Somewhere in the city there was a piece of hardware that could locate the small slice of moon peeking in through the Westerly clouds. No human eyes could have found it, were any looking. In the old days, these final hours before the dawn would've been blacker than death. As it was, street lights lent humanity a measure of control over the darkness. To add to this, a warm, welcoming glare began to spill out through the windows of coffee shops as their owners eagerly opened their doors just as the first black suited men appeared on the streets. Odd exclamations and the first cautious sounds of conversation bit into the quiet, along with the clicks of black briefcases and the sniffles of aristocratic noses taking exception to the homeless man on the corner of Parker and Snippes.
Shortly, a black suit monopoly was reduced to majority, as grey and brown jackets began to mix with the rest. More radical still, blues and greens and pinks made an appearance, crisply pressed skirts shuffling through a rustle of pants. At this hour, on these streets, the women stood out like ducks at a shooting gallery. Fully aware of the looks they were getting, some women cast their eyes down, intimidated and unnerved, cowering before the power of the black suited men, but also perhaps secretly pleased, their deference encouraging more looks and feeding the egos of the lookers. Other women refused to be cowed. With each step they declared their own mastery, challenging the men by openly meeting their gazes. Most men could not meet their eyes. To those who looked back, the women gave curt nods of encouragement, silent trophies which neither party had the time to respond to.
Paula Lowdeck was more of the former. She was a thin-boned woman in her late twenties with a longish face and a pointed nose. Her skin was clear and smooth, alluringly framed by her long auburn hair. Her bust was large enough to get her a second look from the men and had she wanted to with a little makeup she could've drawn their eyes for much longer. Therein lay the difference between her and rest. Her eyes were down, but not because she noticed the looks. She did not blush, nor sway her hips; she walked almost as if in a trance. Her brow was creased with a frown so slight it seemed habitual. Her skin too was perhaps a shade paler then it should've been, its tightness whispering of endured suffering. When she did notice the looks, Paula shuddered. She closed her eyes and took deep calming breaths. Then she was back in her trance, alone in an ocean of bodies.
Her moment came near the corner of Gartham and Clark. Passing under an awning, she was for a breath in a darker shadow. It was a space to the side of the sidewalk's main traffic and thus all the more inconspicuous. He grabbed her then, his right hand closing over her mouth while his left hefting her between the legs, pushing her teal business skirt upward. She would have sprung at his touch, but just as suddenly her legs had no ground to push against. Wind hit her face like an open palm, her stomach turned, and just for an instant her mind clouded with vertigo. Then, Paula's eyes widened with recognition. Warm liquid dripped past the fingers of the man's left hand. His nostrils tightened even as his leather clad toes slapped against the concrete on the roof of a skyscraper. His lips twitched upward. Beneath the rising smell of piss, sweat, and terror, the odor of female arousal was growing. Not that it mattered — the contract had been agreed to already.
Finding his balance overlooking the city below, the man switched his grip. His left hand wrapped around the base of her neck, dangling Paula over the street. With his right, the man slashed through her hair, his fingers cutting away her scrunchy as if it were nothing. Her mane flapped in the wind like a lone wing, desperate to keep her a float. "Oh God," Paula breathed, forced to stare at the street far below her.
She couldn't see her assailant, but Paula knew what he looked like. He was not too tall for a man, 5' 11 at most, with a lithe muscular frame, short black hair and very dark brown eyes. He had a square chin, a skinny nose, and large ears. His breath quickened as he grabbed Paula's collar and with a sharp motion tore her top down the back. She gasped, but the sound was torn apart by the wind long before it could reach anyone. The man swung her body aside, directing the small shower of buttons to crash on the rooftop beside him.
Paula jerked in his grasp as he dangled her over the street once again. Her body was shaking from cold and terror. Through his left hand, the man could feel goose bumps rising over her flesh. "Oh ... oh, wait, please no..." she croaked as his hand snaked around her, closing over her left breast. He pulled her backward until she was bent in the air, her ass rubbing his hard cock through his pants. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Please," she moaned, "I changed my mind. I ... I want my money back... !"
The sound he made was something between a growl and a chuckle. He ripped off her front with the same ease as her back. This time most of her top came away in his hand. The rest floated as rags off her shoulders. She shrieked as her waist swung forward, away from his crotch. The man smiled darkly as he watched Paula's legs dangle. Almost unwittingly, Paula's hand reached for her crotch. Her eyes closed. She moaned.
He tore her skirt with a single finger casually ripping the fabric down the crack of her ass, feeling her through her panties. She was left twitching over the street in plain white underwear. He stopped then, waiting.
Paula's breathing was hoarse. Her body shook. Her inhales deepened as she hung unmolested. At some imperceptible moment, the tension in her shoulders changed. Gasps of fear turned into laughter. It was a giddy cackling, split with moans. "I didn't think it was real," she breathed. "Not completely." The man pursed his lips. He studied her. "Just do it," she cried. "Don't make me wait. Fucking do it, come on! Aaaggrrhh!" Paula screamed. Her hands rose as if to grab the man where he held her. They fell away as soon as she touched him. She slumped, rubbing her palms on her elbows. "So cold. I hadn't imagined this."
The man moved then. Casually, he undid his zipper. The sound brought Paula's head up again. He drew her toward him until his lips were right by her ear. "Shush now," he breathed. "The only thing left is to be my little fucktoy." Paula purred. Pulling aside her soaked underwear, she spread her cunt as her moved his cock between her legs.
He impaled her completely with one violent thrust. Paula shrieked. His left hand rose from her neck, grabbing her hair. His right hand squeezed her right breast. He bent her forward over the drop with only the very tips of her heels digging into the roof. He fucked her like that, each thrust hard enough to shove her off of the building. Then he would pull her back down his cock by her hair, all the while mauling her breasts. Her toes, desperate, would barely find their sliver of purchase before he would thrust again.
Paula sobbed and coughed and moaned and gagged and giggled. She came thrice before he pulled her head to his mouth. His right hand moved behind her, pushing against her spine, forcing her to arch her back. Paula came again when he lowered his face to her throat. She raised her palm to his head and held him to her. It hurt when his teeth pierced the skin.
He fucked her until her hands and feet were dangling limp and her body was turning cold. "Nice," he murmured into her ear. He shuddered against her. "Coming now, Paula. Can you feel my cum spilling inside you? Fuck, you were good." He licked her. Drowsy as she was, her lips parted in a faint satisfied smile. She had no idea he knew perfectly well she couldn't feel much of anything now.
The man let her go. He gasped at the feeling of Paula's cunt sliding down off his cock. He zipped himself up, feeling a little guilty as he watched Paula plummeting down. There was something unprofessional about not cumming inside her. But it wouldn't do to have the coroner finding vampire spunk on her body. With his vampire eyes he could see that the smile stayed on her lips all the way as she watched the ground grow nearer.
Reaching into his jacket, the man pulled out a camera. He stared through it at the street below, adjusted the lens, and snapped the shatter. He moved along the roof, readjusting the lens, on and on, taking picture after picture until the camera beeped at him that it was out of film.
He stepped away from the edge then, placing the camera back in his jacket. He stood meditatively for a moment before turning eyes to the West and sniffing the air. He let his body relax. All along his frame tense muscles unwound sending wave after wave of energy upward into his brain. He felt drugged and euphoric then. His spirit seemed to rise from his body, casting his metanatural senses across the city.
It drifted southward, homing in on the one he was looking for. He found her in the park, clearly a fit woman, with tight jeans outlining strong thighs and a well rounded ass. She wore a black leather jacket, zipped up to her neck, and a bright red scarf. A good length of the scarf trailed down to her ribs in contrast to her curling black hair which stopped just short of her shoulders. Her skin was ivory and her face oval with sharply defined features. Even standing beside her most would have thought her blemishless, though the man on the roof knew that if one stared really hard one could sometimes make out the cadavers of long bleached freckles under her skin.
.... There is more of this story ...