Big Tittie Police Girl...
Copyright© 2026 by Dark Apostle
Chapter 2
Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 2 - After accidentally injuring a vampire, eighteen-year-old James finds himself hunted through the streets of London. Cornered in an abandoned warehouse, out of ammunition and facing certain death, James does the unthinkable: he compliments his pursuer's enormous titties. What follows is an outrageous, darkly humorous encounter involving an inexperienced young man, a dangerously beautiful vampire, and a rather unexpected offer to become her familiar. Not edited.
Caution: This Fan Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Heterosexual Fiction Fan Fiction Horror Post Apocalypse Vampires Masturbation
James sat slumped against a crate with his trousers still tangled around his ankles, and between his legs, with her pale tits swinging and her lips stretched around his cock, knelt a vampire. It was not exactly how he’d expected the day to go. An hour ago he’d been a kid with a loaded gun and a death wish, and now he was a kid with a throbbing neck, a head full of cotton wool, and a blonde bobbing in his lap. He groaned, because fuck, she was good at it. Her mouth was wet and cool and tight, her tongue swirling under the head of his cock, and every slow pull sent a shiver crawling up his spine.
He stroked her hair, and she looked up at him through her lashes, her blue eyes sparkling, and grinned around the thick length in her mouth before she resumed sucking, causing him to moan. “Mmmph,” she hummed, and the vibration of it went straight to his balls. The wet, sloppy sounds of her mouth bounced off the warehouse walls, shlick, shlick, shlick, and the streaks of his earlier mess had dried tacky on her tits, which swayed with every bob of her head, those thick nipples brushing his thighs.
He bucked, his hips jerking off the concrete, and she took it, her throat working as she swallowed every hot spurt, her eyes never leaving his. She pulled off with a filthy slurp and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a faint red smear still lingering at the corner of her lips. James grinned like a lunatic, grabbed her by the arms, and hauled her up against his chest, holding her there with her tits squashed against him.
“Fuck you’re hot.”
She giggled, the sound ridiculous coming from a creature who’d tried to rip his heart out not long ago. “You got a name?”
“Now she asks,” he grinned, faking outrage, and she laughed, burying her face in his shoulder. “I’m James, and you, I mean other than beautiful.”
“Seras,” she blushed again, the colour creeping across her pale cheeks, and she looked so pleased with herself that he felt something stupid and warm turn over in his chest.
He grinned. “Fuck you’re pretty.”
“I like you,” Seras blurted out, and then looked horrified, as though the words had escaped without permission. Her fangs worried at her lower lip while she waited.
“I like you too, so, now what?”
She mused, tracing a cool finger in circles over his chest, her eyes drifting to the ceiling as though the answer might be written in the rafters. “Don’t know.”
James looked at her, at the wild blonde hair, the swollen, bitten lips, the ridiculous, magnificent body kneeling in his lap, and his cock gave a hopeful twitch against her thigh. It seemed the blood loss hadn’t dented his stamina in the slightest. He caught her by the hip and gave her a little push.
“Get on all fours.”
“Yeah,” she grinned, and she was moving before he’d finished the sentence, turning on the cracked concrete and sinking onto her hands and knees. She presented her plump, pale ass, round and soft and flawless, her pussy glistening between her thighs, still swollen and slick from his tongue. God, he loved it. He gave it a slap, hard, and the crack echoed through the warehouse, a pink handprint blooming against the porcelain skin.
“Hnn.”
She pushed back against him, wiggling, and he moved into position behind her, one hand wrapped around his cock as he lined it up. He pushed in, slow and deep, her cunt cool at the edges but impossibly tight and hot inside, and gripping her hips, he started to thrust. Slap, slap, slap. Her ass jiggled with every drive of his hips, and she moaned, dropping her shoulders to the floor so her tits dragged against the concrete.
“So I’m going to be your familiar?”
“Yeah,” she grunted, and nodded, her hair bouncing across her back. “I’ll need you to be around.”
He groaned, his fingers digging into her flesh, watching his cock slide in and out of her. “That won’t be a problem.”
“I live with others?”
“Oh,” he pushed in flush and stayed still, buried to the hilt, her cunt fluttering around him. He felt her grin more than he saw it.
“Alucard.”
He paused.
His mouth went dry, and for one mad second the cold, rational part of his brain tried to kick down the door and scream at him.
“Dracula?”
“Yes.”
“He’s your sire?”
“Yes...”
“Oh God,” he started cumming, the thought of it, the danger, and her tight, wet heat milking him all combining into something helpless and total. He sighed and shuddered, his cock pulsing deep inside her, filling her with hot ropes of cum, but he didn’t move away. He stayed there, folded over her back, panting against her shoulder. “Will that be a problem?”
“Only if you break his shit.”
He got up, pulled her up with him, and she turned into his arms, her mouth finding his again. Fuck, he loved her fat titties pressed against his chest, cool and heavy and still sticky from everything they’d done to each other. He held her there, one palm flat between her shoulder blades and the other cupping the swell of her ass, and for a moment the warehouse went quiet except for the slow tick of the cooling roof.
“I want to sleep on you.”
“Yeah? I sleep in a coffin.”
“Is it a tight fit?”
She nodded, and he grinned against her hair.
“Then it means I get to lie, pressed down onto your beautiful body.”
She moaned and kissed up and down his neck, her lips drifting over the ragged marks she’d already left, and he tipped his head back to give her more room, grinning like the idiot he was.
“Bite me.”
“James?”
“Now baby.”
She moaned, sinking her teeth in. The pain flared sharp and bright, then melted into that same hot, drugging pull, and he held her tighter while she sucked more blood from him. His knees went soft and his head went light as a balloon. When he started to go woozy she felt it and pulled off at once, licking the marks until they sealed over, her tongue cool and careful against his skin.
He grinned, drunk on it, and slid a hand between her thighs to cup her wet cunt. She squirmed against his palm, and the sticky evidence of what they’d done slid warm down her leg and over his fingers. The two of them got dressed after that, or tried to. His trousers were a battle, and she spent a minute hunting for her bra before giving up and stuffing it in a pocket. She smoothed the top over her tits, tugging the fabric into place, and he reached over, gripped the big melon in his palm, and bounced it, watching it sway under the cloth.
“Fuck, those are nice tits. I see why he sired you.”
She flushed and chuckled, swatting his hand away, then catching it again and lacing her fingers through his.
Outside, the night air hit him like a slap. Seras had a car stashed three streets over, a low black thing that smelled of leather and old cigarettes, and James sprawled in the passenger seat with his head against the window while the city thinned out around them. Streetlights gave way to hedgerows, then to long, dark stretches of road with nothing on either side but fields. She drove too fast, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on his thigh, and every few minutes she glanced at him as though checking he was still there. He kept his hand on top of hers.
“How far?”
“Not far now.”
“You said that twenty minutes ago.”
“It’s been eleven.”
He laughed, and the laugh turned into a yawn, and he let his eyes drift shut with the hum of the engine in his bones. The blood loss was catching up with him, sweet and heavy, and he might have dozed if the car hadn’t slowed and the tyres hadn’t crunched onto gravel.
He opened his eyes.
“Holy shit.”
The mansion rose out of the dark like something dreamed up by a madman with an unlimited budget. It sprawled across the hillside in wings and towers and gabled roofs, its grey stone walls crawling with ivy, a hundred black windows staring out over the grounds. A drive of white gravel wound up to the front steps between trimmed hedges and stone statues, and every one of the statues had been carved into the shape of something with wings or fangs. Moonlight slid down the slate roof in silver sheets. The whole place looked like a cathedral built by someone who’d had a very long time to think about what he wanted.
“Welcome home,” Seras murmured.
James climbed out, still unsteady, and stood with his hands hanging at his sides, gazing up at the front of the house. Something large and pale drifted across the lawn at the edge of his vision. He turned his head.
It was a peacock.
A fucking peacock, tail dragging behind it like a bridal train, picking its way across a lawn that looked as though it had been trimmed with nail scissors. Then another appeared, and another, a whole procession of them strutting out from beneath the hedges, their necks glittering blue-green in the moonlight and their tails spread in great quivering fans covered in watching eyes. One of them let out a scream like a woman being murdered in a stairwell. A second answered it. A third joined in, and within seconds the whole lawn was howling.
“No,” James said.
“Yes.”
“No. He’s the King of the vampires. He’s Dracula. He’s got a castle full of centuries and blood and death, and he’s got fucking peacocks?”
Seras bit her lip, her shoulders shaking. “He likes them.”
“Of course he does.”
“They were a gift.”
“From who?”
“I’ve never asked.” She came around the car and slipped her arm through his, steering him toward the steps while the birds paraded alongside, shrieking at the intruders. One bold bastard darted in to peck at the toe of his boot, and James hopped sideways, swearing, which only set her giggling harder. “Don’t kick them. He gets very touchy.”
“I wasn’t going to kick it. I was going to negotiate.”
“With a peacock?”
“With whoever’s holding its leash.”
She laughed outright, the sound bright and unguarded, and pulled him up the broad stone steps. At the top, under a pointed arch carved with snarling gargoyles, stood a pair of doors as tall as a house, black wood banded with iron. James stared up at them, then down at her, at the flushed cheeks and the swollen mouth and the bitten ruin of her top, and the nerves finally caught up with him, cold and clear and flapping loose in his belly.
Seras squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.
Then she shouldered the great door open, and the warm gold light of the hall spilled out over both of them.
The door opened.
Seras and James both turned, braced for black coat, red eyes, and a grin full of far too many teeth. Instead, an older gentleman stood in the doorway in a immaculate three-piece suit, white gloves, and a monocle that caught the hall light. He studied the pair of them with the calm, unhurried eye of a man who had seen a great deal worse than a half-dressed girl and a pale boy with a ragged neck. This was not Dracula.
“Mistress Seras.”
“Walter,” she giggled, the sound bright and a little guilty, like a teenager caught sneaking in after curfew.
His gaze slid to James, took in the bite marks, the crumpled shirt, the trousers fastened a button out of line, and the lacy strap of a bra poking from Seras’s pocket. Not one muscle in his face moved. “We have a visitor?”
“Yeah, he’s my familiar.”
“Have you bled him?”
“Twice,” James grinned.
He regretted it the instant it left his mouth, because the old man’s eyes turned to him and stayed there. They were pale and mild, and James had the distinct impression that behind them sat something thin and sharp and very patient, something that had killed more monsters than James had ever had hot dinners. His grin wobbled. Then it faded altogether when Walter inclined his head the barest fraction, the way a man might acknowledge a surprising move in a game of chess.
“Of course,” Walter nodded. “Right this way. Master will be interested in meeting you.”
“Master being?”
“Who do you think?”
James swallowed. Outside, one of the peacocks let out a scream that ripped through the night like a car crash, and the door swung shut behind them with a boom that shook the floor.
Walter led them down the hall at a stately pace. It stretched out ahead like the nave of a church, the ceiling lost in shadow, the floor covered in a long red carpet so thick that James’s boots made no sound at all. Oil paintings in gilt frames lined the walls, stern men in armour and pale women in high collars, every one of them watching the intruder pass. Suits of armour stood at intervals like silent guards. A chandelier the size of a small car hung overhead, dripping crystal, and the whole place smelled of beeswax, old stone, and something faintly coppery underneath that James decided he didn’t want to think about.
“Fuck me,” he whispered.
“Later,” Seras murmured, and he nearly choked.
Walter did not turn his head. “Mistress Seras, I would remind you that the walls in this house are very old and very thin.”
“Sorry, Walter.”
“Not at all.”