Even if she hadn't demanded it of him, he would have made sure to witness her daily rising. The lid would snap open, she was that strong, all it took was a flip with one hand. One of the mystery's was how she came out looking so goddamn virginal each sunset. He had seen her lie down coated with scummy spunk, or mud, sweat from lovers, blood, just nasty as hell. No pun intended. Then she'd rise the next night looking pure as driven snow.
The good nights were those when she made love to him at rising. He knew it was because she was hungry, it hadn't taken long for him to realize that their relationship had nothing to do with romance. But those nights, she would sit up, already gazing at him, the dark auburn hair waved around that gorgeous, puffy lipped, small nosed face, her huge green eyes burning into his soul as she fluttered her long eyebrows beneath those heavy, dark brows that gave her face the defiant, slightly sinister look that made every man she met want to try to tame her.
Then those fantastic tits. She always smiled in a triumphant way as he gazed at their full, incredibly high profile, and sometimes she would twist as she got to her feet, letting him see them jiggle the slightest bit, face on. Then she'd be standing there, staring at him when she wanted him, letting his gaze caress her trim body with the dark, heavy pubic triangle that was always slightly parted by her gash. And wet. Always wet, down there. Smooth legs that seemed awfully long, yet slim. He was six feet, but she was eye to eye with him. He got hard just looking at her, his heart bursting with anticipation.
It had been that way from that first night, six months ago, at the nightclub. She had been dressed, but she wore that tight lace thing that hardly covered her pussy. It had a belt that was the only non transparent item on it, and it had always seemed to him the crowd had sort of parted so she appeared before him suddenly, and the old johnson went boingggggg. Her eyes slowly looked down, then back into his with that triumphant leer. She told him later he had needed less mental suggestion than most. They went outside to her hearse, and that was the first time.
He had been around. Not only a surfer, but a split end for UCLA, he rarely lacked for female company, always willing, always turned on by his broad shoulders and outsize dong. Mostly beach bunnies, but a few old broads, teaching him with their experienced fucking. Two years out of college, second string for the Rams when he hurt his knee, giving him a lifetime income. He could still jog, but couldn't plant and pivot. He'd been starting to wonder about his life when he met her, after a year of getting laid every night and sleeping well into the afternoons.
He would feel her warm breath as her lips and tongue kissed his face while her hips humped his, as her hands undressed him. She liked him touching her the same way she caressed him, lightly, but insistently probing the sensitive places. Eventually, she would literally float around him, writhing against his nakedness as she let her wet cunt plant her smell all over him. She really didn't go in for a lot of foreplay, though it varied. He was never sure whether it was the wonder of her beautiful body, the womanly natural perfume that would surround them as they moved against each other, or her mind controlling him. He didn't care.
Sometimes he sat, sometimes reclined, sometimes stood. It always felt as though she was wrapped around him, and he around her, and the movement of his thick cock inside her was smooth, effortless, and sexier than anything he had ever experienced. She always let him enjoy it for a while, although occasionally when she was in a hurry, he would pump just a few times, then she would feed, and the ecstacy would come.
It had never been painful. Just that little twinge in the neck, as he fucked her wetness and felt her body pressing to him. Then the orgasm as she fed, groaning, both of them coming with a fever outside human experience. He would spurt wildly into her body as she drank his blood. She often lifted them both off the ground in their completion, as wave after wave of tingling euphoria filled them both. She needed the feeding to cum, though he didn't, but it was far better when he got off as she did. He had a feeling she could make it last a long time, though she rarely took more than a cupful from him, but he always lost track, just luxuriating in the haze of pleasure that was like a crack hit, his first nut, and runners high all combined.
But not tonight, he knew. She had fed from all three of those swingers last night, two guys and a girl, and wouldn't need him for that tonight. Sometimes they would fuck at the end of the night, so he could get off. She was thoughtful that way. "Good evening, Lance."
"Serena." He watched her strut to the cupboard, on her toes like always, her body lithe, rippling, the most erotic spectacle he had ever seen. He had watched her cause a riot in a strip club once, putting on a show for a bunch of Russian weightlifters. She had taken them all on, feeding as she went, smiling at him occasionally as the rest of the bar was torn up by everybody fighting to get at her, laughing throatily as the chaos made her enjoy the whole scene. He would never forget her on her knees up on the stage, two naked hulks bleeding, with their cocks in both her holes, her throat arched to drain down the red liquid, some of which had coated her boobs.
As they walked out, her naked body sticky with blood and jism, a wide smile on her face, she whispered "I get a little naughty sometimes, Lance. You thought it was sexy, didn't you?" He didn't have to answer, and as he drove the hearse into the hills, she sucked him off.
As she stared into her wardrobe, she asked "What's the weather like, darling? Another hot, humid, California night?" He responded "Yeah, a little drier though. I hardly broke a sweat running." She looked over at him, with a tiny grin. "I'll signal you some time soon, dear. We'll jog together, let you get those nice chemicals going, and I'll feed while they're in your blood. It's a great taking." He knew they lived forever, or damn near, but she seemed young to him, almost as young as she looked.
"Anything in the news? The Balkans still hot? Such foolishness." He tried to find out details of her past obliquely, and said "Yeah, lost an Apache. You're originally from there, aren't you?" She chuckled as she continued to sift through her clothes. "No dear, I'm as American as you are. Umm, this'll do. Now let's go upstairs." She had slipped on a halter and mini skirt of bright lime, making a strange color combination, but spectacular, hugging her lithe curves, the tops of her tits wobbling while her pussy mound pushed at the soft fabric. Never any panties.
They sat on the veranda watching the red sky slowly darken. She had told him once that was the only thing she missed, sunsets. In spite of never being in the sun, she still appeared to have an all over tan. She always insisted he keep himself brown, all over. She liked white wine, though she didn't digest it much. He had tasted her piss, and it was always still alchoholic. She always waited until it was completly dark before telling him what the evening held in store.
"I see you got the lawn cut. Oh, and the new rose bush. Don't forget to feed it tomorrow. And I think you should buy two more patio couches. I have to host a party next week. My father's coming, with his harem." She giggled. "He thinks I'm licentious because I don't have one. But we should look around for some attractive women, Lance. We always have good luck at Almost Heaven. Make a reservation for tomorrow night, will you?" It was a great place to pick up attractive couples. They often stayed with us for several days, finally dragging away drained to exhaustion. But happy.
Just as he got up to go make the call, he heard her gasp. When he looked back, she was smiling, with a vacant look on her face. It meant she was getting a message. It passed quickly, and he waited, then asked "Your father?" She smiled and whispered "No, no, an old friend. Very old." A giggle again. That usually tipped him off that something unusual was coming. "We're driving down to the beach. I have to change. Get your suit."
Her only beach outfit is a string bikini, black, that shows her body off wonderfully. That new style, with a tiny little triangle over the pussy. Like Vampirella. When she swam with it, mostly in the pool, it couldn't stay in place, engineering wise. It could barely hold when she walked. She always wore a little gauze jacket in white that was a fantastic turn on. She liked him to wear a speedo.
She didn't say a word to him on the fifteen minute drive to a spot up north he wasn't familiar with. But there was a full moon, and another car was parked there when they arrived. As they pulled in, he could see two females standing down in the light surf, both in bikinis as skimpy as Serena's. When she pulled off her top, he lost the shirt. They walked, hand in hand, toward the surf. The moon was bright, and a familiar sense of anticipation overcame Lance. The two figures turned to face them.
The vampire looked no more than fifteen, if that. She had a very slim build, pert but small tits, narrow, girlish hips, and nice legs. Her face was almost virginal, a small nose, short blonde hair, thin lips, but that look of arrogance they all have. She had the smile of anticipation.
.... There is more of this story ...