Blood Ties
Chapter 25

Copyright© 2009 by Dreadpirate Tom

Horror Sex Story: Chapter 25 - If you set out to kill a vampire, make sure you finish the job. This is the sequel to Blood Lust. If you haven't read it, you might have some difficulty with many of the references and characters. If you found the first one disturbing...well, it's probably only fair to warn you that this one will likely be worse.

Caution: This Horror Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/Fa   Consensual   NonConsensual   Rape   Mind Control   Slavery   Heterosexual   Horror   Vampires   BDSM   Rough   Sadistic   Torture   Slow   Caution   Violence  

December Eleventh

Kelly Sullivan stormed out from under the glass archway that covered the entrance to the CIA's headquarters at Langley. She had just gotten word that she had been passed over for promotion to the position of Deputy Director in charge of the Near Eastern and South Asian Analysis Office of the Intelligence Directorate. Again.

She had been recruited by the Company immediately after she had gotten her masters in computer programming and electrical engineering, but they had been far more interested in her language skills. Having grown up in a predominantly Arabic section of New York City, she was fluent in five of the ten main dialects of Farsi, three of the five major dialects of Arabic, and could speak the other dialects of both languages passably well. She could also muddle her way through Hindi and Turkish. In addition to her talent for tongues, she had a keen analytical mind and could piece together an accurate picture of the plans and ambitions of others with only a few solid bits of intelligence.

As a result of those skills, she had risen rapidly through the ranks during her first few years with the agency. Then she had reached her current position and hit the proverbial glass ceiling. They had told her to be patient, that she just needed more experience and seasoning, and that eventually she would continue climbing the ladder.

During the past eight years, the Deputy Director position had been filled five times. The first three times her immediate supervisor had claimed the vacancy, often by taking credit for her work. The last two times, however, men who were less senior and less qualified than she was had been selected.

This one had been particularly galling. Only yesterday, the Director of Intelligence, Charles Mancini, had hinted that she could earn the promotion on her back. Appalled, she had refused. Today, she had been forced to watch as Ben Waters, a man who she had trained and whose errors she had corrected time and time again, shot her a smug, oily grin as he moved his personal belongings from his cubicle to his new private office.

She was convinced that personnel decisions at that level were made, not in a board room, but on a golf course. The kind of golf course that would never allow a woman to set foot on the fairway. In the Company, the good old boy network was alive and well.

Her fury continued unabated as she drove to the fitness club, unabashedly chain smoking the entire way. Even after an hour on the Nautilus machines, tread mill, and exercise bike, she was still simmering. It was only as the hot water of the gym's shower was pounding into the tired and sore muscles of her back that she recalled her date.

She finished her ablutions with frantic haste, and ran at least three stop signs on the drive to her apartment. It had been years since she had last had even a semblance of a relationship; her dedication to her job had left little room for a social life. She didn't really understand why she had reversed that habit, but she was glad that she had.

Less than two weeks ago, he had approached her to ask the time just as she was getting home from work. She wasn't sure why, but she had lingered to chat, and had ended up spending the next few hours talking to him on the steps that led to the front door of her apartment building.

He was so easy to talk to: sympathetic, non-judgmental, and warm in a way that she, who had spent so many years among the cold, ambitious members of the intelligence community, had forgotten men could be. Best of all, he seemed to know instinctively when she wanted advice and when she just wanted to vent.

Since that night, they had spent nearly every evening together, although she had not yet invited him to her bed. So far, all of their dates had been impromptu affairs, initiated by him calling her at the last minute to ask if she wanted to join him for a movie, dancing, or simply walking among the monuments of the capital. Tonight, though, he had promised something special.

Her anger and frustration forgotten, she rooted through her closet with growing desperation: her wardrobe was ill suited for a night on the town. She should have bailed out from work a little early to go shopping for a dress: it wasn't like her employer could screw her over any worse than it already had.

She still hadn't found anything appropriate when the door buzzer sounded. She glanced at the clock on her night stand: he was almost a half hour early. Mortified, she threw on a robe and went to the intercom on the wall by her front door.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Bonjour, ma belle," Jean answered immediately.

"Come on up," she said as she buzzed him in.

She stepped over to the door. She could feel her heart fluttering wildly and her face growing hot.

"Stop that," she chided herself fiercely. "You're thirty-five years old for Christ's sake, not some high school bimbo."

It didn't help. Even after less than two weeks, she was already hopelessly infatuated. The worst part was that she knew so little about him. She had run his name through the CIA's database, of course, but, although that had produced a driver's license and birth certificate that set his age a good ten years higher than she would have guessed, she still had only a vague idea of what he did. She had no idea at all where he had grown up or whether he had any family. Sometimes even the French that peppered his speech sounded more like he had googled English translations rather than having a true understanding of the language.

When his light knock sounded on her door moments later, she threw it open. She was ashamed of the silly grin that she knew was plastered on her face, but she was unable to do anything about it.

He looked dashing in his well tailored black suit. With a warm smile, he presented a half dozen roses with a flourish.

"Des fleurs!" he announced, his voice hinting at self directed laughter.

Taking a box from behind his back, he added, "Please do not be offended, but I took the liberty of getting you this humble offering as well. To celebrate your grand promotion!"

All of her rage boiled to the surface again. She threw herself into his arms and buried her face against his chest. She didn't cry: she hadn't done so since before she was old enough to walk. Her body did, however, tremble with the anger that seethed just beneath the surface.

He held her loosely, running his hands soothingly through her hair and down her back until the shivers subsided.

"Les boules! I am guessing that you did not get it," he said with a sad sigh. "Truly, ma cherie, they are fools who do not know what a treasure they have in you. Tu es magnifique!"

She pulled back and answered with a wan smile, "Yeah? Well, I don't feel very magnificent."

"Trust me, you are," he replied sincerely. After a moment's pause, he added, "Perhaps my surprise will help make you feel better. While I will certainly understand if you are not in the mood for a night on the town, I happen to have two tickets for 'Black Nativity' at the H-Street Playhouse."

Her eyes widening with astonishment, she asked, "How on earth did you get those? That show has been sold out for months! I've been dying to see it!" Her body slumped with a sigh. "But, I was just digging through my closet, and I don't have anything to wear that wouldn't make it look like you picked a bag lady up off the street."

"Ma cherie, the other women would quiver with jealousy at your beauty if you wore nothing but a burlap sack, but perhaps you should look in the box," he said as he again raised it.

Taking it from him, she opened it curiously. It contained a dark green evening dress that would suit her flaming red hair and light, freckled complexion well.

Holding it up to her chest, she whispered, "It's beautiful, but it's too much. We've only been going out for a couple of weeks, I can't accept something this extravagant."

"Of course you can," he replied with a gentle smile. "It is but a trifle. At least wear it for the show, should you choose to honor me with your company. Afterwards, if you do not want it, I will march it directly to the store and return it."

At the mention of returning the dress, she involuntarily clutched it more tightly to her chest, and immediately hated herself for doing so.

He chuckled kindly at her action and reaction, and said, "Truly, Kelly, a night on the town may be exactly what you need. In any event, it would be much better than moping around your apartment, non?"

A number of hours later, Jean helped steer the unsteady Kelly up the front stairs of her building. After the show there had been dancing, and, for Kelly, more than a few drinks. At the door, she spun to wrap her arms around his neck and press her lips to his.

"Coming up for coffee?" she asked.

"I'm afraid that I don't touch the stuff," Jean replied playfully.

"Me either. Coming up anyway?"

They were barely inside her apartment before she turned her back to him.

"Unzip me," she commanded.

The dress fell from her body with a soft susurrus of cloth on skin to lie in a puddle around her feet, revealing that she hadn't bothered with undergarments. She turned slowly to face him, coyly covering her small breasts with her hands.

For a time he stood motionless, his eyes roving admiringly over her body: from her bright green, slightly tilted eyes; down her barely crooked nose; over her firm, freckle speckled breasts and flat, toned stomach; to the flaring hips and the strip of bright red hair that decorated her slit; and, finally, down her long, muscular legs. The heat of his gaze brought a blush to her face, but she stared back at him challengingly.

"Magnifique," he whispered in answer to her unspoken question as he bent to kiss her.

While they kissed, her hands deftly undid buttons, snaps and clasps until his clothes also adorned the floor. He reached down to cup her muscular buttocks in his hands and pick her up from the floor. Not breaking their kiss, he bore her quickly to the living room and seated her on the arm of the couch.

Sensing what she wanted, he dropped to his knees and placed his hands around her thighs, lifting them until they were over his shoulders.

Panting, she stared down at him, her eyes wide with passion. "Yessss," she hissed. "Lick my pussy!"

Her hands curled around the back of his head and pulled him toward her steaming center. Teasingly, he twisted his head at the last second to run his tongue along the crease of her inner thigh. As he did so, he inhaled deeply. She smelled of floral scented soap and sex.

He smiled as she half-seriously exclaimed, "Bastard!"

One of her hands left his head and pushed down between her legs to give herself the stimulation that she craved. He disengaged slightly so he could take in the erotic sight of her fingers rubbing the sides of her swollen clit and delving between the thick, shockingly bright pink lips of her sex.

She groaned in frustration as he pulled her hand away and then moaned in pleasure as it was replaced by his lips and tongue.

"Yes!" she screamed. "You're licking my pussy so good! Eat that cunt!"

Her stomach arched upwards as he sucked lightly on her clit, sliding first one finger and then two into her hot, wet depths. He drove them in and out with wild abandon, filling the room with liquid slurping sounds and the light slap of flesh on flesh as his palm impacted with her plump outer lips.

He pulled the fingers free and replaced them with his tongue. He then trailed the dripping digits up the length of her body. Shortly after that hand rubbed over a soft breast and hard nipple, his fingers were again engulfed by liquid warmth as she took them into her mouth. Her tongue swirled as she cleaned them of her juices.

"I love the way my pussy tastes," she murmured. "Isn't it yummy?"

"Oui... ," he began before her hands forced his face deeply back into her crotch.

"Shut up and keep licking," she commanded.

With a grin, he followed her order. A short time later, her hands pulled at his hair as he swirled his tongue over her taint, heading downwards. He teased the pink, puckered hole with the tip of his tongue before pressing slightly inside.

"What are you doing? That's my asshole! No one has ever..." her words cut off with a deep intake of breath followed by an incoherent squeal. Her thighs crashed against the sides of his head and squeezed it tightly as her body trembled.

He paid homage between her thighs until her she was panting for breath and her body quivered endlessly. With a final soft kiss and a lap of his tongue, he abruptly disengaged and stood. Easing forward, he rubbed the spongy head of his cock up and down between her juicy labia.

She weakly lifted her head to look, and her eyes went wide with trepidation as she saw his member clearly for the first time. Before she could protest, he lined it up and sank it smoothly and deeply inside her. Even as she threw her head back with a groan, her hands reached up to grab his upper arms, pulling him atop her. As they toppled backwards onto the couch cushions, her arms twined around his neck, and her legs wrapped around his hips.

 
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