His face remained expressionless. She couldn't tell if his sapphire eyes were wide with astonishment or outrage. As if transfixed by the gaze of a basilisk, she froze, her every fibre turned to stone; she was too petrified to cum. Slowly, he raised himself on his elbows, bringing his knees up behind her so that she sat impaled in his lap. His frosty stare regarded her silently, drifting from her face, over her breasts, down to the cunt that clutched at his manhood and back up to her face. He leaned up as if to whisper in her ear, but suddenly turned biting her viciously in the throat.
Her cry was one of sheer agony. The ice broke and exquisite pain collided with excruciating pleasure as she came so hard she virtually blacked out. Her vision blurred and something in her head pounded so hard she thought it would burst. Shaking as if gripped by an epileptic seizure, her internal muscles sucked on him as hard and as deep as he sucked on her throat. Her warm blood flooded into him and he seemed to grow even larger inside her, (if that was possible) while her body tossed and rocked uncontrollably. Something primal and intense welled up from the her depths; she felt as though her very soul was being striped naked and exposed. "What a way to die" she thought, as her agonised cry faded into a series of terrified sobs.
After what seemed like an eternity he withdrew his fangs and she felt a warm trickle of blood ooze down her neck and over her breast. He sat back, regarding her with eyes now aglow with life and then softly spoke. "Get off". His voice was gently, but the words dripped with menace none-the---less. She obeyed his command without hesitation, expecting to die at any moment. As he swung his legs round and sat upright his trousers fell to the floor. He was now as naked as she, and his pearly white thighs and still proud prick dared her to look down, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the steel blue points that seemed to penetrate into her brain.
Stepping off the pedestal, and apparently oblivious to his own nudity, he took a pace forwards while she stood rooted to the spot with terror. He examined her, with the cold professionalism of a horse buyer at market, perusing her as if deciding which piece he would have for supper and which for breakfast. She stood as naked as it was possible to get, her mind groping for words that might appease him, but none came. Then without warning he grabbed her slender wrist in his powerful grip, and twisted her arm behind her back. She gasped. He threw her across the sarcophagus with such force that her feet left the ground and her cheek hit the marble slab so hard she could taste blood in her mouth. She lay pinned; her nipples pressed against the cold stone, convinced she had breathed her last, but the crushing blow she expected never came. The next thing she felt was his other broad hand caressing her butt cheek, sliding slowly over her hip, then down between her warm belly the chilly slab and finally take a firm grip on her somewhat startled pussy. The ball of his thumb ground hard into her clit, leaving her gasping for air. His exploring fingers pried open her lips and, without further ceremony, his rod of steel impaled her to the hilt.
Inexorably slowly he pumped her, like a kind of torture, his unhurried stokes teasing her beyond imagining. At each thrust she let out a groan so mournful that had anyone listening would have thought her a graveyard spook. Far too slowly he gained momentum, working her succulent passage into a desperate lather. She convulsed and shook some kind of jelly fish flopping on the slab, his thighs slapped so hard against her it was like being spanked, and her heart pounded as if it was going to explode. Her orgasms came like contractions, minutes, if not seconds apart; with each she screamed though clenched teeth, then panted for breath before yet another, more violent quake rolled though her. After the first dozen she lost count and after the second dozen she lost consciousness.
When she came round he had her seated on the edge of the sarcophagus. He stood between her legs, the full length of his cool hard cock pressed against her red and enflamed maw. "Shhhhhhh" he whispered, lifting her face towards him. "That's enough for now I think. We wouldn't want to break you, would we?" She nodded like a marionette, capable of little else. He cupped her cheek in his hand and she leaned into it, languidly kissing his wrist. At that he smiled, his eyes now soft, even affectionate. He pulled her close and kissed her mouth for the first time; a kiss that was as tender and loving as it was deep and passionate. Her heart leapt in her chest, skipped several beats and she came yet again; her quivering cunt erupted, bathing his prick in her pungent juices. She shook and convulsed from head to toe, like hundreds of vaults had just passed though her, trying desperately to hold his kiss and resisting the urge to bite his probing tongue.
Kissing him back fervently she shared the metallic taste of her bloody cheek, which seemed to fuel his hunger for her. Gently he laid her back on the smooth stone and lifted her feet in his hands so that her legs were spread wide. He bent to lap the liquor from her thighs, licking, nipping, and biting, while her head spun sickeningly. His tongue flicked and fondled her like that of a serpent, while his nose nudged at her bud. She would have begged him to stop, but she was so weak that all she could manage was a moan. His fangs grazed her inner thigh and then she felt him bite; seconds later she passed out again.
It was after dawn when she eventually woke. She found herself laying in the long grass under the trees, with her sundress draped carefully over her. She was cold to the bone and her body gave a whole new meaning to the word stiff. Every inch of her ached as though she was kicked, and beaten. It took nearly half an hour to struggle to her feet, dress and stagger the few yards back to the jasmine covered mausoleum. The small iron door was firmly closed, and she hadn't the strength to pry it open, so instead she began her slow journey back to the hotel, intending to assuage her now ferocious hunger.
She was discovered by the hotelier and one of his more dedicated patrons perhaps two hours later, half collapsed on the door step. The natural assumption was that she was attacked, though no one could imagine how such a thing was possible in their little community. A doctor came, the police were called, but none of them was able to get much sense out of her. She slept for almost two days straight, only getting out of bed to wolf down another heaped plate hearty pub food. The local folk tried to show their concern, but for the most part she was oblivious to them. All she wanted was to return to the cemetery, to see him, to touch him and, oh god, how she wanted to fuck him.
With her strength regained she set out for the graveyard in the late afternoon, wet with anticipation. Forcing open the little iron door, she stepped into the dark vault, searched for and found a light. Her pounding heart sank as she found the place utterly deserted, he was gone without a trace. She searched the mausoleum, the nearby undergrowth, and the entire cemetery, but his clothing, even those dislodged buttons had vanished as if he'd never existed. She stood next to the sarcophagus which had been his resting place, for who knew how long, and ran her hand affectionately over the cool stone. Were was he? Why was he gone? Didn't her want her the way she so desperately wanted him? That hollow empty feeling was no longer in her belly but around her heart, as though some piece of it had been torn away. She longed for him with every fibre of her being, and yet, had he ever been anything more than a figment of her imagination?
She slumped to the floor burying her face in her hands. Perhaps the whispering hotel patrons were right, perhaps she was unbalanced. Maybe whatever terrible thing she'd endured had simply driven her out of her mind and all this was an elaborate fantasy she had created to block the reality out. But there was that peculiar bite mark on her neck, and another just like it on her inner thigh. She seemed to remember so clearly how she'd got that bruise on her cheek, and that incredible ache between her legs.
Standing again she laid her cheek to the discoloured slab she wept plaintively. How could her mind be concocting all this? Surely the pain of a beating or the humiliation of rape, would be preferable to this heart rending sense of loss. Her copious tears splashed onto the stone, and she angrily smeared them away embarrassed and confused by her ridiculous emotions. The dampness caused a slight clean spot, which showed an insert of dark lead against the pale marble. Spitting and rubbing she cleaned off the long hidden inscription, and there before her lay the answers to several of her questions, and the beginnings of several dozen more. It read "Here lies Isabelle Everett-Morgan 1877 –1910. She died of grief after the sudden and unexplained disappearance of her much beloved husband. May they be reunited in death".
A slightly raised oval just below the inscription proved to be an inset piece of glass covering a faded sepia photograph. It was a wedding portrait. The woman, clearly an Everett, reminded her very much of her own mother, tall and proud with long dark hair and an almost regal bearing. She wore an elegant Edwardian wedding dress, fringed with crisp lace, and held a simple posy of trailing jasmine. Her smile was radiant and her eyes twinkled as if she was the happiest woman in the world. Looking at the oh-so-familiar face of the man standing at her side, it was easy to understand why.