Vampires aren't Real

She looked at him with lust filled eyes. He stood about 6'2", with long, flowing hair, almost as dark as ebony. His eyes were a fascinating mix of browns and greens, with golden flecks. They pierced her to the core when he fixed his gaze back at her and locked onto her eyes. She felt a little weak in the knees.

He beckoned her over with that stare. He didn't need to move a muscle for her to know that, just that look. She knew she shouldn't. She had someone waiting for her at home. But she went to him anyway. Her hormones got the better of her. Or was there something else?

They were alone in a darkened corner of an otherwise crowded bar. The bar was poorly lit at best, as bars are wont to be. But this corner seemed a bit darker. She noticed the bare bulb of the wall lighting barely glowing red and almost flickering. It seemed to be struggling to emit even this feeble glow.

"Give me your wrist."

The command was soft-spoken and sounded more like a question than anything, but something in the undertones made it quite clear that he wasn't asking, it was definitely a command.

She balked at the idea but felt compelled to comply. She held her wrist to him. He took her hand firmly and brought her wrist to his mouth.

He kissed it gently but did not remove his lips. Opening his mouth he gave a sweet, tender, suckling bite.

And still lingered a moment longer, drinking in her growing passion.

The noises of the bar were drowned out by the beating of her heart and rush of blood to her nether regions. Her pulse quickened and she felt a tingling sense of fear creep over her. But she was transfixed by his gaze and stood there even as the "fight or flight" instincts tried to kick in.

How long did he stay there with his mouth affixed to her wrist? Time was a blur, it couldn't have been more than a minute, two at most, but it felt like she'd been trapped there for hours. As soon as his mouth left her wrist she slowly began to gather her wits.

"So, what's your name? Mine is ... is ...", but their eyes were still locked and she trailed off, momentarily forgetting her own name.

He blinked, breaking the connection, and she regained a measure composure, "Well, names aren't important anyway. I really must be going. A pleasure to meet you."

She forced a polite smile, turned, and walked away.

"We shall meet again, my dear." His words came to her from somewhere, loud and clear, but she didn't hear them. She just knew.

Several weeks passed and she never visited that bar again, but she couldn't get that man out of her mind. Sometimes she thought she had seen him again: Late one evening as she took her daily walk around town; the time she went to the all-night gym for her work-out; or that time she had to make a late night run to the 24-hour convenience store across town. Each time she thought she saw him out of the corner of her eye, she would turn to look properly, but there was no one there.

These "sightings" went on for a few months. Until, during one of her evening strolls, right after a "sighting", he was there, in front of her, when she turned back around.

Her heart started racing and she felt a little afraid; the town did not have adequate lighting and this was one of the darker sections of roadway.

"There is nothing to fear here." His voice sounded in her mind.

Followed quickly with, "Hello, I told you we'd meet again." audibly, as she heard it with her ears.

"I didn't believe it, but I knew it was true anyway. I've seen you following me."

"I haven't been."

"But I saw you ..."

"Yes. You were following me." He smiled.

"No, I wasn't..." She was nervous, but she knew it to be true, though it had never been intentional.

He continued to just smile at her, a pleasant, warm smile, his eyes twinkling in the faint light.

"But I ... I wasn't!"

"My dear, you came to me, because I called to you." He took her wrist again, and again kissed her pulse, gently playing at the flesh with his teeth. She felt the same rush and the same freeze of time. This time, however, he worked his tongue and teeth up her arm, stopping at the crook of her elbow to give a slightly more firm nibble. "Come with me," he whispered when he was near her ear. He took her hand and lead her away to a doorway down the street. She followed him willingly and eagerly.

Once inside, he dropped her hand and lead her to a sitting room, decorated and furnished in a Victorian style. He gestured to a beautiful red velvet chaise lounge with ebony trim. She crossed over to it and stood, waiting.

His smile darkened, as he looked upon her. With only a look, he commanded her to disrobe. She instinctively knew this command. She felt compelled. He just stood there, in the entryway to the sitting room, not moving, just gazing upon her as she slowly began to remove her white blouse.

She knew that she was to pause when she'd placed her blouse upon the lounge. She could feel his gaze changing commands even without seeing him.

She stood there, in her bra and trousers, and looked at him, questioning what was next. He moved to her with such subtle, graceful movements that he seemed to glide across the floor. He picked up her blouse and folded it neatly before placing it back upon the chaise. He stood before her then, face to face, just under an arms reach away.

With the same non-verbal commands, he looked at her face, then glanced to her wrist. Dutifully, she held out her arm, wrist up. This time when he nibbled at it, she felt the cut of his teeth. She'd expected them to be sharp, but they weren't. He held her there, her wrist to his mouth, and she felt her blood draining away. She became light-headed and weak, and yet he held her fast.

When she became too week to remain standing he guided her to lie upon the chaise lounge, her folded blouse a perfect pillow. When she looked at her wrist, she saw that there were no marks and became confused.

He knelt beside her and kissed her shoulder. He began exploring her collarbone and the fleshy part of her chest by her shoulder with his kisses and tender nibbles. Whenever he found a sensitive spot he would linger there, biting and suckling gently. She was becoming very aroused and would let out gentle moans every time he found another sweet spot.

The fingernails of one hand traced the cords in her neck, while his mouth explored her chest. He seemed to know exactly where the most tender and erogenous spots on her neck were, and every time his nails would start to just glance across one, he would drag them more firmly, until just at the edge, where he would revert to the tenderest of brushes. Already damp from the initial arousal, the combination of tactile experiences made her positively wet and brought her ever closer to the edge of orgasm.

The motion of his hand trailed off after one last pass across her throat, instead, kissing and nibbling his way back up her chest, across her collarbone, and finally, up her neck. She was only aware of his mouth, her own neck, and the warm, wet, aura of her pussy, courtesy of his teasing nibbles and licks.

There was a pause. His mouth wasn't on her. He wasn't touching her at all. She had a feeling of longing, a burning desire to feel him again, but she was transfixed and couldn't even open her eyes to look for him.

Locked in this trance of yearning, her back arched and she clawed at the chair. Then she felt his teeth on her neck. He bit her hard, exactly in the most perfect location; right at her jugular. She exploded in orgasm. Through wave after wave of thrumming, throbbing, clenching orgasm, she writhed; but still, his mouth was firmly locked on her throat. It began to hurt, but the pain was also pleasure and it just heightened the peaks and deepened the troughs of her orgasm.

She passed out from the intensity and the next thing she remembered was groggily waking and sitting up on the chaise lounge, completely alone.

After redressing, she explored the house. Dust and cobwebs were thick in every room, except the entryway and the sitting room. Even those two areas were mostly dust covered, the only signs of inhabitation were the marks she herself had made. No one else had been in the house in a very long time as far as she could tell. There were no signs of vagrancy either.

As she left, she closed the door behind her and heard the latch catch. She wouldn't be able to go back.

By the time she got home, she had only a vague recollection of feeling like she belonged to someone; that she was wanted. It warmed her heart and touched her soul, but also made her sad. She could not remember who it was that had made her feel like this. It certainly wasn't her partner, he hadn't made her feel this special in many years.

~~~Fin~~~