited his suite; all of them with one thing in mind, portraying him as something other than what he was, he felt.



Again he switched channel, choosing to watch cartoons, rather than some more footage from the previous nights performance.





To use an English expression he’d heard a few nights earlier, Chriss was ‘cheesed-off.’



And sweeping an errant lank of hair away from his eyes, Chriss stood, took a bandanna from his back pocket and tied round his head, drawing his long dark hair to the back of his neck, where he tied it off.



Looking at a wall mirror, he smiled at his reflection image: “A definite touch of Slash,” he mused aloud.” And he grinned momentarily.



Being maudlin wasn’t an option.



Of Greek parentage, Chrisstopher Nicholas Sarantkos, or Chriss Angel as he was known, had achieved much in his forty-one years; he had levitated before stunned onlookers, cut himself in two; and, even walked on water.



And now, he was not going to mope. He was going to go somewhere, different.

But first he had to do something: he placed his mobile phone on the coffee-table, in front of the sofa.



And for a moment, just a moment, Chriss smiled naturally, as he thought of what ‘they’ would say, when it was discovered he had disappeared.



And then two days later a young woman was presented with an unusual problem, ‘What to do when you’re faced with a celebrity you adore and has sought to disappear from the limelight?’



Just ten minutes from the station, the Pizza place on Copt Oak Place had a sign on the window, ‘eat in or out’.



There weren’t too many seats, but the too-slim goth babe with sad eyes had found one near the window.



She was there to eat ice-cream, a lot of it. After all, she’d had a major disappointment.



The well-muscled Greek illusionist wasn’t going to play the N.E.M.



And, what was worse, no-one knew where he was: ‘Life was so unfair.’



She dug a large scoop of vanilla and, was about to shove it into her mouth, when the bell above the door sounded on the entrance of a young looking man, with a slim face and walked through the door.



He walked with a naturally confident swagger, wearing a black leather jacket over a white-shirt, with tight black leathers, the ends of which were tucked into heavy looking biker boots. His hair was straight dark and long and worn beneath a bandanna, tied off at the back of his head. Over his eyes his wore wraparound shades.



Three words passed through her head, ‘Fit as fuck.’



He looked back and forth and then passed by her, as he walked to the counter to make his order. That done, he turned round and began walking towards the few seats, where she sat, thinking to herself, ‘He is, he is, he is going to sit near me.’



Sitting down, he eyed the Goth-babe up and down.



“Like the boots…” Chriss told her.



Blushing a little, Becky Richardson looked hard at the stranger; aware that his voice rang bells for her, in fact it rang a lot of bells for her.



But, it couldn’t be who she thought he was; after all, according to the news he’d disappeared. And besides, he wouldn’t show up in a town like hers, ‘No-way.’



“Thanks,” she responded, ‘I like yours.”



‘I meant the boots!’ She screamed in her head, trying to draw her somewhat fixed gaze, away from the bulge in his tight, black leather jeans.



Becky noticed the man’s head turn to the counter, as if he were getting impatient and she didn’t want their chat to end, not yet.



“What brings you here?” She asked.



“Narborough Hall,” he told her with a broad smile.



Narborough Hall brings you here?” She asked curiously.



“No,” he responded with a wide grin, “the train did.”



“The train did?” Becky repeated quite unnecessarily, as the sun shone outside and he slowly removed his shades, to show her his deep, soulful-looking brown eyes.



The grin spread wider still. And, his smile captivated her.



“The matter transporters on the fritz, so yeah… train it was.” As he finished speaking, his deep brown eyes twinkling with humour,



Becky was spellbound. She knew the voice, the eyes. It was who she thought it was.

‘But, what’s he doing here?’



Ice-cream forgotten, Becky asked the question she’d been meaning to ask outside of her own thoughts.



“What am I doing here?” He asked, paraphrasing her question.



She nodded.



“How about getting a pizza, finding a place to eat it, then go find Narborough Hall, it’s on my list you see?” It was said as though it should make perfect sense to her, yet made as little sense as his presence in the Pizza Place this sunny afternoon.



And, Becky’s eyes lit up. She’d had an idea.



‘You could come to mine… If you want,” she said slowly, “The folks are out and I’d like the company,” she added quickly.



She’d said ‘cum’ and Becky wanted to laugh. It was silly, juvenile she knew; but very, very funny. But she didn’t laugh; instead she carried on talking.



“And what did your parents tell you about talking to strangers?” He queried teasingly.



As if in answer, the elfin-waif in black proffered her hand, which he accepted.

And as they shook hands, she said to him, “My names Becky…”



She leaned in a little, close enough to smell him and told Chriss, “I know who you are…” Becky knew she was gushing, ‘but what can I do about that Hey?? It is HIM...’



She was also warm and tingly ‘down below’, with an arousal as intense as anything she had known before. Oh-Boy, did she know who this was.



“Your place?” Chriss mused aloud, staring into the young woman’s adoring eyes.



‘Yeah why not?’ He wondered: “I’m not here anyway.” He reminded himself.



Becky stood up and away from the counter top and staring, Chriss told her, “Nice tatt.”



Below a bejewelled pierced belly button, sweeping away to either side of her belly from a heart interwoven with a triangle were a stylised ivy tendril sweeping from it.



‘Thank you,’ she told him in response to the compliment, suddenly blushing furiously and hating herself for doing so, in front of him.

.

He crouched down before her and began tracing the edges of the swept leaves with his right fore-finger.



“Definitely different.”



“Yeah, I have a fucking plant tattooed on my stomach,” she responded with a shrug of her slim shoulders and a light musical laugh.



Chriss placed his hands on her bird-bone hips, and leant forward, noting briefly the jewellery attached to a belt-loop on one side of her jeans to the belt-loop on the other side of the clasp: a well-made novelty set of handcuffs, obviously fastened after she had finished dressing.



He looked up at her, now holding her hips, and gently pressed his lips against the flesh below her navel.



“Well.” Chriss murmured, “I do like your fucking plant.” And, he put emphasis on the word ‘fucking;’ an emphasis she caught.



Trembling, Becky took hold of his shoulders, “Your orders ready.”



‘Why?? Why Now??’ That voice in her head screamed.



Chriss turned to look at the main counter behind which a young woman stood, with his box wrapped up.



“Ah,” he exclaimed, getting up and walking to the counter where he paid for his pizza and turned back to Becky; “Are you sure of about the offer?”



‘Awww, isn’t he polite?’ She couldn’t help but think with a mental grin, as she held open the door with a ding of the bell above it: “Yes,” she answered with a smile.



“Do you want to walk, it’s not too far. Or?” She asked, as he followed behind her, quite liking what he saw: she was wearing grey skinny jeans, with a rip in the knee, new rocks that came up to her knees and an old system of a down tee.



He liked all the piercing and smiled at her Criss Angel cross belt.



And the jeans fit tight, in all the right places; ‘nice butt,’ he thought, the smile turning into a grin.



“Or.. I guess.” He pointed to a private hire taxi, parked ahead of them.



“Aha,” she exclaimed with a light laugh, “the transporter!”



“Uh-uh,” he muttered following her to the car and he opened the nearest passenger door for her.



Becky bounced onto the seat and closed the door, giving her home address to the driver, as Chriss got into the front next to the driver.



And, as the driver pulled away and moved into traffic, Becky sat there with a fixed grin on her face. ‘So happy, so happy; so darn happy,’ she sang in her head for much of the journey to her home, which took less than ten minutes.



The driver paid off, Chriss followed her down the path to the front door, musing on the sight before him with a grin: ‘Yeah sure, she’s younger than me. But this is my holiday and she is old enough and…’



“Come in,” Becky told him, holding open the front door.



He stepped in and found himself standing very close to the young woman, in a small hallway. And for a long moment, neither spoke, each of them very aware of the breathing of the other.



Breaking the spell, Chriss asked: “Are all young women in England this confidant? ”

“Yes we are,” Becky answered, leading Chriss through the house.

“When we know what we want,” she added, as she took the pizza box from him, which she set to one side in the kitchen.



“Would you like a drink, with your meal? Or..” Becky didn’t know what else she wanted to ask; hormones raging, all she could think was how could she get him inside her pants, as soon as humanly possible, or sooner.



Returning to face him Becky felt hypnotised by his eyes and how perfect his lips looked, all sensuous and moist looking, slowly easing the gap between them.



“Are you sure?” Chriss asked her, running his right palm against her oh-so warm face.

She felt like answering with, ‘I’m so sure, that I could rip your clothes off here and now and take you in way’s you’ve never thought of. Instead, she nodded.



Becky slid her hands inside his jacket and around his waist and stepped forward a little bit more, till her face became pressed up against his broad chest.



His hands found the back of her legs, where he gently rubbed up to her upper thigh and back down again as he leant down, as she looked upward.



Chriss pressed his lips to hers, as she melted into him, allowing him to ravish her mouth with his questing tongue.



His hands worked upward until both his palms cupped both Becky’s pert buttocks.



Momentarily he broke from the kiss to ask again, “Are you sure?”



And, as if to answer him, Becky pressed her body tight up to him, her rapid breathing and eager lips evidence of her own arousal.



“Nice,” he murmured, as his lips sought out hers once again.



Suddenly, Becky surprised him, by pulling out of his arms.



“What the…?”



“C’mon,” she began, taking his left hand in hers, “let’s go upstairs to my room.”



Chrisss Angel smiled at her invite and was easily led, as Becky took him to her room.







Inside, he removed his jacket, which she took and dropped onto a chair, strewn with jeans, panties a bag and a belt.



Chrisss removed the shades and bandanna and shook his hair loose, looking around the room as he did so: the room was girly, with a slight dash of surreal and a haphazard dose of non-fiction lying near her laptop, on the floor between the window and the end of the bed.



Tidying away the few things she really didn’t want seen, Becky moved quickly as she spoke, “I’m on a Goth web site, Vampirerave. There’s a guy on there who I chat with called Angelus…”



“Angelus, like in Angel the TV character?” He queried, watching as Becky finally found the small flesh-feel six-inch vibrator she’d been looking for.



“Yes,” she replied, oblivious to the fact that he knew what she’d been looking for, or that he now knew where she’d hid it.



“Come here,” he instructed. And, she liked it. She liked the tone of authority in his voice; and with her stomach full of hob-nailed boot wearing faeries, she walked across the room, to her lover.



Becky slowly ran her hands across his broad shoulders, to the buttons on his white cotton shirt, all the time looking up, into his eyes.



One by one, she undid the buttons on his shirt, till none were fastened and with a slight tug, she was able to loosen it from his tight leather trousers.



Running her right hand across his chest, she was well aware of his heartbeat, as it increased in speed.



She ran eager hands across his defined pectoral muscles to graze her thumbs over the tips of his ever-so sensitive nipples and he closed his eyes, sighing with pleasure.



Becky kissed his neck, working her way down to lick the skin in the middle of his chest. She kissed licked and sucked each nipple, hardening each.



She bit down on his right nipple and heard a sharp intake of breath. She did it again to his left nipple. And, she looked up into Chriss’s eyes and asked, “Shall I stop?”



He sighed and shook his head, “Hell no.”



Smiling, Becky scraped her fingernails across the side of his chest and started kissing his way down his stomach.



Soon she was on her knees, her hands on his hips as she looked up, smiling.



With her eyes Becky was asking him a multitude of questions: and, at the head of the list was ‘do you want me to give you a blowjob?’



Yet, that was the last thing he wanted right now: Chriss wanted her badly, all of her.









"Stand up" he said "Let me see what's under those clothes"



Becky stood up and slowly slipped off her tee-shirt, till he could see all her flesh above her jeans, bar that covered by a black bra with white polka dots and a small pink rose.



Beneath her neck and between her shoulder-blades was another tattoo, a heart and triangle entwined, within a circle.



“Does the tatt mean something special, to you?” He asked; “It is kinda like the one on your sexy belly…”



“It’s a sort of Yin-Yang thingie, y’know?” Becky answered, very aware of his eyes watching her every move.



She reached behind herself and undid the clasp and allowed the bra to fall to the floor.



Teasingly, Becky turned to face away from him and slowly slid her jeans skirt down. Once they were pooled around her ankles, she I bent over ever-so slightly and gave him a nice look of her bum.



"Oh yes Becky, that's a nice white ass you have there and those black panties look so-nice and, your…”



He had been going to say ‘butt cheeks looks amazing’, but had found herself distracted by the feel of her flesh, which he’d been drawn to.



With remarkable restraint, he stood away and said, “Turn round.”



Becky did as requested, her arms crossed over her breasts, as she held her shoulders and trembled visibly as he ran his hands over her black lace panties, the middle finger of his right hand traced the small red rose he found at the front.



“Very pretty,” he murmured.



Looking to the floor, Becky glanced up and smiled coquettishly,.



She slid her thumbs under the panties elastic waistband at her hips and brought her eyes up to his, as he watched her ease the somewhat damp panties down her slim, shapely legs.



As she stood Becky was well aware that he was looking at her pubis, grateful that she trimmed herself well just that very morning.



“Aw sweet,” he sighed aloud.



“well, you could find out,” Becky assured him, as she drew the middle finger of her left hand between her legs and opening her lips, wet with her need.



Tremulous with desire and curious to see what Chriss would do, she offered him the finger, which he took in gentle fingers and guided to his lips.



He opened his mouth, took the sticky digit into his mouth and licked it clean.



Finally satisfied that he’d cleaned the finger thoroughly, he took her face in his hands and turned her face to his as he leaned down.



He kissed her forcefully, and then grasping her shoulders pulled her from their embrace and pushed her face down, onto the bed.



When Becky turned her head, Chriss was already naked; the cuffs from her jeans now full-size and in his left hand, his proud hard cock in his other hand, already leaking pre-cum.



She licked her lips, her right hand beneath her already searching for her blood-engorged clitoris.



He sat at her left and drew both her hands behind her back and in seconds Becky found herself wrists securely locked within the handcuffs behind her back.



“Sorry to stop your play Becky,” he said to her with a smile, “but, there’s something I want to have.”



“What’s that?” She asked in a small voice.



Left hand on the base of her spine, Chris caressed her buttock-flesh as he told her, “Your submission. I want your submission…”



‘Oh boy’ she thought, ‘you didn’t have to cuff me for that. But, I like it.’



“Have you got any lube?” He asked.



“Yes,” she murmured into the pillows, “top drawer of the locker.”



Chris bounced off the bed and walked across the room, opened the draw seized a tube of KY-Jelly, “Perfect.”



He sat once more at her side and removing the top of the tube, poured a liberal amount onto his right hand.



Leaning forward, he kissed the tatt on the back of her neck, as two fingers opened up a place where few went: and Becky mewled with pleasure, as his fingers filled her and began to slide slowly, back and forth.



And for a moment, her thinking mind seemed to evaporate, rapt as she was in the act of desires unwrapped and made real.



“Ready for another?” Chriss asked in a soft voice, against her left ear.



And, as he drew his fingers from inside, leaving her feeling empty, Becky pressed her lips to his, as magically her toy found its way into his possession.



She moaned as he slid the buzzing vibrator between her wet lips and slowly inside her warmth, which he held there with his left knee, as three fingers now opened up her tight sphincter muscles, all at once.



“Do you think you’re ready sweet thing?” He whispered in a sibilant tone.



‘Ready? Ready? I was ready the moment you walked into the Pizza Place!’ Becky could have shouted at the top of her voice. But she just groaned, pushing back against the fingers that drove in and out of her now so-receptive asshole.



“Cool,” he told her and kissed her neck again, as her fingers found his right nipple and teased them, as best they could, bound as she was beneath him.



He lay over her back and supporting himself on his left arm, he eased the driving fingers out of her and slid himself inside.



It was hard at first, she was still tighter than he’d have hoped after such preparation, but he wouldn’t mind. Chriss couldn’t mind, he wanted her, badly.



He was slow at first, as he filled her completely, much to her delight.



With muscles flexing he supported himself on both arms, as he pistoned back and forth, driving his length in and out of Becky’s well-lubed passage.



And she sighed beneath him, her pleasure at being taken, by him.



All of a sudden her hands were free and she was being turned over and wrapping her legs round his lower back, as Chris re-entered her, enjoying the feel of her body as he drove his length back inside her, deep inside her.



Yet, now she was able to play: and play she did.



She stared into his brown eyes, panting, as he drove back and forth, thumbing at her pebble-like nipples with the thumb and fore-finger of each hand;



Becky took the vibrator in hand, using it fast and furiously, as Chriss continued to ease in and out of her distended anus.



“So good, so tight. So nice…” He muttered, as he continued to thrust.



“But, swear down I don’t last much longer,” He gasped.



“Then don’t,” Becky told him, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing his lips to hers and he grasped hold her calves and, began to rabbit-fuck her.

It was base, animal and as they sweat and, the room smelt of their sex, both of them revelled in the moment.



Yet all too soon, passion gave way to the explosion of mutual climax, as Chriss leant forward his hands on her hips, as he thrust home seemingly deeper her still.



And, he locked his lips to hers, as he began to pump his seed deep into her bowels.



It was only when he had emptied himself completely he was able to relax, into her arms and they kissed, tenderly; each of them sated. For now.



For now they rested, in each other’s arms, satisfied.



And yet, Becky couldn’t help it: she reached down and touched her clit lightly for a while enjoying its sense heightened sensitivity, then slid her fingers between her opened lips. She pulled their combined juices up and over her clit, swirling.



She was so wet and tasted of them both, a taste she liked, very much.



All of a sudden Chriss asked: “You got a nuke?”

“Yes we have,” Becky answered slowly, feeling ever-so lethargic.



“Good!” Chriss responded, “well maybe I could get my pizza miked and we could maybe’s go see Narborough Hall laters, if you’re up for it?”



Becky answered, by running her left hand over his sweat-shiny body, then downward where he started to respond to her touch.



“Hmmm,” he groaned, “maybe later.”

An Ordinary Day – Endgame: Part Two
17:58 Aug 05 2009
Times Read: 1,032




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









Events had moved fast that night.



Chevy had phoned in to tell Summers that he couldn’t make it: ‘Family issues,’ he’d said. And, Summers had turned to his waif-like lover, a distinct follower of heroin chic, asking her to help staff the bar.



Kissing his ear, the young French woman had said to him, “For you, anything…”



Then, after a long pause and several more butterfly kisses to Summers left earlobe, she whispered, “And I will be paid, won’t I?”



Sandrine would be paid, of course she would.



Running a big hand up the back of her legs, Summers caressed her pert-naked buttocks.



He smiled broadly, and then said to her, “If you wear more than a tee-shirt, yes.”



She did well out of older lover, who adored her.



Yet, he would have felt differently if he’d known of her connection to Yumi, which had begun back in France, during the time Yumi had spent in Europe.



Initially it had been the dominant Asian who had seduced Sandrine, who had readily responded to her advances, which had led to a night of unbridled lust.



Yet, though it had been Yumi who had seduced her, Sandrine had quickly taken to the pleasures of the flesh; and so that night and over many more, she had sought to please her lover again and again.



Then she had arranged for Sandrine to visit her in America after she had moved back there; and in turn, Marley’s the club her old business colleague had opened up.



An introduction had been made and, after a night of hot and sweaty sex, Sandrine quickly became enmeshed in every aspect of John Summers life; and, he became truly obsessed with her.



Their relationship had been intense, so much so that Summers missed seeing a lot.

Either Sandrine was very clever, or he had chosen to be oblivious to her actions.



But, he loved her, which gave Yumi cause to smile, every time she thought of how her plans were dependant on his blind love.



And so far plans had proceeded as she had meticulously prepared.



So it was, when Celine arrived at Marley’s, Yumi had smiled a lot more than usual.

But as ever, the club was busy and, the one thing that might have engendered Celine’s suspicions had been missed.



Celine walked in with her two companions. One was a tall dark young man dressed only in jeans; his well-muscled chest bare except for the black leather collar and leash he wore around his neck. The other had been a rather tall Asian woman with blond hair, who all knew as Rachel.



All eyes wandered over the petite Mistress, with long black hair and smoky brown eyes as she walked by her head held high, with grace one could only admire.



Celine was favoured among the club members and it was not uncommon to see her holding court in her favourite corner of the club. The club owners welcomed her as if she were royalty. And in their world, she was.



She slid into the seat and crossed her long legs, her black leather mini skirt riding up her thighs; her long black hair cascaded down to her hips in soft waves. Her purple corset was just cut low enough for those looking to wish they could see more. Rachel rose, to get her Mistress a bottle of mineral water, prior to the evenings show.



Then Celine turned around to face the front of the room as she took a cigarette out of her case and lit it, and took in the atmosphere of the club, while Rachel walked through the crowded floor space.



She made her way to the bar, where Sandrine was working, wearing as little as her paramour would allow, a little black dress, with a cutaway back that had its hem ending at the top of her thighs, the back of the dress literally hugging her buttocks.



Sandrine looked as harried as she felt, as she moved from one punter to another.

Yet flustered as she was, she ensured that Celine got the bottle that had been so very carefully prepared, for her. And, the night carried on.

An Ordinary Day – Endgame: Part One.
14:43 Aug 02 2009
Times Read: 1,040

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







Trevor knelt before his master, hands on his knees.



He was naked and calm, at last.



For days, weeks, what seemed months, he’d been lent to Mistress Yumi, as a lazy slave, who needed re-education.



“After all,” he’d heard his Master say to her, “we all know you have training techniques that Celine would not use, techniques that work.”



It had been flattery for her benefit. Yet, it had worked: for within the hour, his Master had a slave in her camp as it were, ready to pass on anything of import. And, there would be: Ben knew that.



So, as hours turned into days and days turned into weeks, Trevor had watched and listened to all that happened at her home, as he had endured a rigorous regime of re-training.



Then, finally he had something to tell his Master. So he’d waited, waited until Yumi was bathing; and then, he’d run.



Ben paced back and forth, hands clasped behind his back.



“So…” he drawled, “tell me that again…”



Trevor looked up.



“She had a visitor. Chevy. The barman from Marley’s…”



“And?” Ben had heard the tale once, but needed to hear it again, while he decided how best to act.



“He was there to sell information to her. Though…”



Trevor paused, deep in thought.



“It seemed to me that she has something on him…”



“Go on!” Ben snapped, “What did he say?”



“He arrived late on. An… an, he was telling Yumi that ‘The Major’ was definitely going through with the sale…”



“And?”



“Well it was something she said. She’d said ‘Celine must’ve known of his purchase and even if she didn’t mind about it, then maybe the law would.’”



“The law?” Ben muttered.



He’d known his teacher had a life before this now and knew that she talked of that time rarely: ‘But the law? Celine had to know of this…”



Ben picked up his mobile and rang Celine’s private number.



No answer.



Ben looked at his watch.



Celine should be at the club, he told himself frowning.



‘Something is wrong…’ he thought.



Ben looked down at his faithful slave and allowed a smile to slip across his face.



“You did well Trevor. Now go bathe, and then get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”



“Yes Master,” Trevor acknowledged.



Trevor wanted to do something anything, to ease his Master’s concerns. But, he knew he had done all he could, for now.



“Now leave,” Ben instructed, “I need to think.”



And, just a few miles away Chevy Markham sat in a seedy bar, nursing a scotch.



He should have been working at Marley’s, yet he wasn’t.



Although the money in his pocket felt good in his pocket, he didn’t feel too good about the way he had earned it. In fact, Chevy didn’t feel good about it at all.



He couldn’t help it.



He owed ‘The Major.’



Back in France, all that time ago, John Summers was known as ‘The Major’ was a big man even then, shoulders, chest and further, his charisma.



And that man, that big man in the locale, had given a badly shaven, lank-haired no-mark speed-freak a chance.



‘The Major’ had opened a beach bar; then as that became more successful, he’d opened his first BDSM club. And, the downbeat James Whitman had become Chevy Markham, a muscled and shaven-headed powerful looking barman, loyal to his employer.



It was at that time that Celine had left Summers. And, though no-one knew why, there’d been stories.



Either way, Yumi, Mistress Yumi as she’d become known by then, had been in the background, supplying to his needs.



And although Celine had parted from Summers, their continued friendship and her enmity toward Yumi, had ensured that the fellow felt like a middleman in his own life.



Chevy smiled, as remembered the gulls screech overhead, as they had stood in a light airy room. He sipped at his drink, recalling the scowl of frustration on his employers face.



‘The Major’ had turned, to look out the window, at the blue of the bay.



“Nice place to visit. But, this isn’t for me anymore James... er sorry, Chevy.”



“Why boss?” He had asked, feeling it was called for.



“Why? Too many memories…”



Two day’s later they had left France. They had moved back to the good ole U.S. of A and Summers had taken Chevy Markham with him, to help open Marley’s.



Markham finished his drink, lifting his hand to indicate to the nearest barstaff, a young slip of a thing name of Melanie, looking good in blue denim short shorts, that he wanted a re-fill.



And, as he waited, Chevy thought back, to the call he had received after he had seen Yumi walk into Marley’s; and the look on her face when she had seen Celine, sitting amongst a small group of people, sitting proud, head held high, long black hair and high cheekbones part of her proud heritage, Native Cherokee.



That was the night he had realised that there would be trouble: ‘that look’ had been the giveaway.



And, the money in his pocket weighed hard, as hard as the mobile in his other pocket, which he got out.



He flipped it open and dialled: “Mister Summers,” he began, “there’s something that I have to tell you. But first, I have to ask, ‘Is Sandrine there?’”



Markham heard ‘The Major’s response and smiled, then began to talk.