VAMPIRE ROMANCE
By: Jennifer Mckenzie
Bitten Twice
Growing up, I used to love gothic horror novels. Horror novels in general, really, but it was the Victorian ones that really got me. Edgar Allen Poe’s tales of haunted houses and ghosts, Mary Shelley’s mad scientist, and of course, Bram Stoker’s vampire. I have to admit, I never understood why the heroine of that one picked her silly, proper husband over the dark, sexy Dracula. I would’ve gone with him in a flash.
Maybe it’s because I read it first when I was really starting to notice boys, about fourteen or so, but I’ve always found the idea of vampires very sexy. My first kiss was with a boy at a Halloween party, my junior year of high school, and he was dressed up as a vampire. He was a terrible kisser, but when he moved down to my neck, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
Other than that, I didn’t have much experience with boys in high school. I had braces and no sense of style and I was fat. Not “curvy”, or “voluptuous”…just fat. I used to read the descriptions of the sensual women in those old novels, and I wanted to look like them. So, when I got to college, I promptly took advantage of the free gym, and the girlfriends I made in the book club that was always being advertised in the building where I took classes for my literature major. When I expressed my desire to look like one of the voluptuous beauties from the 1940s and 50s, showing them the pictures I had stuck to my dorm room walls of burlesque dancers and Hollywood movie stars, they were quick to teach me the ins and outs of hair styling and makeup. The result was that, by the end of my freshman year, I’d shed all my baby fat and had emerged as the lovely, curvaceous beauty that I had longed to be…and I was ready to try out my new look.
It was more successful than I’d hoped. My initial tries at frat parties and college bars weren’t too successful—those boys are really into the tanned Barbie look—but then I started trying the more eclectic college scene, what I was really into anyway. Poetry slams, vintage dance parties, jazz club jam sessions. The outcome was that I lost my virginity a week before school let out for the summer, in a small dark dorm room with a guy who played the saxophone like he’d been born doing it. When he undressed me, I felt like a goddess. He was kind, and gentle, and it was perfect…until I asked him to bite my neck. I whispered it, breathlessly, in the kind of passionate way that I imagined would lead to him pressing me down and sinking his teeth into the flesh of my throat until I dissolved underneath him.
It did not work out the way I’d hoped. He’d looked horrified, and hadn’t even been able to finish. Clearly he was the kind of boy that hadn’t imagined anything beyond the normal functions of sex. I ran into that a lot, the next couple of years. The couple of boys who were into it were also into way weirder things—fetishes that I didn’t even want to come near.
All I wanted was a tall, pale, handsome man who would romance me passionately and then indulge my desire to pretend that he was a blood-sucking creature of the night. Too much to ask? Apparently. By the time the Halloween of my senior year came around, I was fairly dejected. In fact, I didn’t even really want to go out. I thought glumly of my first kiss, at that party years ago, and wondered if I would ever find someone willing to play along with my fantasies. My best friend, Ashley, was having none of it.
“It’s our last Halloween party,” she said flatly, her face telling me exactly how displeased she was with my overall apathy towards the whole thing. “It’s at the Pike frat house, and it’s going to be the biggest party ever. We’re halfway through our last year. After this it’s all jobs, and sad Halloween drinks at bars, and taking our kids out to get candy. Our kids, Megan. This is the end.” She sighed dramatically and fell back onto the bed, one arm over her eyes. After a few seconds of silence, she lifted one arm and peered out from underneath it. “Is it working?”
I glared at her. “I’m probably never going to have kids, because I’m never going to meet a man who doesn’t think I’m a total weirdo.”
“Oh, you mean the vampire thing?” Ashley was probably the only person I’d ever told about my strange obsession. “I’m sure there’ll be some hot guy there dressed up like Dracula. Or Bill. You know, the guy from True Blood?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it.” Particularly the scenes with Eric naked, paused and rewound multiple times, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. “You think so?”
“Duh. Vampires are totally a Halloween thing. Plus, if he’s dressed up and in costume, he’ll probably want to play along.” She shrugged. “Not a long-term solution, but hey! It’ll make your Halloween better.”
I sighed. She did have a point. Halloween was probably my best chance of getting an everyday guy to play along with my not-so-everyday fetish. And dressed up too…as long as it wasn’t one of those cheesy suits with the burned velvet cape. I just couldn’t.
“So what are we going as this year?”
Ashley squealed and sat up, clapping her hands together childishly. At least one of us was happy.
---
An hour later, we had a plan together. Ashley was going to go as a flapper, and I was going to go as a 40s pinup girl. We wrote down a list of the costume items we needed, and then proceeded to dig through her closet and makeup bags, a cheery playlist on her iPod in the background. I had to admit, I was already feeling better.
We found a flared navy blue skirt and a pair of red heels that would fit me, and I had a white oxford shirt at home. Ashley had a friend who would lend her a fringed dress that would fit the flapper theme, and we decided to make a run to the mall later to get a jeweled headband for her. We spent the next couple of hours playing with makeup and hair, and I actually started to get excited. It was the last Halloween party I’d be going to as a college student. And after all, the worst that could happen was that I wouldn’t find anyone interested. It wouldn’t be much different than any other night. At the very least, I’d have fun out dancing and drinking with Ashley and my other friends. I just needed to stop focusing so much on my love life, I decided. There were other things to enjoy.
I spent most of the next week focusing on that mindset. I didn’t go out very much—largely because I had a lot of homework, but still—and when I did, I made sure it was out with a group of friends. I usually struck out at the club, but weirdly enough this week, when I wasn’t trying at all, I actually managed to hook up with one of the boys from that I’d seen sitting in the back of my English class. He was cute—not particularly tall, but dark-haired with a smooth face and the sort of soft body that meant he read more than he went to the gym. We wound up on a velvet couch at the back of the club that looked like it had seen better days, while Ashley and three of my other friends ground up against each other in an effort to entice a group of guys leaning up against the bar.
We were talking about the readings from class that week, sitting closer together than we would have without the added enticement of the alcohol, and he reached out to touch my face. He missed, and his fingers grazed my throat. I shuddered, my skin prickling. I had a sudden, drunken desire to grab his head and press his mouth into my neck, and my body against the rest of him. He kissed me, his fingers still touching my collarbone, and I heard myself moan softly.
It didn’t go much further than that. We made out on the couch, and at one point he took my hand and pressed it against the front of his jeans so that I could feel exactly how much he was enjoying our little rendezvous. By that point, his hand had left my neck and was moving towards my breasts, and I was rapidly losing interest. Mentally, I kept berating myself.
Why can’t you be into this? He’s a normal boy, doing normal boy things. You should be enjoying this. He thinks you’re hot, he’s turned on by you, obviously. You should practically be in his lap right now, not sitting there wishing he’d bite you.
My train of thought was only making it harder for me to be in the mood. I pushed his hand away, mumbling something apologetically about how I needed to go find my friends. To his credit, he didn’t protest or try to come after me, although I did catch him looking glumly down at his jeans. I had left him with an inconvenient erection, after all.
By the time I located Ashley, she was on a couch of her own, wrapped around a guy wearing a muscle tee and a pair of cargo shorts so ripped up I was worried his dick might fall out. She’d knocked his baseball cap off (which doubtless he’d been wearing backwards), and I only just missed stepping on it. I dusted it off and set it on the nearby table, which was only slightly cleaner than the floor. I hissed Ashley’s name, but she never heard me.
I didn’t have the energy to find the others. I texted Ashley a message, which she would probably read an hour or two from now, letting her know I was going home. I walked out of the club, hailed a cab, and went back to the dorms, and the promise of a wine cooler and episodes of Buffy to re-watch.
---
October 31 finally arrived. The Halloween decorations covering the various hallways and cafeterias all were starting to look a little tired and crooked, having been up for the last month or so, but there was palpable excitement in the air, particularly among my fellow seniors. Roughly a mile or so away, at the Pike house, there were students skipping class to hang decorations and make buckets of punch and acquire stashes of liquor and mixers and a few bags of chips. There seemed to be a general consensus among the professors to let us out early, since no one was really paying attention anyway. I went straight to Ashley’s dorm, where her roommate was on one side applying zombie makeup, and Ashley had our clothes laid out on her bed already.
Ashley’s dress was gorgeous. Black satin with rows and rows of silky fringe, and a dusting of golden sequins across the straight neckline and between the rows of fringe. It was literally a rectangle—it would have been lumpy and strange on me—but on Ashley’s boyish figure it would look amazing. Conversely, I’d never seen her wear the navy blue skirt, because she said the flare just swallowed her up. But on my curves, I’d look like a model. Well…a model from a few decades ago, anyway.
Ashley had insisted I wear nice underwear for the occasion. I’d relented finally, choosing a pair of lace panties and a matching bra in a soft powder blue. The bra was fully lace, with no padding, but the underwire went nearly all the way around my breasts, propping them up as if they lay on a shelf and firmly holding them there. The oxford shirt wouldn’t button all the way—a common issue—but Ashley had nixed the idea of wearing a camisole under it, saying it didn’t fit the time period. Instead, the last button stopped in the midst of my cleavage, giving the impression that at any second my breasts were going to burst free of the shirt. I dearly hoped that didn’t actually happen.
We took turns doing each other’s hair and makeup. Luckily, Ashley had short hair already, and I used a flatiron to give her soft, bent waves. We’d found a black satin ribbon and glued golden sequins onto it, and I tied it around her head, tucking the ends underneath her hair. Her makeup was simple, lined eyes, spiky lashes and nude lipstick. Using an online video, Ashley did my hair in victory curls, rolling it atop my head and then curling the rest that fell down my back in thick spirals. She contoured my face like a pro, used a liquid eyeliner pen, several coats of mascara, and finally a satiny red lipstick. She spun me around and I smiled. I looked fantastic. Every bit the pinup.
“The guys are going to go nuts over you,” she said, smiling victoriously. “Vampires or not.”
I privately thought that the crowd tonight was more likely to be into Ashley’s waifish figure than my generous one, but I didn’t let it dampen my excitement. Guys or no guys, this was going to be a fantastic party.
By the time we arrived, the party was in full swing. Fashionably late to Ashley was about an hour into whatever event was occurring. It was a little annoying, but it was a quirk I’d learned to live with. If I needed to be somewhere on time, I just told her the start was an hour earlier than it really was.
Drink in my hand, I hung on the fringes of the crowd, scanning it for anyone that I might want to talk to, or flirt with. There were a lot of zombies. A few superheroes, a few more ironic costumes. I saw two vampires, both in the dreaded black pant and white shirt combo, and that tacky cape. Neither of them stirred my interest. Then, the door opened. I glanced casually towards it to see who might be coming in, and my gaze was instantly fastened to the two men who had just walked in.
They were both tall, one with deep brown hair and the other with hair that looked jet black. They were both pale, elegant and thin with sharp bones. Neither looked American. International students, maybe? Wherever they were from, neither of them looked like they belonged here. I could see several of the girls whispering and staring. I gritted my teeth, and started to head their way, determined to catch their attention. They seemed…different. Maybe my luck would change.
“Hi,” I chirped when I was within hearing distance. The one on the left turned his head sharply, as if I’d shouted. His eyes, which I could now see were brown, perhaps a shade lighter than his hair, widened, and he made a slight bow. “Why, hello.”
His companion snorted, seeing the old-fashioned gesture, and stuck out his hand. His eyes were a deep, shocking blue, stark against his pale skin and the dark of his hair. “My friend here is quite silly. It’s very nice to meet you…”
“Megan,” I supplied helpfully, meeting his hand with my own. His skin was vaguely warm to the touch, as if he’d come out of the cold and was only just recovering.
He smiled, revealing white, straight teeth. “Megan. My name is Zachary, and this is my friend, Jacques.”
“You’re not from here, are you?” I asked curiously. His accent was clipped and sharp, different from Jacques fluid, soft syllables.
His smile seemed permanent. “No, we are not. I am a student from Germany, and Jacques is from France, as you might expect. We bonded over…similar interests.”
I wondered what those similar interests might be. Up close, they were both breathtakingly handsome. Zachary had cheekbones that could cut diamonds, sharp and high, and a straight sharp nose that made his face appear to be made entirely of planes and angles. On another man it might have been overly harsh, but on him it was beyond sexy. His entire body, beneath the tailored suit he wore, seemed lean and angular. Jacques was a touch shorter, his brown hair falling towards his face, which was model-handsome, but not as sharply defined as his friends’. I could see how muscular his arms were, even beneath the tailored suit.
“So who are you supposed to be?” I asked curiously.
“James Bond,” Zachary answered bemusedly. He opened his suit jacket, and I saw the fake gun stashed there.
“And you?” I looked at Jacques. He smiled, and I felt slightly dizzy.
Slender white fangs, much better than any pair I’d ever seen, showed. He tossed his head, brown hair sliding into his face, and he pushed it back with a fine-boned hand. “A vampire,” he said, the letters slipping out of his mouth as if he were caressing them with his tongue. I shuddered.
“My friend has little imagination,” Zachary said dryly. “Would you like a drink?”
“Y…yes,” I swallowed convulsively, my mouth gone dry. Jacques was everything I had hoped to find tonight. No tacky costume store find for him—he was wearing a suit clearly made for him, the buttons at the collar and just below opened to show his pale chest. Everything else about him said that he was simply a man…until he opened his mouth. I wanted that mouth on me. I couldn’t think of very much else.
The three of us found a sofa and sat, Zachary handing me a cup filled with punch. I took a sip, feeling my stomach twist with nervousness. This was a totally different playing field than I was used to. These didn’t seem like the college boys I was used to. If I had known better, I would’ve said that they weren’t college students at all. They seemed older, more sophisticated. I chalked it up to them being foreign.
“What are you studying?” Zachary asked.
“Literature.”
“Your favorite book?”
“Dracula,” I replied. Jacques snorted with laughter, and the look that Zachary shot him could only be described as icy. “Please forgive my friend,” he said, his tone short. “He lacks manners, at times.”
“You obviously seem to like vampire stories,” I pointed out to Jacques, gesturing at his fangs, which were still showing. Jacques seemed on the point of breaking out into laughter again, until Zachary fixed his glare on him more pointedly.
“Why Dracula?” Zachary asked. I was on the verge of finishing my cup of punch, and Zachary slipped it from my fingers and handed it to Jacques, who promptly headed back to the table full of liquor. It was clear who was in charge here, and it wasn’t Jacques.
I shrugged. “I read it when I was a teenager. It just seemed so…sensual.” I shifted uncomfortably. I’d never really gone into this with someone before. “The brides, and how they try to seduce Jonathan. And Dracula’s seduction of Mina…”
“It doesn’t exactly say that they had sex in the book,” Zachary pointed out. I shrugged. “It seems to me like they did. And if I were her, I would’ve stayed with him.”
“She was married.”
I shrugged again, taking a gulp of the drink Jacques had brought me. “To a man who was ready to bang three other women in a castle. Fair’s fair, right?”
Zachary smiled at that. “So you like vampires, then?”
I took another swallow of my punch. I was starting to feel more than a little buzzed. “I do. More than like them, really.”
Zachary cocked his head, and I saw him shoot a glance at Jacques. “Oh?”
I tried to think how much I should say, but the alcohol was really starting to make me feel fuzzy. “I think they’re sexy,” I admitted.
Zachary laughed. “Well, I guessed that much from your description of Dracula. But obviously, they aren’t real.”
I felt Jacques shift on the couch behind me. He was so close, the slightest movement would have meant us touching. I thought, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I should have felt the heat from his body. But it was as if no one was there. Only his physical weight let me know that there was a person behind me.
“No,” I said, and I could hear the disappointment in my voice. “But…they really turn me on,” I admitted. I paused, hardly able to believe I was telling this to a stranger. I must really be desperate. “I guess you could call it a fetish. I always want the men I’m with to play along, and none of them are into it. Some just straight up leave…they’re totally turned off.”
“Play along how?” Jacques spoke up from behind me, and I shifted to look at him. Our arms brushed, and I shivered. He seemed genuinely curious.
“You know…bite my neck. Suck on it. That sort of thing.” Coming out of my mouth, it didn’t seem all that insane. And yet…”bite me” seemed to be such a turnoff. I couldn’t understand it. From the expression on Zachary and Jacques’ faces, they didn’t seem to get it either. I felt hopeful.
“That doesn’t seem like too much to ask,” Zachary said.
I shrugged. “It would help if they were more…vampire-like, too. Graceful, sophisticated. It’s hard to find men like that in college.”
“Is it?” Jacques seemed on the verge of laughter again. I realized that description fit them very well, Jacques’ giggle fits aside.
“Well…” I trailed off, unsure what else to say. Zachary and Jacques exchanged a look, one that seemed to hold some weight. They looked, for a second, as if they were having some sort of silent conversation. Finally, Zachary looked back at me. “I’m afraid, Megan,” he said in serious tones, “that we haven’t been entirely honest with you.”
“You aren’t really college students?” I blurted the first thing that came to my mind. Zachary laughed. “No, we’re college students. But we’ve been students before.”
“Like you went to a different school?” I felt confused.
“Like I’m three hundred years old.” His face bore no trace of humor. I blinked at him. “Look, just because I told you all of that stuff...”
Jacques shifted next to me and reached for my hand. It registered again with me how chilly his flesh was. He smiled and lifted my fingers to his mouth. I felt caught in a fog as he pressed the tips to his fangs. They were cold and slick…and very definitely not made of plastic.
“So you had your teeth filed down,” I argued. “Or those are fantastic fakes. Ceramic or something.”
There was a soft sound of something retracting, and his fangs were instantly gone. The next moment, I saw Zachary smile, and where there had been only straight, white teeth, there were now fangs. I shivered. “Vampires aren’t real,” I murmured, but there was a part of me that was starting to believe them. Their skin, with only the barest hint of warmth, as if it’d been a long time since they’d fed. The teeth that couldn’t possibly be dentures. Their strange way of speaking and carrying themselves, as if they were so much older than their early twenties. I felt a shiver run down my spine, and a sudden, hot pulse of desire. In that second, I didn’t care if they were telling the truth or not. They were the closest to real vampires that I’d ever come, and I wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip away.
It was as if Zachary knew what I was thinking. He leaned in then, and his lips touched mine. They were cool and firm, pressing into my mouth as if he would leach the heat from them. My mouth opened under his, and my tongue flicked out to touch the sharp points of his fangs.
They were sharper than I anticipated, and the barrier of doubt I had erected fell a little more. I tasted blood from my tongue, sharp and metallic, and Zachary moaned into my mouth, his breathing coming faster. Jacques’ hands were running up my arm, his fingers trailing over the vein in my throat, the soft scratch of his nails sending sparks of desire through me. His hands went to the buttons of my blouse, and I pushed them away. “Not here,” I protested.
“No one will see us,” Zachary promised. “I have made sure that no one will even notice that we are here.”
Indeed, a couple brushed past us as if we weren’t even there. No one was looking at us. Couples hooking up at a party weren’t any strange thing, but certainly two men who looked like them lavishing their attention would garner some attention, even just from other jealous girls. It was as if we were literally invisible. Jacques hands went to my buttons again, and this time I didn’t stop him.
I could see traces of my lipstick on Zachary’s mouth, red against the white of his skin and stained on his fangs. I wondered if that was my lipstick or my blood, and I felt my pulse start to race. Jacques had undone my shirt and his mouth was on my chest, moving down until his tongue flicked against my nipple, hard through the blue lace of the bra. I arched into him, and I felt the tips of his fangs pressing into my flesh as he sucked my nipple into his mouth. He was clearly being careful, and I wanted very badly for him not to be. Zachary’s hand was in my hair, his mouth on mine again, his tongue probing gently between my lips, tasting me. My hand ran up his thigh, my fingers against the front of his trousers, where his erection should be.
There was nothing. I pulled away, my face confused. “Is this not…working for you?”
Jacques took my hand and put it on his lap as well. There was a similar lack of reaction. “We are vampires,” he said flatly, and all of his mirth was gone. “You see why your comments earlier were so amusing? Without your blood, we can do nothing. We have none of our own.”
I was drowning in lust. I could never have imagined this happening. I wanted to feel them in my hands, hard and thick, and I wanted them to pierce every part of my body, literally and figuratively. “Then take it,” I moaned, my hands flexing against them. “I want you.”
“No,” Zachary said, and I whimpered with frustration. “Tonight is all about you, ma cherie,” Jacques said, his accent thickening. “Next time, if you are pleased, you can gratify us.”
Next time. This was beyond my fantasies. Jacques’ mouth returned to my breast, his hand cupping the mound of flesh as his lips and tongue worked at my nipple, causing me to writhe and moan. Zachary’s hand stayed firmly in my hair, fingers tangled in my curls as his lips trailed from my mouth to my jaw and then to my neck, his tongue flicking out against my skin. My head fell back, exposing the pale column of flesh, practically begging for him to sink his fangs into me. He only licked, making trails of sensation down my neck, his tongue flicking over my collarbone, his fingers reaching for my other nipple, rolling it between his fingers as Jacques continued his ministrations on the opposite side.
He kept going, his hand following the curve of my waist as his lips trailed over my stomach, and then he was on his knees, his hands pushing my skirt up over my knees. My legs spread, helpless against his onslaught. I would have let him do anything he liked.
Jacques pressed me back into the couch, moving to kiss me, his hands still caressing my breasts. I could feel Zachary’s fingers slipping beneath the waist of my lace panties, pulling them down over my thighs. I lifted my hips to allow him to continue, and he pulled the panties down the rest of the way, tossing them aside. His fingers were between my thighs then, the pad of one fingertip delicately tracing over my clit, which was stiff and aching, throbbing in a pool of damp heat. I moaned into Jacques mouth, my hands gripping his waist as he ran his fingers through my hair, loosening the curls that Ashley had pinned into place. “When he’s done tasting you it is my turn, femme beau.” The lilt of his French only turned me on more, and I ran my hand down to his hip, nails scratching over his thigh. I wanted him naked and hard. “Isn’t it very difficult, not being able to…”
He sighed, a sigh of deep sorrow. “I want you more than I can describe, cherie. And yet, unless you permit me your blood, I can only ache for you.”
“You can,” I offered again, arching my neck. I trailed my tongue over his fangs, and he shuddered delicately. Zachary’s fingers were playing me expertly, and my hips trembled, my tongue pricking against his fangs, and his came to meet mine, licking away the blood. “Take it,” I whispered, and he moaned. “Not tonight,” he insisted, and I could feel the tension in his body. “The wait will make it all the sweeter,” he promised, and then he moved to play with my breasts again, my head falling back against the couch, awash with pleasure.
Zachary’s fingers slid into me, caressing gently as his mouth came between my legs, his tongue darting out to stroke my clit. I tensed for a second, nervous of the fangs, but they were gone. I felt only his lips, moving over my soft, wet flesh, and I pressed into him, the pleasure building to a crescendo. I wanted him badly, wanted them both, but there was only their mouths and hands, working in tandem until my hips arched suddenly off of the couch, my hand gripping Jacques’ arm, and I moaned with a guttural sound, the pleasure spinning out of control. Dimly, I felt Zachary move away, and then he was on the couch next to me, toying with my nipples as Jacques took his place.
If Zachary had been delicate and gentle, Jacques was the opposite. He attacked me as a starving man might attack a feast, his tongue laving up the added wetness from my orgasm. I was trembling all over, the sensation extending to every nerve, and I didn’t think I could take more. I couldn’t imagine taking anymore. I felt hollow inside and aching, pulsing, hungry for something to grab onto. My hand fell uselessly into Zachary’s lap, opting instead to grab his thigh. His muscles were rigid, clearly struggling with the effort to maintain his stance on tonight’s pleasure.
Jacques slid his fingers into me, thrusting back and forth, the tips curling to stroke me as he sucked my clit into his mouth. Barely recovered from my first orgasm, I fell into another, head over heels, my whole body shaking and trembling. Jacques pulled away, licking his lips, and sat back, clearly pleased with himself.
“What about you?” I asked breathlessly. They hadn’t been wrong about the crowd not seeing us. Two men eating out a half-naked woman on a couch would certainly have been an attention-grabber. Everyone was milling about, dancing and making out and generally acting ridiculous. No one had even noticed what we were doing.
Zachary pulled a slim white card out of his pocket. “Our address is on this. We have an apartment in the city. Come tomorrow night. Tell your friends you’re going out on a date.” I must’ve looked nervous, because he pressed the card into my hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “You will be safe. I promise.”
---
I felt ridiculously nervous the next evening. I’d dressed up more than normal. I was wearing a black dress that I never wore, except for dinners out with my wealthy parents and funerals. It was fitted and sleeveless, with a collar and a double row of thick black buttons. The skirt was flared out, reaching almost to my knee. I had worn a set of lingerie under it that I had bought a long time ago, and never even taken off the tags. I’d been waiting for the right time to wear it.
This seemed like the best of any so far.
I called a cab, nervously reapplying my red lipstick as we drove into the center of town, full of high-rises and old townhomes. Not surprisingly, the number I was dropped at belonged to a century-old mansion, renovated into apartments. The doorman let me up after I gave him the names of the men I was visiting, his eyes roving over me appreciatively. It must be fairly obvious what I was doing there, I thought ruefully, stepping into the elevator.
I knocked on the door, and I had barely taken my fist away from the heavy wood when it swung open, revealing a spacious living room. Zachary was holding it, dressed in black jeans and a half-unbuttoned dark blue shirt that matched his eyes. He was holding what appeared to be a glass of wine.
I was fairly certain that it wasn’t. Jacques was on the sofa. He was wearing charcoal grey suit pants, and was shirtless. He was also holding a wineglass, filled with suspicious red liquid. His brown hair was messy around his face, and I felt a thrill of desire. I stepped inside, and the door shut heavily behind me. Zachary reached out, his arm snaking around my waist, and he bent to kiss me. His fangs were fully extended, and they scraped my bottom lip as my mouth opened under his.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured. “Like a Renaissance painting.” He released me, and we walked towards the sofa, where Jacques was now sitting upright.
There was a fire in the fireplace, and the air felt warm and smoky, redolent with desire. My heels sank into the thick carpet, and I would have wobbled, if I weren’t holding onto Zachary’s arm. There was another glass waiting on the side table, filled with red liquid, and I glanced quizzically at it.
“It’s wine,” Zachary promised, his mouth curling in a smile. He knelt then, slowly sliding off my heels as I sat on the sofa, his fingers trailing sensually over the curves of my feet. I took a sip of my wine, feeling like a goddess at worship. Jacques had stood, refilling his glass from one of the two decanters, and when Zachary stood, he turned towards him.
It seemed almost in slow-motion, as if in a dream. The two men leaned towards each other, kissing softly. I heard the click of their fangs, and Zachary’s hand came up to touch Jacques’ cheek, fingers stroking over his skin, curling into his hair. I felt my thighs part involuntarily, and my pulse sped up. As if in answer, Zachary turned towards me, Jacques’ mouth now on his neck, his hands resting softly on Jacques’ waist. “Touch yourself,” he murmured softly, his eyes fluttering closed as Jacques licked down the column of his throat. My fingers idly circled my nipple as I watched them, the first time I had ever seen two men together. I knew I would be invited to the action soon…nothing was happening without my help.
It was only a minute, maybe, before they moved towards me, Jacques still stroking and caressing Zachary as he sat next to me on the sofa. He bent to kiss me, his tongue sliding into my mouth with dizzying familiarity as his fingers stroked up my inner thigh. I was radiating heat, suffocating with it, and I eagerly met his kiss, his fangs pricking my lips. He licked away the blood, his fingertips tracing the lacy edge of my garter, up the strap and to the smooth, damp surface of my panties. His fingers dipped under the edge, swallowed up by the pool of wetness gathering there, and he sighed into my mouth. “So hot,” he murmured, the tips of his fingers sliding into me, his thumb finding my clit.
“I want you to come when I bite you,” he whispered, his fingers increasing their pace. “I want to feel you trembling when I drink your blood. And then it will be Jacques’ turn.”
“And then?” I asked, my voice shaking. I was drowning already, so deep in my lust for these two men that I would have stayed forever if they had asked.
“Then we will have you, and each other,” he said, his voice gravelly. “In as many ways as we can devise.”
It was a promise I was eager for him to keep. I thrust my hips up into his hand, the circling of his fingers driving me closer and closer to the edge. I expected for him to ask me for a signal, but he needed nothing from me. He was playing me expertly, and just as I felt myself about to fall over the edge, his thumb firmly rolling my clit beneath it as his fingers moved in and out of me, I felt a sudden, searing pain.
He had sunk his fangs into me, striking like a snake. There was that moment of excruciating pain, and then he pinched my clit between thumb and forefinger, rolling it as his fingers drove into me, and I exploded. I think I screamed. I saw Jacques, his mouth pressed to Zachary’s shoulder, nostrils flared as he breathed in the scent of my flowing blood. I was coming harder than I ever had before, my skirt rucked up, my legs splayed, and a moment later, Jacques was between my legs. He licked at the juncture of my thighs, tasting the moisture that had spread there, and then his mouth was on my inner thigh, sucking hard to find the vein. I felt his fangs pressing into my skin, the sharp pain as they pierced me, and then the incredible pleasure again as Zachary’s thumb left my clit and was replaced by Jacques fingertips, stroking me as Zachary added a third finger inside of me and stroked as if he were fucking me with his cock. My entire being was centered there in that moment, the two vampires drinking my blood as I came on their fingers. It was beyond anything I had ever fantasized.
When Zachary pulled back, I could see that he was hard. He unbuttoned his shirt and flung it aside, revealing a lean, pale chest. His hands undid the fly of his jeans, pushing them and his briefs down to reveal a thick, hard cock. He stroked it, squeezing the tip and moaning. He leaned down to kiss me, and I tasted my own blood on his mouth. A second later, I felt the absence of Jacques’ mouth and fingers, and Zachary’s sudden moan caused me to look down. Jacques’ mouth was firmly wrapped around Zachary’s cock, his tongue darting out to stroke the underside of the shaft, and I moaned with desire. I’d never seen anything like this before. Zachary reached for the buttons of my dress, slipping them loose, his hands moving under the fabric to caress my breasts. He slipped it off of my shoulders, his hands shaking when Jacques hit a particularly sensitive spot. He rose up then, Jacques’ mouth slipping off of his cock as he pulled me to my feet and slid the dress off of me. He looked at me then, and took a quick, sharp breath.
I was wearing a black satin push-up bra, mounding my white breasts up impossibly high. I had on black satin panties to match, over a black lace garter. Jacques, still on his knees, slipped his fingers beneath my panties and slid them down, the garter and thigh-highs still on. His mouth went between my thighs, lapping at me for a moment until my knees were weak, his hand on Zachary’s cock. I wanted it in my mouth. I sank to my knees, enveloping it, my lips sliding down his shaft until my nose touched his belly and his fingers wrapped in my hair. I reached for Jacques, undoing his pants and reaching inside to touch him. He was rock hard, not as thick as Zachary, but just as long. I stroked him rhythmically, and his mouth found my neck, sucking and drawing his fangs along my skin until I shuddered.
Jacques stood then, and I switched to him, pushing him back onto the couch and taking his cock into my mouth. I had a feeling that he spent more time giving than receiving, based on the blissful look on his face as I sucked the tip between my lips, rolling my tongue over it and down the shaft. He moaned, his fingers digging into the sofa, and I felt Zachary’s hands on my hips, lifting me onto my knees on the sofa. His hand gripped my ass, spreading me, and I felt his tongue sliding between my legs. He licked me for a moment, waiting until I began to push back against him, and then he was up behind me, and I felt the tip of his cock pushing into me. I swallowed Jacques’ dick just as Zachary thrust into me, pushing me forward, Jacques sliding into the back of my throat until I gagged. He moaned, gripping the couch. “I don’t want to come yet,” he moaned, tugging my head off of him. “Just let me watch.” He ran the tips of his fingers over his hard shaft as Zachary fucked me, just enough to keep himself hard. “Fuck, you’re hot.” He reached out and tugged my breasts loose from the lace bra, so that they swung back and forth as Zachary thrust in and out. He used one hand to roll the nipples of each breast between his fingers, first one and then the other, still gently stroking himself. He groaned, leaning forward to lick blood that had trickled down the side of my neck. “Fuck…Zachary. Let me have a turn,” he begged.
Zachary pulled out reluctantly, and they switched places, Jacques plunging inside of me as I took Zachary’s slick, throbbing cock into my mouth. He tasted salty and tangy, and I licked away the dampness on his shaft, feeling deliciously naughty as I sucked my own wetness off of him. Behind me, Jacques gripped my ass, fucking me as if he hadn’t been in a woman in some time. Maybe he hadn’t. I felt like Zachary probably took the majority of them. Maybe the men, too. I sensed that they weren’t particular in gender, only aesthetics. I felt ridiculously beautiful, like a carefully curated piece of art.
A piece of art being fucked senseless on a sofa.
Zachary moaned, leaning forward to grab the back of the couch as he pulsed, spilling out into my mouth. I swallowed, the rush of warmth and the taste of him sending me over the edge. I came, hard, my muscles gripping Jacques and causing him to groan, convulsing behind me. He was still hard when he pulled out of me. Zachary was softening against my lips, and he straightened. I was lying on my stomach on the sofa, feeling drained, but the heavy fog of lust hadn’t lifted. My heart leapt when Zachary looked at me, his eyes dark with desire and murmured, “Again.”
Jacques lifted me in his arms, carrying me down the hall to a room where a giant, four-poster bed took up the majority of the space. He lay me back against the pillows. He knelt then, and Zachary sat on the edge of the bed next to me, his hands running gently over my body. “I want you naked,” he murmured, reaching for the clasp of my bra. He looked down at Jacques, kneeling on the floor with his own cock still stiff, and there was clearly an order given, although he said nothing. I was right that Zachary was the one in charge, I thought, as he slid the straps of my bra down my arms. I was happy to let him direct me, and it seemed that Jacques was, too. From the way he had held his desire in check the night before, he even seemed to enjoy the deprivation, up to a point. He moved between Zachary’s legs, gently kissing and stroking the man’s inner thighs as Zachary tossed my bra aside, mounding and squeezing my breasts. He unclipped the garter next, slowly rolling the stockings down my legs. He stroked his fingers between my legs, pausing to suck on my nipples one after the other before whispering in my ear, “I am going to drink your blood again, while Jacques’ sucks me. And then he will fuck you, and I will. It will be rough this time.” He pulled away for a moment, waiting for me to agree. I nodded, my breath hard and fast. Jacques had already taken Zachary’s soft cock into his mouth, sucking as Zachary plunged his fangs into my neck again. He sucked hard, swallowing my blood rapidly, and I knew now that he was growing hard in Jacques’ mouth as he drank. He pulled away, licking my neck, and then took a step back. Jacques let him go, putting his mouth onto my neck for a moment to drink me down, and then settled onto the bed between my legs. He was in me in a moment, moaning as my hips thrust up against him, and when he sank all the way into me, I came apart.
I saw Zachary watching us as I convulsed, touching himself, and I reached out for him. He slid between my lips as the orgasm washed over me. I was still trembling as he pulled away again, moving to touch Jacques, running his hands over the other man’s body as he fucked me. I was awash with lust, unable to believe that this was all happening. I came again, bucking hard against Jacques, and he lost it. Zachary’s mouth was on his back, kissing down his spine, and he stiffened, and I felt him pulse inside of me, groaning and shaking. He fell away from me, still trembling, and Zachary was in his place in a moment. He thrust into me, feeling thicker than before, hard and hot. Jacques was touching me gently, his lips softly meeting mine, too tired to do more than that, and I loved it, the gentleness above and the roughness below. Zachary hadn’t been joking about the roughness. He slammed into me so hard that I knew I would be sore the next day, gripping my hips and lifting them off of the bed. His fingers were indented into my skin, and I gasped, arching against him, rolling my hips so that he went over and over the one spot that felt better than any other, and I reached for the last orgasm, panting against Jacques’ lips as Zachary thrust into me once more, his hips bucking, and he spilled over, his head thrown back as I came, moaning.
The three of us sprawled limply on the bed, sweaty and satisfied. Jacques’ eyes were closed and he was breathing softly, his long lashes dark against his pale skin. I was rolled against Zachary, his arm enveloping both of us as we lay there, entirely spent.
I’ve been asked many times since then how I got the small marks on my neck, tiny pinpricks against my skin. Of course, I can’t ever tell you.
Vampires aren’t real, right?
THE END