The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Contrived?
14:44 Jun 26 2008
Times Read: 1,032

He looked in the mirror, prior to leaving the house: “Don’t forget a jacket,” he was told by his Father, much to his chagrin.

“It might rain on your return, from your walk.” They knew him and his ‘walks’ too well indeed.

Ten years back with the folks, the three of them had got used to one another again. It had taken awhile. And, his Father could still be a bit fractious at times: That and overbearing.

“It’s almost like I’m always their little boy,” he mused, as he pulled on his green zip-up windcheater and turning the collar up, before looking in the mirror once again: thinning on top, definitely. It was a case of male-pattern baldness, in three directions.

‘Wore betide me, when they meet in the middle,’ he thought with a grin, and then left the house with three liquorice and blackcurrant sweets in his top shirt pocket.

It was bright and still too warm for his liking, as he walked to the station, smiling ruefully at the sight of his train pulling into the station already.

“’kin Hell,” he muttered, then noticed the receiver dangling down from the phone in the phone-box outside the station. So he opened the door and placed the receiver back onto the cradle.

As he did this, the fellow noticed the digital read-out was in error.

So, picking up the receiver once more, he pressed one hundred for the operator, then followed a few step more to find himself talking to Victoria, working somewhere in a BT call-centre, somewhere.

She didn’t need to know his name, he learnt; but paid interest in the fault he spoke of.

She even went as far as to him; ‘which was nice, of her’ he’d thought, as he entered the ticket office.

“Ticket for Birkenhead,” he’d said, then added after a moment’s hesitation, “And can I borrow a scrap of paper and a pen?” He had a story to write down, ‘why not do it on the train?’

Hours later, after a session with friends, he mused aloud to his them: “I want to end a story, so it doesn’t sound contrived …”

“So, get someone else to write it,” one of them joked, with a wide smile and a laugh.

Anticipating Payment
23:35 Jun 23 2008
Times Read: 1,036

A short story, for Adults



‘..are you alone, right Now?’ She read.

‘Yeah... alone in my office... door closed...’ she typed in answer.

‘..remove your panties (I do want a pair sent to me, smelling of you) then write down that scenario..’ He wrote in response. She read the message back once more. The directions were clear.

And, although the distance between them was enormous, their relationship was such that he knew she would do as instructed.

So, she did as the note said and removed her panties, smoothed down her skirt over her backside, and then began to type.

She was alone, and writing to him while she touched herself, opening her sex looking for the clit... rubbing it, gently.

‘he said that i had to pay for the photos with another photos... and he put me down between his legs and made me suck his cock... he took three pics...’

‘..how was 'my little girl' dressed, when she went down on the photographer??

Did you think of me, at all? Or just his satisfaction?? And just what sort of photographs does he want to take, in payment?’ he had typed back.

‘..slide those fingers back and forth, through the lips, gently. And then ease your fingers back to your waiting, throbbing clit,’ she read in the next email.

For this, she needed little instruction whatsoever. She was very aroused.

He must have typed fast, judging by the speed in which she received it, after she sent her email.

‘naked...’ she answered, ‘because he was taking some pics of me touching myself and suddenly he felt aroused and asked me if i would do it... and i said yes... and of course i thought about you... because i knew that i would send them to you... also wanted his satisfaction because i cant deny i was also excited and wanted to make him cum...’

‘Where you as aroused then as you're becoming now.. telling me about it? Where did he cum?’ She read next. It was obvious to her, that she had made the right decision, telling him about the photographs.

All too soon, she had to go to the bathroom because her climax was rising. Once there, she sat down, having raised her skirt. Then she opened her legs and continued rubbing and squeezing her clit between her fingers... entering two fingers inside herself... moving them in and out... and then, in that small tiled room, shut away from the rest of the Embassy, she found her release. Ah, how she liked it, when she could speak with him.

‘absolutely...’ she wrote in answer, when she had returned to her chair, ‘i was completely aroused and now that I’m remembering i can feel it again, he got hard so easily ... that when i realized what was happening i have him completely in my mouth and both of his hands on the back of my head, pressing me against him... it was delicious ... and when he cum in my mouth i licked him up completely... then we had wild sex again... and well, i hope to have paid all the photos..’

‘..if you haven't, will you have to satisfy him again?’ He had typed in response.

For a moment, this made her think, ‘would i have to i wonder?’

That thought alone was enough to get her juices flowing and she smiled.

She needed the bathroom again, definitely.

‘of course...’ she mused, just two minutes later, her fingers working overtime, ‘and i would like to do it again...’

An Ordinary morning.
15:34 Jun 19 2008
Times Read: 1,057

A short-story, for Adults.





She was asleep, then awake; just like that.

There was bright sunlight shafting through a gap in the drapes; and she could see thousands of dust motes floating in its light.

She blinked, several times, in part to get the sleep out of her eyes, whilst assuring herself that she was in reality.

“It was absurd, to think that a dream can affect me like that,” she mused aloud, pleased to hear her own voice, as it was a sign of normality.

She brushed her long dark hair away from broad, elegant shoulders and smiled.

“I need caffeine,” she told herself, “and nicotine.” She added, swinging her legs round and sitting on the edge of the bed. Celine Jenkins looked at the clock, and the smile left her face immediately.

“Eight o’clock, on a Saturday?”

‘Aw, c’mon…” she thought, annoyed at the vagaries of the recent sleep pattern, or lack thereof.

Nearly a week of these early wakings.

When she had to work, that was okay, But on a Saturday, her day of rest?

That just wasn’t on.

Celine stood.

Not quite eight and the heat already sufficiently warm to warrant her opening the window.

The heat would be oppressive later. Celine did not relish that at all; her cerise nightdress was already clinging to her undeniably womanly curves.

She stood, opening the small casement windows, put it on the latch at its widest and grinned, pulling the drapes shut once more.

There was already a fine sheen of perspiration, covering her flesh and, for a nanosecond; she nearly forgave the cigarette, in favour of a cold-shower.

‘But,’ she told herself, ‘that can wait.’

Severe nicotine depletion had taken place overnight and that had to be remedied.

As she washed her hands and face, Celine looked into the mirror, for long moments.

She looked at herself and smiled ruefully.

Time hadn’t been as kind to her, as she would have liked.

There were a few more laughter lines than she found amusing and her black hair, which ended mid-back, showed the odd grey hair. Not many, but enough to annoy her.

But, she hardly needed the glasses, she occasionally wore and her pronounced cheek-bones, a remnant of her native-American heritage, had allowed her to age far better than some women of her age.

The only thing she didn’t like, was her nose.

‘Too big,’ she thought, leaning forward a little, to peer into the mirror.

“Enough of this,” she reminded herself, turning away from the visage of a woman in her middle-age, whom she preferred to see as little as possible.

Then she padded into the kitchen, barefoot, her only clothing the simple shift nightgown, that hardly suited her curves, yet was all she deemed necessary, as she had no-one to impress, of late.

She had stopped drinking coffee a while back, so a sugar-free Coke satisfied her need for caffeine, as he stood at the backdoor and lit her first cigarette of the day.

Exhaling the acrid blue-grey smoke, Celine debated her feeling of unease.

Then reality blurred, as a dragonfly whirred by the open door.

She looked at her cigarette, ‘The First of the day.’

As her head swirled, the brunette put her hand to the wall…

“I think it’s back to bed-time,” she muttered closing the door and returning to bed.

She was asleep, then awake; just like that.

There was bright sunlight shafting through a gap in the drapes; and she could see thousands of dust motes floating in its light.

She blinked, several times, in part to get the sleep out of her eyes, whilst assuring herself that she was in awake: and not still asleep and dreaming.

A phone was ringing, downstairs.

Now Celine was awake and wondering where she was.

She was in her bed, but the room seemed different, somehow.

Confused, she looked round the room, her eyes resting momentarily on the chair beneath the window, a rush seated 18th Century elm and beech chair, of the 18th Century. A set of handcuffs sat on the seat.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

“Come in?” Celine called out cautiously.

A tall, blonde-haired dazzling Asian beauty stepped into the room. It was Rachel; somehow she knew that.

“Where was that memory from?” She mused.

The Asian-doll wore a black lacy two- piece lacy vest and panties.

Rachel smiled demurely, offering her the phone.

“It’s work,” she informed Celine in a soft voice; and then slowly stripped of the black lingerie and removed overmatched panties, releasing a cut seven inches, already aroused and pointing upward.

Stepping back, Rachel blushed shyly and knelt by the side of the bed.

One hand on the Orientals head, Celine stroked the blonde hair absently, as she spoke on the phone, to her favourite client; a submissive named Henry.

“Mistress Celine, may I see you on Monday? Please?” the normally stern headmaster entreated of her.

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” she responded, as the Asian slowly eased back the duvet, to reveal the leather harness she wore, that emphasised her full beasts, heaving with her anticipation of the next moment.

Then pulling the duvet further down, Rachel looked at Celine, as if seeking her approval. She nodded.

“…ring me back tomorrow, I’ll have an answer for you then,” Celine said with a light smile, as soft delicate fingers ran over her left thigh.

Then the young Asian began placing butterfly kisses on the exposed flesh, eager to please Mistress Celine.

‘Rachel is a delicate, sweet, feminine, loving sweetheart,’ she thought, her memories returning slowly.

The stranger, of the night.
00:05 Jun 17 2008
Times Read: 1,068

An Adult fantasy.





This schoolgirl is walking back home from a party, followed by this man, as she walks down a dark alley...

He walks slowly, looking at the mini skirt moving in front of his eyes... the girl unaware of what he's thinking...

“Is she as knowledgeable as some of ‘em?" he muses, already aroused, at the thought of her possession.

She walks absent minded, without noticing that she will soon be hunted.... she's about to enter the alley when she feels she's not alone anymore...

Walking carefully, he increases his speed.

The alley is dark and her heart suddenly starts beating faster, as she hears his footsteps.

Then, he is upon her, one hand over her mouth, his other hand scrambling up her short skirt. Her panties round her thighs; he removes his hand from her mouth and cups her windpipe.

"Frig yourself yourself girlie. And, not a word..." he growls.

To illustrate that she should stay quite, he tightens his grip, a little.

She is so petrified that can't even breathe, so silently nods to make him understand that she will be as cooperative as she can.

"Now, frig yourself.." He snarls, in her ear.

"Good girl," he mutters; and the hand leaves her throat, to cup her naked buttock flesh.

She's so frightened that she can't move... he knows that she's scared and softly tries to make her doing what he wants... it's not his first time so he knows how to treat a scared girl...

He rubs the tip of his middle-finger back and forth over her clit, widening her thighs with his other hand, as he whispers, "Now, take over."

Slowly she moves her hand down between her legs and her fingers touching his, look for her clit... for a moment, while she masturbates, feeling his body pressed to hers, she starts feeling aroused and almost enjoying it, as a small moan escapes her mouth...

"Just think girlie," he whispers, "you're getting yourself ready, for the main course, so get yourself wet 'n ready, for me..."

She can feel her sex wet and pulsing, and strangely she wasn't afraid anymore, but wanting, secretly wanting what he was going to do... She could feel his hardness pressed against her buttocks... she just nods, rubbing her clit even faster to feel it…

Now she shows her acquiescence, he takes his hands and holds the girls hips, to draw her buttocks tighter to himself, as her fingers move faster now.

She can't hold it anymore and feels the orgasm in the middle of delicious convulsions, moaning loudly.

He sighs with pleasure. She is his, for the taking and he knows it.

The fellow spreads her buttocks, his thumbs hear he brown pucker and he shispers in her eat: "While you get ready.. shall I enter you, here. Or slap your flesh .. hard?"

He smiles.

"The choice is yours.." he whispers against her neck.

But, she's so aroused that she can't even talk, she just bends over putting her hands on the wall, offering her body for him to enter ... or do as he pleases...

"Bad!" He snaps, in response: "Choose."

She shakes at his commanding voice... and stuttering she says "enter my body... "

Then she closes her eyes, guilty of enjoying her arousal.

Pleased to hear the response he wants, he doesn't quite do as expected..

"Hold the wall," He snaps, as he slaps at her right buttock, time after time, causing her to yelp with each brief searing smack, of flesh on flesh.

She does as he instructs.

Smiling, he placing a hand on her lower back, bending her forward.

Then, he enters where she has readied herself for him; sliding in easily, she is so-moist.

She tries not to scream as he penetrates her... but she can feel the pain of his body burning hers, as he moves in and out with no mercy but she feels he's breaking her body in two... up to a point... where the pain turns into pleasure and she begins to move too... increasing his pleasure.

And, he slaps at her ass-cheek, exultant that the night is ending as he wanted it to..

Her body moves uncontrollably as a second orgasm sweep through her... now her thighs are wet and she's tired...

...and he stands up, pulling his wilting penis, from her.

He has filled her, as they both wanted.

And, he can't help but smile, as he swats her backside.

"Damn, that was good!" He praises: “you’ve had this fantasy, for years.”

As they parted, each smiled.

Then as they left the alley, via the gate to their back garden, she linked arms with her dark-dressed stranger, of the night.

Cecilia couldn’t help but grin at her husband Mark, almost uncontrollably.

She felt warm, and satisfied. Maybe she had dressed as a skoolie for the party. But, Cecilia liked big girls games.

Passed moments in a day.
14:08 Jun 11 2008
Times Read: 1,085

A short-story, for adults.







Passed moments in a day.



Knees drawn up and splayed outward, I leant forward and buried my face in the water. Counting, I open my eyes once I can no longer hold my breath and sit bolt upright, breathing hard, gasping for air.

One minute, fifty-two seconds.

“Not bad,” I conceded ruefully. But it wasn’t enough, yet.

That was something else to add to my list of things ‘to do:’ practice breathing techniques.

“There’s so much to do…” I muttered, as I pulled the plug.

The bath is a white-enamel, with a black-side, the walls half-tiled, the rest a warm tangerine: mediterean sunset it had said on the tin, three years ago.

“What do people have to hide, behind smoked glass windscreens?” I muse.

It’s been said by those of know me that I think too much.

“Well,” I consider, “it’s been said on several occasions by one certain someone.”

I can’t help but smile at the irony.

“There’s a lot to do,” I told myself, as the water swirled noisily down the plughole and stepped out of the bath. I dried myself off, with a large white towel that had been warming on the radiator and looked for my brushes.

One in either hand, I swept my hair back, being careful to keep my part, as I ran through my mental check-list: ‘Shave, bath, clothes, coffee, then out.’

A simple list and I’d already cheated, by having a coffee as I shaved.

Now, I wanted another one, so I threw on my robe and padded through to the kitchen, being careful to check the hall mat on the way.

“No mail again,” I say aloud, with dissatisfaction, as I sip on my fresh brew.

‘Then again,” I muse, “you have to write letters, to get them in return.’

And of late, I hadn’t felt much like doing anything.

“Not since…” I sighed. My past was easy to recall, but yesterday?

I sigh again, as I unlock the backdoor, looking in my pocket for a smoke.

Finding the particular rollie I’d been looking for, I stepped out into the day, still thinking back to the thoughts of the past. It’s just too easy right now.

I mean, even a blue-sky day like this reminds me of... Elaine.

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

But, this time it was summer and she was wearing light clothing and possessed a heavy mediterean tan, which suited the make-up she wore: red lips and heavily made-up dark eyes.

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

I was on my own as she 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,” I said to her, smiling brightly.

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

“Do ‘scuse me,” and 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!?!”

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

I was entranced by what I saw…

With eyes slightly downcast, the older woman turned towards me and caught the direction of my eyes.

“You like what you see?” Elaine Robinson asked me, who didn’t hear her words, at all, only the sound of her soft voice.

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

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

As she spoke, I heard little, 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.

She was wearing suspenders, I realised; very aware of the suspender clasp pressing into my thigh as the bus turned a corner, as Elaine pressed against him.

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

And, our eyes meet: her brown, his blue; as I notice her lips part, just a little, lips that look oh-so-moist.

We stare into one another’s desires and I knew she wanted me, as I wanted her, with a physical yearning for the contact of the others flesh.

She shivered and I noticed, wondering if she too was anticipating possible pleasure of the flesh.

“Are you cold?” I asked.

“Oh no,” she replied, blushing.

‘Perhaps with suppressed lust?’ I considered briefly.

We look at one another again, the eye contact steady; and the distance between our faces closed further still.

“I’m married,” she says to me, very softly.

“So?” I reply, staring into her eyes.

And, our lips touched; only touched, at first.

Then the kiss developed, as our lips ground together, as my hands sought to traverse every contour of the brunette’s body.

Brushing material away, I took the nipple between forefinger and thumb, as our eyes connected and her body thrilled with delight at my touch.

Her eyes fluttered, as she sighed at my touch, with my hand on her stocking-clad knee.

“This is my stop,” I said, as we parted.

I followed her backside down the stairs as we both disembarked and strode in silence as I walked her homeward, until she said to me, “Don’t come any further.”

“What’s the matter?” I asked turning to her, curious as to what the problem was.

“I’m worried the neighbours might see me with a young man,” she told me with fluttering lashes.

It was a glorious meeting, on a sunny day.

Then, several days later I increased my pace, noticing her walking before me, a heavy bag full of shopping in each hand.

“Can I see you again?” I asked her brightly.

I took the bags from her and we walked side by side as I carried her shopping much of the way home for her.

“Why don’t you come in for a cool drink?” she asked, her eyes fixed on me, seemingly devouring me with hungry eyes.

We entered and the back door to the garden closed; and stood in the middle of the kitchen very close, looking at one another.

I reached out my right hand and caressed her cheek, sliding my fingers into her hair as I clasped her head in my hand.

I find her dark brown, almond-shaped eyes feline; and quite entrancing.

We stared deep into one another’s eyes; and both realized the physical yearning that each felt was reciprocated by the other.

I drew her to me and we embraced, kissing deeply, tongues entwined.

We turned and twisted, passion unbound, as we fell against the table, the door and finally the cooker.

Our tongues meshed together and I hoisted her skirt high, to reveal her long, stocking-clad legs and bare thigh.

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

She was trimmed and clean tasting I learnt with an eager tongue, as Elaine ran long manicured painted nails through my hair, saying, “Mia amore, that’s so nice.”

Her eyes closed, as she concentrated on my tongue opening her, licking and pleasing her and took my hard, cut length out of my trousers slowly with my left hand, my right caressing nylon-clad flesh.

Then we stood, as I lifted the brunette’s legs up and wide, so her backside rested on the cooker-top as I sank into her moist warmth.

As Elaine lay back, eyes closed, I viewed the delight the she demonstrated with her wanton behaviour with relish, realizing that this might not be the one-off that I thought it might be.

The brunette opened her eyes, reaching down her index finger of her right hand, toward her glistening pubis, coating the digit with my fluid and watched this older woman, my own Mrs Robinson, savour with obvious pleasure, my ejaculated fluid.

Panting with exhaustion, I helped her stand, sliding my hands over her nylon clad legs and naked thighs, to grasp her buttocks firmly.

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

When she’d drained me, the sated brunette stood, a little unsteady on her black stiletto high heels.

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

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

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

“Anything special?” I queried, as I open the door to leave.

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

“I’ll phone,” I assured her, then closed the door behind myself as I left.

I smiled a lot, as I walked home – already looking forward to calling again.

And so, one day I had walked past the post-box and toward the telephone box on the green.

I phoned Elaine and said I wanted to ‘call round.’

Then just a short time later, we were naked and sweaty, in each other’s arms.

I recalled being surprised by my lover as I looked into her eyes, supporting myself on my lower arms, my hands holding the sides of her head, as I pistoned back and forth between her splayed long legs, into her lubricated warmth.

“Hurt me…” She had begged, with wide lust-filled eyes.

I had been reticent at first, then she had implored, “Please?”

So placing my thumbs, to either side of her wind-pipe, I pressed inward a little and she had sighed, then found release, as her eye-lids flickered and the walls of her sex tightened around me as liquid issued from her, a lot of it, flooding our thighs and the duvet beneath us.

I released the pressure on her throat and she sighed, with pleasure.

Moments later she wrapped her arms and legs round me, smothering me with kisses.

“Thank you,” she said to me.

Those two words burned into my head, as I walked home, on a blue-sky day.

It was a day like that when I’d driven to a rendezvous, constantly checking my watch, every five minutes or so. And, as it happens I was early.

The two wide blue gates were opened and a multitude passed through them in a short space of time. All in black jackets and trousers, they were all ages.

She would be in the group that followed in about twenty minutes.

He had time for a smoke.

Opening the car door, I stood on the driver’s side, back to the car, ankles crossed as I lit my rollie and time passed.

Like the others, she wore a light-blue shirt, under a royal blue jumper, collar out.

The skirt was the same colour, but hardly regulation length. A growth spurt had ensured that the skirt heightened her long slim shapely legs, being mid-thigh long.

On her feet were ankle-length white socks and black shoes, with not-so-sensible heels.

Her make-up had been light and suited her fair-complexion, green-blue eyes and the few freckles dotted across from her upper cheeks; and across the bridge of her nose, to the other side.

Although I hadn’t seen Jennie for quite awhile, I needed to now.

After all, who knew what would happen next; and the teen was one of my few links to the past that I wanted to recall.

I smiled at her and from the midst of the group she walked with I got an exuberant wave.

‘Good,’ I thought, ‘she’s still pleased to see me.’

That wave of recognition had meant so much to.

I had doubted that she would be, as so much time had passed.

Time? The nature of memory is that it’s not linear. Memories flow unbidden back and forth, triggered by triggers, whether they are physical or emotional.

Simply put, life is made up of lots of little moments that we recall unconsciously with a precipitant cause.

Did I say ‘simply?’

For my age I like to look good and that night I’d felt as good as I looked.

Yet, as I’d waited I had wondered what she’d think.

The chain had been unfastened from the door, then bolts at the top and bottom and she had opened the door.

I think she’d liked what she’d seen.

Her smile had said it all, I’d thought.

“Do come in,” the young brunette had encouraged me.

It’d been an old house converted into flats and I’d been pleased to follow her upstairs.

She’d worn a tight-knit red sweater, dark grey skirt, stockings and heels.

The flesh at the top of her self-support hose held my attention, as I’d followed her to her rooms.

She had brought me to her lounge, a comfortable room, all bare floorboards and wall hangings. Real nice.

Walking across to the plate glass window, I’d looked out across the river, on a starlit night.

“Good view,” I’d observed absently.

“It’s what drew me here in the first place,” the brunette had informed me, pride in her voice.

She’d stood next to me, lamplight behind her.

I’d turned slowly, and then held her.

She had felt good in my arms: and, we had kissed.

Her eyes had been closed, her head tilted back.

I’d slid my right hand up the back of her nylon-clad legs, up to her bare flesh.

“You sure?” I’d asked.

“Oh yes…” She had sighed, lips against mine, her hand on my growing erection.

Beverly, that was her name.

She had undressed faster than me, and then led me to her bedroom, as I’d followed her in just my socks.

Once there, I’d removed them quickly and lay in the middle of the wide bed, as she closed the drapes.

She wasn’t too tall, or too short.

And, when Beverly had lain next to me, she had been just the right height.

The curves of her body had moulded against mine well; as I had savoured the smell of her flesh, the skin he slowly traversed, with enquiring hands; and as the night passed into morning we had enjoyed each other’s flesh.

I am tired now, so I think I’ll close down this computer and close my eyes a while.

And …

It’s funny; I can hear voices, like in the distance.

Strange, very strange …

“Doctor?”

“Yes nurse?”

“We’re losing him …”

“I know …”

They’re losing him? Who are they talking about?

“But, the amount of time he was in the water? He’d have been brain-dead anyway …”

The voices continue, but they’re becoming more distant now …

Oh, I’m so tired…

Night-Runners
13:37 Jun 05 2008
Times Read: 1,100

Night-Runners: decision and indecision.



An adult fantasy





The desert plain stretched out in all direction, as a light breeze blows matters of sand in the eye, as the two sets of footsteps led to the two figures on the horizon.

One was a woman, the other was a man of moderate build, he was a foot taller than her height of 5 ft 6.

"Do you think they'll have realized we've left then?" She asked, her long auburn wavy hair, swirling in the wind.



"Does it matter if they do?" He answered her with a question of his own, something that she hated. His ice blue eyes sparkled in the dim light as a smile spread across his face.



She shrugged her shoulders and smiled weakly back at him. It was the only response that was needed. He'd seen that same half-hearted smile and shrug a hundred times before. He knew it meant that she was treading on the edge of indecision. He wanted to push her about it, but wasn't sure if he should. He reached out and brushed a windblown strand of hair out of her face, tucking it gently behind her ear, a gesture meant to calm and reassure her.



Their travails had been harsh, to get where they had. And, as Lyssa felt him slip his left arm round her waist, she looked up to his life-worn face, seeking reassurance from his touch.

"It seems that we're running free, for now..." Tyler pronounced, having scanned the horizon for signs of life.



His words sounded sweet to her, at this moment of now: when they could take a little 'time out', to safely think of a future together.



More so, it'd been him who had talked of it: this normally taciturn man, capable of such violence.



The night was their friend,' Tyler mused, listening carefully, to the quiet of the night, as he considered the events that had driven them to take action.



Lyssa moved in closer to Tyler, resting her head against his chest. She closed her eyes tightly and listened to his heartbeat, hoping to rid her mind of everything that had come to pass in the last three days. She desperately wanted to think of a future with Tyler, but how could she when all that had happened was still so fresh in her mind?



Tyler felt the muscles in Lyssa's body tense. He held her tight to him, one hand stroking her hair, the other placed firmly on her waist.



"Lyssa, we did what we had to do. We needed to get out of there, no matter the cost." Tyler said, his voice low and comforting. "It had to be done."



He sounded confident, but under it all, he was trying to reassure himself with those words as well. He'd never admit to Lyssa that he was having as difficult a time coping with this as she was, if not more so. He would hold up the front, for her. She needed him to be strong, so he would be.



Their Coven had become corrupt, which had turned his stomach: and hers had been the only voice of dissent, other than his.

He had excaimed to the assembled Lords and Ladies that their House need an injection of fresh DNA, as many of the inbreds who held sway could no longer think coherently: and Tyler had been laughed at.



Even now, that laughter hurt his ears and the memory of it bit, hard, at his pride.



Yet, his Lady Lyssa, had stood by him, raising her voice against the voices of those agry at his conduct.

'How dare he question 'them;' the elders, the voices of their Council. But he had and immediately, members of the Chambers guard had taken hold of his arms.



He had been hauled before the table, at the end of The Great Hall and pushed to his knees.



"Swear to obey us, Your Representatives and we will be lenient," he had been assured.



He had kept his mouth tightly closed: he would not speak: not even when a guard had tightened the grip on his arm, bringing it behind his back.

Particularly then.



It had been then Lyssa had fired her machine pistol and the guards fell beneath the automatic gunfire.

The fellow with her had fallen beneath the wait of the adversary, but he had not, nor had she.



And they had fled, setting torch to the Great Hall as they ran, so creating the chaos they needed to hide their escape.



Tyler was pleased that he had spoken, yet his decision to do so had some terrible ramifications for the pair:

'One can pay for certainty with confusion and doubt,' he considered, pleased to have 'his Lady' by his side.



In the pandemonium that followed their burning of the Great Hall, Tyler and Lyssa had a few moments to quickly gather a few belongings that they would need to start their new life together. A life on the run, as they both knew it would be. They'd each grabbed enough clothes to last them a few days, throwing them into a knapsack, along with all of their money and some other valuables that they could sell or trade when the money ran out. Tyler put all of the bullets he could find into his pocket, and slipped a small, fully loaded handgun into the waistband of his pants. It wasn't much, but it would be enough to get them out of the compound, should someone spot them and cause trouble. Lyssa already had her pistol, holstered on her right thigh, extra clips and two daggers at the ready in the holster on her left thigh. She added some dehydrated food packets and a loaf of bread to the bag, then fastened it shut and slung its straps over her shoulders.



They looked around the room, at the place that they had called home for so many years. Content that they had everything that they would need to get them safely away from this place, then fled into the night on foot, running as fast as they could.



As they approached the main gate to the compound, they were spotted by three guards. Tyler shot and killed two of them, Lyssa used one of her daggers to slice the throat of the third. After that, they were free, off into the night, running until they couldn't run anymore. Then they walked, until the morning sun peeked over the edge of the horizon.

Only then did they seek shelter in an abandoned barn, to eat and rest.



Come the night and rested, then had risen. And as Tyler first stretched then walked round their temporary home, Lyssa straightened her back and clothing, but turning to ask, “So what now lover?”



He turned and looked to her and smiled, dolefully.

“We could run forever more. Or?..”

“Or what, beloved?” She queried.



“Or we seek allies and depose the old-guard, I would suggest.” And as he said it, he realized this was the tack they would take. Yet, who was there to help?



"We could go to Dyerspointe, and beg the Council there to help us." Lyssa said, looking at the ground. She knew it was a bad idea, but didn't know what else they could do.



"Dyerspointe? They'd shoot us before we got within a hundred yards of the compound!" Tyler exclaimed.



"Maybe not if we sent word ahead of us, to let them know of what's happened." She retorted. "I know they're our sworn enemies Tyler, but that was before we left Aydewall. If we were able to get a message to them, explaining it, I'm sure they'd at least talk to us."



"Sure, they'd talk to us. Then they'd have our heads removed from our bodies." Tyler shook his head. "No, we can't go to Dyerspointe."



"If not Dyerspointe, then what? You tell me, right now, what other options do we have? Because I'll be damned if I can think of anything else." Her frustration was clearly evident on her face.



Tyler frowned: he didn’t like being wrong and certainly didn’t like it when pointed out that he’d made that mistake.

But, to seek aid from their old enemies?

He was incredulous at the idea. Yet, they had to do something.



The corruption of Aydewall had become an issue that had to be dealt with and soon, otherwise the elders there would continue the power struggle he’d been aware of.



The Lords were vying for power, with the dominant fraction led by Lady Maya in conflict, overt and covert, with the other, led by the young Lord, Dacart.

He was a warmonger, having already allied himself with two Houses in France, in his effort to topple the Lady Maya from her position. Now, either the House of Aydewall would collapse from within, if they left them to their own devices, or action could be taken.



Yet, the question was, who did they know who was connected with Dyerspointe?

He paced back and forth, as Lyssa watched with concern, the man she loved lost to the obvious and she wondered if he’s remember who the obvious choice of person to ask was?



It wouldn’t be easy for him to admit it. But, there was someone to ask, who might become involved with all they proposed.

The question was, would he think of the obvious, or was he too stubborn.



It was apparent when Tyler turned to face her, his hands behind his back, looking crestfallen, he had considered she who wouldn’t be named.

Lyssa didn’t like the idea, anymore than he did, but there was no other option.

They had to ask her ex, the Hougan Priestess Deena for help.



She closed her eyes briefly, waiting to hear him say what he had realised.

As she did, Lyssa saw the woman’s dark skin on hers, as the half-caste had placed her hand right, over the table where they sat and onto hers.

“You can’t choose him over me, I won’t let you.”



Lyssa had drawn her hand away, as she looked to Deena’s wide-eyes, painted heavily as ever, to emphasise the stare of distain, she so liked to practice.

“I made my choice,” she had assured her former lover, dressed as ever, as though her next moment would be in bed, in a dress that revealed much.



Yet, Deena had supplied goods to Dyerspointe for decades and had several contacts, including an elder, Cleary, whose son Jayce was a knight-guard with no liking for authority. Tyler knew this. He knew as much as she could tell him of her past love. Although, there were things about the beautiful, dangerous woman and her arcane ways that she did not know, she thought Deena would help them.



“Lyssa, there is someone, isn’t there?” She opened her eyes, to look at the pained expression on his face.

“Yes, there is…”

Tyler looked towards the ceiling and groaned.

“Deena!”



At one time they had tried to be together, the three of them.

Yet, it hadn’t worked. Tyler hadn’t liked feeling like a parcel, to be passed, from one to the other; or having to stand behind the two, during the Assembly Meeting as the two women had greater status than he did.



And while it was rare for one of them to be wholly monogamous, he had proposed this to her, knowing that she found pleasure from both of them and company from others. It was her way. Correction, it had been her way.

Lyssa had chosen him, over all others.



He reached toward his love and embraced Lyssa, his eyes misting over.

Agony tore at him, borne of his frustration and annoyance.

Of all the people to turn to, he would need the help of this nemesis from their past, a woman whose wiles would easily match those of the high-borne games players at Aydewall.



He groaned, from deep within, a primal sound that she had heard few times.

The sound seared her ears, tearing at her soul.

For though she was pleased that he had conceded that the Priestess was the logical person to go to, Lyssa realized what such an admission must have cost him and his male pride.



“Hush,” she entreated, stroking his long hair: “It will be fine.”

“How can it be fine,” he muttered, against her cool face, “Deena!”



She drew him down, undressing him swiftly, running her hands over his broad hirsute chest, and raining his flesh with kisses.

Then suckling his nipples to hardness, with eager hands she unclasped the heavy pewter belt buckle to his broad leather belt, as she knelt before her love and unclasped his pants.



She wanted to please him, to show Tyler how much she loved him and wanted him, all of him; and as she teased him to hardness, she smiled at the knowledge that her efforts could arouse him so swiftly.



She used her left hand, gently easing his erection up and down, uncovering the glans, to suckle, as she shucked off her lower clothing.

Her mouth wrought pleasure he’d almost forgotten, bringing forth a wonderful euphoria that swept away all his cares.



Then, he was ready for her: and Lyssa straddled him, her powerful legs tight on him, as she began to lower herself down fully, enveloping him in her silken, moist warmth.



She was slow at first, delighting in the feeling of him filling her, then long auburn wavy hair flailing, she gyrated her hips, causing Tyler to groan as he reached up, to hold her.



“No, no…” She told her lover, pushing his hands away. She was in control.



Lyssa smiled, as she felt the muscles in his body tense. His knuckles showed white and a guttural sound came from his throat.



“That’s it,” she crowed, as she felt him climax, then jet his seed deep within.

He looked sweaty, but sated.

Lyssa leant forward, his diminishing length still inside her, just; and, she held him

“My love,” she whispered, “if I have you by my side, I can face the world.”

“But, can you face Deena?” he murmured softly, before falling asleep.

Lyssa had to think about her answer and was pleased when he slept.



She didn’t know what she’d say.

His distraction
16:59 Jun 03 2008
Times Read: 1,128




A Short story - for adults.









Working for hours, sitting in the sunlit office at his desk, he is sorting through his correspondence when she enters.

She stands in the doorway, in short skirt, white blouse, her hair in two plaits.

He can't help but be distracted, as she intended.



"i should say that this little girl needs a bit of discipline...

i haven't been a good girl.." she says to him, as she licks her popsicle.



He stares, his email almost forgotten.

"Tell me little girl," he asks sternly, "what have you been up to??"

In answer, she just sits in front of him playing with the hem of her mini skirt.

"Just wondering if you wanted me around," she says with a little girl lisp.

He smiles.



"Do I want you, little one?"

He reaches down and runs his right forefinger along her sticky lower lip.

"Yes, I want you .. around." He mutters, half to himself.

She smiles and playing with the Popsicle inside her mouth she sits on his lap... astride, and takes his hands... playfully putting them on her white blouse.

"unbutton it" she says to him.



He obeys playing her game and when he does, discovers her breasts ... no bra... waiting for him...

With his left hand on her lower back, he eases his right hand toward her full breasts and grasps her left nipple, between forefinger and thumb, his eyes fixed on hers as he does so; and he watches her eyes dilate, as he slowly exerts pressure on her flesh.



She playfully leans back, left hand on her popsicle, moving it with her tongue and right hand backwards on his knee to balance her body ...looking at him she moves her hips rubbing herself against his sex.

"daddy..." she whispers. He gulps, dry-mouthed.



His lady-friend wants to smile, but it won't suit the image she has chosen.

"Little Girl.." he answers, entering the spirit of her sport, as he increases the pressure on her nipples, as he draws her upper body toward him.

He leans in a little and with his lips scant inches away from hers, he says to her, "Tell me .. exactly what my little girl wants?"



"your little girl wants to be yours…" she says as she leans forward and kisses his lips... sucking his lower lip and licking it.... she puts her popsicle in her mouth again, licking it and then moves it down to her nipples, rubbing it against them... "now they are sweeter ... daddy... want to lick them?"



"Oh yesss..." he hisses and grasping her hips, begins to suckle on first her right nipple, then her left. And soon, his left hand begins to move downward.



"does my daddy want strawberry flavour on other part of his little girl's body?" she asks sucking her candy again.

Again, his throat feels tight: and he knows, there's going to be no work done this afternoon.