It only took me a couple minutes before his breathing became heavy, then ragged and gasping, and I knew he'd made a mess in his pants. It was right then, when I was telling him that he did good, that he saw the sign for the rest stop.
"Well, perfect. Go on into the bathroom and clean up in one of the stalls. Nobody's going to look at you twice with all of the shit that goes on at rest stops."
"I think I'm just going to throw away these underwear."
"Awww. Poor baby. If it will make you feel any better, I'll ruin a pair of my panties thinking about you. I'll send them to you in the mail to prove it."
After that I would have been happy to have him visit every week until we got his cock-shyness straightened out, but it didn't happen. I moved down to Escondido a few of months later, and he finally found himself a girlfriend. Believe it or not I was happy for him, and I stopped trying to get into his pants long enough for them to give it a chance. But that poor girl -- he was so mixed up and embarrassed from our day together that I don't think he ever even worked up the nerve to kiss her. Judging by the emails he sent asking for advice, she probably spent most of the time trying to figure out if he was gay or some kind of fetishy psycho. Toward the end, when it was clear to me that he wasn't going to be able to salvage the relationship, I finally sent him those panties in the mail: this silky, tiger-striped pair that were a dozen sizes too small for me, but I wore them wadded up in the crotch of my pantyhose for an evening of surfing porn. I didn't put a return address on the envelope, but later, after they'd broken up, he told me he could recognize my smell. That was when I knew then that I absolutely had to have him again.
- -- -
Tonight there won't be any mistakes -- he is going to come, and I am going to take his virginity from him and keep it like a trophy. I told him as much, too -- I told him I was going to take his innocence piece by piece.
I unhook my cape and toss it over the chair beside the bed. Maybe we'll play with it later. A flick of my heel throws the sheet back over the foot of the bed, letting me crawl down his smooth chest until my hands have wandered over the final gentle bulge of his belly and arrive at their prize. In a quick, possessive movement I scoop up his blood-thick cock and scrotum and hiss at him like a cat, curling my lips away from my teeth. Finally he can see the fangs that he's fantasized about for so many years, and the reaction is worth it. His face drains of color, and the penis in my head stiffens into a rod. I lower my mouth -- my teeth -- toward his penis while he whimpers.
Several years back, after I finally tricked him into admitting to me that he looked at porn (he'd better, after how many links I sent him), he linked me to this video of a vampire blowjob. I've watched it a hundred times since -- I even have it saved to my cell phone -- not because it makes me wet (though I can admit it is sexy in its own way), but because I want to study it. I need not only to know what turns him on, but to be it, if I want him to be mine. A lot of what the vampire actress does is with her eyes. That sucks for me, since my all-white contacts are backordered through next week and my eyes are just a muddy color of brown, but I make up for it with good, arching eyebrows and much sexier lips than that actress. I've been practicing, too. My daughter caught me one night, fangs in, carefully fellating a peeled banana when I thought I was the only one awake in the apartment. That was embarrassing. But now... I'm an expert now.
His neck arches back and his breath catches in his chest as I begin to nurse the soft mushroom tip at the end of his erection. When his eyes roll to the ceiling, I spit him out to hiss angrily, "Watch me!"
His eyes snap open -- wide enough to show lots of white -- and lock to my face.
"If I see you so much as blink, I'll bite." I bare my fangs again, and he loves it -- at least to judge by his erection. Slowly, still fixing him with an accusatory glare, I lower myself those few inches to close my lips around his cock.
I think he's actually afraid I'll bite him; whatever it is, each time I glance up I see his eyes staring at my mouth and his own penis, and even though I don't make any effort to hurry his erection never softens. When I can tell he's almost ready to cum, I wrap my fingers around his balls and squeeze until he groans, flick my tongue all around his tip so he can see, and keep my fangs bared and framing his shaft. I see him struggling, wadding the bed sheets into ropes in his fists; the poor dear is trying to be polite and not come in my mouth. It's not hard to turn my laugh into an evil cackle. Just for effect, I add in a hiss, "Feed me!"
He explodes over my tongue, so I swallow quickly before I can taste the bitterness. I push him deeper into my mouth so I don't have to taste him again, then seal my lips around his shaft and suck. He gasps, and for a moment his cock surges and pumps, futilely trying to ejaculate again, but I continue to slurp and squeeze his head in the back of my mouth for minutes after he's got nothing left to give. I know full well the agony of pleasure this is putting him through; that's why I'm doing it. I silently forgive him closing his eyes this time; my ex cried the first time I did it to him, but after that he was mine. At least for a while. Even though Rick moans and squirms and clutches at the sheets, I continue to suck and swallow until his cock has shriveled up to a fleshy knob, and then I still lick and nibble at his thighs. A vampiress is done when she's done, after all. By the time I slither up his body and thrust my tongue between his lips, the taste of his semen is gone from my mouth. He's not ready for that yet.
I hover on all fours over him, crouched down enough to let my still (amazingly) contained breasts drag against his chest. His mouth still hangs open from my kiss, and he has this expression like he's just realized what the whole world is about. "That was amaz-"
I clamp my hand down over his mouth, and none too gently. My eyes flare; even without the contacts, I know the dark makeup makes them pop. "I told you not to talk." It comes out harsher than intended, but it gets his attention. "Nothing's changed. Talk again before I tell you to and we'll both regret it. Especially before I've had my turn." I loosen my hand from his mouth, but only to wedge my fingers -- all four of them -- between his lips and teeth and pry his jaw open. I fall on him and thrust my tongue into his empty mouth -- it slaps against his lips and teeth like a flag flapping in the wind, then retreats as I lean back to lick my fangs and lips above his face, where he can see. It's ridiculously campy, I know, but I'm playing a character. The effect on him is completely worth it.
"I hope you're ready to impress me with your tongue, Rick. That was a tempting appetizer; prove to me now why I shouldn't move on to the main course." I've rehearsed my next line in my mirror in the other room, and repeated it so many times it was like a mantra. I know just how to bare my fangs when I'm saying it, where to put the inflection, when to hood my eyes. Somehow it still sounds corny when it rolls off my tongue and into his ear. "Eat me out or I eat you up." I nip his cheek.
His eyes go wide again, and that's just how I want to see them. I only have to scoot forward on my knees to pin his face between my cooch and the pillows, but I don't; I stop short. I should move quickly before he can say anything stupid, but I don't settle down against him just yet. Sucking a cock is fun enough, generally speaking, but it's not enough to make me wet; however, after the show I just put on for him I'm glistening. My pantyhose would be soaked if they weren't crotchless. I'm sure he can smell me, and I want see him reach, to stretch his tongue to taste me. I tease him, lifting my hips to stay just out of reach of his mouth. When he lifts head from the pillow, I grab a handful of the hair on the back of his head and smash him into my swollen mound. It's not until he's groaning in pleasure that I let go and grind him back down into the pillow, smearing myself all over his lips and cheeks. I press down on his forehead and mash myself against him until his face starts turning colors and I can tell he needs to breathe. I let him gasp, and I get a quick glimpse of his enormous grin before I mash down again.
I've never been this nasty before; I guess he's getting a piece of my virginity, too. I just want to do things to him, and it doesn't help matters that he's been tempting me for years now. He will be mine after tonight, but right now that's not enough -- I want to mark him or scar him, something that can't be undone. I want to hurt him just a little bit, so he loves me for taking the pain away. I want to own him. I want to taste his cum again and not shirk away from the taste this time; it's my cum now. I pull his hair and channel all my lust into trying to devour his face with my thighs. I torture myself by pulling away to let him breathe again, and I let him lick me while I quiver with the anticipation of orgasm.
He's still so eager to bury his tongue in my crotch that it doesn't matter how inexperienced he still is; his enthusiasm makes up for any subtlety. I settle my hips again and rock over his face however feels best to me without regard for his comfort, and that only seems to excite him more. I lift up every so often to give him room because his tongue is nice, but the way he sucks on my labia when I let him -- or even my clit -- mmmh! Fuck!
I want to bite down on something. Normally I'd suck on his fingers, but with these fangs- No, I don't see any reason why I can't this time, either -- that's the point of the fangs. It takes some awkward shifting to get his arm free from under my knee, but once I have his wrist in my hands I squeeze it, I dig my nails into it, and I lick all the way up his wrist and into the cup of his palm like his skin is candy. While his tongue and nose and lips grind beneath my mound, my tongue flickers around his palm. I nip on the pads of his fingers, testing the strength of my fangs on his fingers. His fingers aren't calloused; the closest they've seen to hard work is holding a number two pencil through a long masters' exam. He moans at the pain, and his watery eyes plead up at me from between my thighs, but he licks harder and faster and more urgently, as if he thinks that's what I want. He should know better -- I take what I want. I only want to bite him harder.
When I finally come -- not one roaring orgasm, but dozens of little flickers spread out over several minutes -- my teeth are buried in the meat of his thumb. Because I came down so gently I don't have to get the fuck off him like he's on fire, so even though I'm sure I'm done for awhile, I keep my cooch pressed into his face while I inspect the two purple dents I've made in his hand. I feel kind of proud of them, even if they're not permanent. I let my hips glide through smaller circles, like a racecar coasting through a victory lap after the checkered flag, and then I finally I slip back behind his chin and swipe away my sweat and gunk from his face. It's kind of gross and kind of funny, but he looks like a used Kleenex right now. "Mmm-hmmm-hmm", I giggle -- a practiced, deep, breathy laugh that shows my fangs and hides my amusement at the state of his face -- and I plop down onto his ribs. It would spoil the mood to grab a tissue from the side of the bed, so what I wipe away with my fingers I push into his mouth for him to suck clean. "I think that was more of a reward for you, but... Mmmm..." I rub a fingertip over his tongue, and my mind flits away to a fantasy of mine, of seeing him suck on my blue dildo after I've used it. No, he's not ready for that, either, and besides I didn't pack it. I swore that I wouldn't get myself off on this trip, even if I got so horny I had to rape him. That he's ready for.
Gazing back down into his teary eyes, I hiss. "You like my pussy?" It's not my favorite word, but it rolls out nicely between fangs and I know he thinks it's hot coming from my mouth. He nods, so I grab his face hard, squeezing his cheeks between my thumb and fingers until his lips purse up. "Say it!" I hiss, and I give him an angry glare. He looks worried, like he's not sure if he'd get in more trouble from talking or not. I could take it further, but I feel pity for him and relent. "This is the one time you get to talk, Rick. So make it worthwhile. Tell me how much you like my pussy."
"I love your pussy." How cute.
"It loves you too, baby. So you get a little break." I pat his cheek. "Roll over onto your stomach. Time for you to relax."
While he turns over beneath me (and tries not to throw me off him in the process), I let those long, red acrylic nails play along the sensitive skin at the small of his back, and I wonder if I've missed an opportunity to use with the nails while he was watching. Guys like him seem to have a thing for nails. I reach over to the nightstand and open that clamshell box; inside is a little silk bag that clinks in my hand. I press him back down onto his folded arms when he begins to glance up. "Shhh. I told you to relax." Inside the bag are my "dragon-claws". That's not my name for them, that's actually what they're called on the website. They're just long, jointed, silver talons that slip over the ends of my fingers, even over the acrylic nails. They seemed vampirish enough, but more importantly they were just a little bit S&M, which is the direction I wanted to turn his fantasies. These fangs might be good as a prop once, but there were a thousand things I could do if I tied him up. My little riding crop didn't get worn out by itself. I'd sprung for the full set of claws, since he's paying for the hotel, so it's a bit of a process to get them all on. Oooh... the way his skin tenses and quivers the first time I slide the tips of the cold metal down his spine is so delicious I wanted to lick him again, to suck the cold from his skin. But I don't. I have a better idea.
- -- -
One time, quite out of the blue, he'd made me extremely wet without even trying.
This was just a month or two after the time he came to my house. We'd been talking on the phone for half the night. (The prepaid phone cards he bought for us were some of the best gifts I'd ever received. Even once it was just me and my girl in the apartment I didn't want the phone ringing in the middle of the night and waking her up, and I didn't yet have one of those fancy-schmancy cell phones with free long distance. Yes, I'm a little difficult, but completely worth it.) The conversation had turned, as it often did, to the afternoon we'd spent together (we got a lot of mileage out of those five hours), and I'd made us both come talking about it. My phone voice did more for him than his nervous stammering did for me, so I still had a night with my toys planned, but I like talking to him after he'd come. He was always freer with his little secretive fantasies afterward, freer with his compliments. Sometimes I wished I could sit him down in a room and get him high and see just what he would do when he wasn't so guarded or thinking with his cock.
That night he told me that sometimes he imagined being naked with me in my room again, and he could almost remember the feeling of my warm skin on his. I liked that too, I told him. But then he said that there was something more -- that he imagined laying in my bed on his belly, maybe tied to the bed, and me biting his ass, and not just hard enough to bruise it but so hard that I really broke the skin. Oooooh. He said he thought it was the kind of thing I might do, and even if he didn't like the idea of pain it turned him on thinking about me doing it. That made me quiver. I don't think he knew just how much it would hurt. Or maybe he did; he said he imagined me holding him down until I'd punctured the skin so he couldn't squirm away. He noticed me breathing heavily into the phone, and he didn't have to ask twice for me to gasp that I was gushing around my fingers, that he'd just given me a surprise mini-gasm. It was only three minutes of conversation, but I still remember that night when I need to get off. Why? Because he was absolutely right. That was exactly the kind of thing I would have done to him if I had a little more courage, and that he saw that hidden in me and it turned him on... Mmmm-hmmm.
I didn't bring it back up, and I'm pretty sure his little fantasy didn't include fangs then, but that's what I've had in mind since I started planning out this night. And that was before I knew just how much having these things glued in my mouth made want to sink them into something, anything soft and giving -- fruit, my hairbrush handle, my pillow, my own arm. There was something about fangs that made me need to bite down, to feel flesh squish down to the bone between my teeth. There was something about his fragile, naive, innocence that made me need to hear him suck in his breath through a wince, to have him beg for a little pleasure to soften the pain. I knew that once I had his ass in my hands again I wouldn't stop until I tasted his blood on my lips. What kind of vampire would I be if I didn't?
- -- -
The tips of my new metal claws have already found his ass -- the two marbled slabs of meat that are now mine -- and he's squirming beneath my prodding and pinching and scratching, burying his hips in the bed cushion like he's fucking it. That is probably going to give him an erection again, and I'm helping by keeping my other hand between his legs, tickling his shriveled scrotum with my claw tips. When I kiss the red marks I've made on his ass cheeks, his squirming changes -- he's not eager to escape my lips like he was the sharp metal, and when I lick his skin he holds perfectly still, like he's trying not to push back on my mouth. I might have thought he was cold and unresponsive if I didn't know him better; I know he thinks he's being polite, and it only makes it easier for me to abuse him. I wonder one more time if he remembers that night on the phone when he had me sopping; then I grab a handful of his ass and I bite.
He flinches and yelps, but the cry of pain isn't whiny so much as vulnerably sexy, so I bite harder. After all of my practice I thought it would be easier to break through his skin than it is; his flesh just dents around my fangs; I have to knead my jaw back and forth -- to chew his ass while he kicks and whimpers -- until I feel a little tear, a little penetration, and I can taste the bitter metal of blood swirling through my saliva. I make a big deal of slurping noisily and washing my tongue over his flesh, but the wounds are so small they close in only a few seconds. The bruise that's forming around those little swollen holes, though -- that will last him awhile.
I've swallowed his blood, and it's enough. The taste of it isn't any more appealing to my tongue than semen, but now he knows he's marked. He knows that he's mine. He watches me over his shoulder, and relief that it's over is plain on his face, so I lick my lips and cackle at him. I practiced the next line, too -- I'm pretty convincing with the delivery. "You shouldn't have let me do that, Rick. Mmm... Now that I've had a taste of you, baby, how do you ever expect to get away alive?"
That makes his erection swell, so I reach my hand under him and grab it, stroke it with my metal claws while I kiss the the two little wounds I've made. My other tooth-dents are disappearing from his ass, but his skin is turning a lovely shade of rose and probably smarts like hell. I bite him again -- just hard enough to make him wince and raise a fresh trickle of blood from the wounds when my fangs find them. He said he doesn't like pain, but that's because he didn't know what it does to me. I'm not really a sadist; I don't pull the wings from flies and I'm probably the smiliest person in the state, but that he trusts me -- and only me -- to let me hurt him when he's so soft and young and vulnerable -- not just trusts me, but lusts for me -- makes me so wet that I think I might have an orgasm from sex.