Jobs

Act 13 – the Medium/Exorcist Part 5

I have my dress pulled up, leaving me exposed and vulnerable as something cold probes for my insides. Shortly his image comes into view and I think, what the fʊck? Wow, this is just…wow. And here I thought I’ve seen everything from horny incubi to cʊnt-sucking vampires. Well…I’ll be damned to the fiery pits of Hades. Apparently this is not what I was expecting. At all. Nope, nah-uh, not by a long shot. Delvina Carlisle. You are officially fʊcked. Congratulations…tramp!

~ Delvina Carlisle

This guy is tipping me.

And I’m not talking about money either.

Nope. Not that kind of tip.

He’s tipping my vâgina using his tip.

The one that’s hard between his legs.

With his two, oversized balls slapping wet against the weeping lips of my labiâ.

“Madam…” I call the man’s wife’s attention as the man—who’s moving on top of me like a horny jackrabbit—continues to sink his fat carrot down my red rabbit hole, “…Mrs. Montgroper!” I yell rather impatiently with my head slamming against the headboard, because her sweaty husband is pummeling into me with his hands gripped around the back of my knees, stretching me to my absolute limitations.

Oh my cʊnt, where the fʊck is she!? “MADAM MONTGROPER!” oh God, her husband has decided to squeeze my breasts with his paws rather aggressively and I’m afraid I’m getting turned on. And I shouldn’t because he’s old, and so, so gross. But my n*****s don’t lie. They are so, so aroused and pelting with nerves.

“Yes...?” she asks as the door creaks open. Like one of those doors in old horror movies slowly opening to make that eerie, awful dying sound. Oh God, this exorcism I’m doing with the Montgropers is so medieval.

“Mrs. Montgroper…”

“You called, dearie?” her voice is as bony as her fingers, “Are you okay, sweetheart? I’m really sorry, hun,” her eyes go from sleepy to fully awake as she watches her husband defile me on their colonial, four-poster bed that had probably been a bed where most soldiers died during the Civil War, because it’s so fʊcking old-looking. It’s so old that I think I saw a tarantula crawl down on one of the bedposts, “It’s going to be worth it, sweetie. Just keep at it,” she encourages me with a fist pump in one hand, her other waving a fat wad of Benjamins gathered in a rubber band. I swallow…estimating that what she’s paying me is around ten thousand dollars.

But I have to make sure about that. Just to be safe.

“How much are you paying me again?” I inquire, my breathing labored as sweat envelops my entire body, matting the hair onto my forehead, and making my s*x do a very obscene clenching sound as her husband penetrates me deeper with slippery thrusts.

“Twelve thousand, my dear…is that good enough?”

She’s a gold mine.

“Make it fifteen,” I haggle as my head keeps bumping against the headboard, “To pay for the damages.”

She nears the bed, clasping one of the bedposts which are now creaking wildly and loudly, “What damages are you talking about?”

Inwardly I roll my eyes. Outside I smile. “My head, Madam. I need to get a scan to make sure my skull hasn’t cracked.”

“Oh my,” she gasps, rather sincerely, “Is that how expensive hospitals are nowadays? I thought that with the advancement of science, health care would be made more affordable for the common folk.”

She thinks I’m a commoner. Great. She is so 1940’s gone bad.

“Madam…” I shudder, because for some reason her husband is hitting something inside me that’s starting to make me feel good, “…taxes are what makes health care nowadays that much more expensive. Blame the government. Not my poor cʊnt.”

“Okay, okay. Be that as it may. Fifteen thousand it is,” she sighs, running a hand through her graying hair and I see the glint of precious gemstones dotting the rings slotted onto her five fingers. What a frugal bítch. She’s loaded. She’s just being stiff.

“Hmm, my husband is quite the beast isn’t he?” she asks me...she asks me...she fʊcking asks me while I’m in the middle of being spread-eagled and defiled on their century-old matrimonial bed! And yet I surprise myself by nodding like a submissive wench, “Alfred is quite old, I know. But I’m not ready to lose him yet,” her voice grows stern, eerily commanding despite her obvious fragility, “No, I’m not ready you hear? So you do your work, you…you whôre...” Ouch! Did she just call me a— “Whôre, indeed you are. So fʊck that demon outside of him! Make it go away. And your success shall be rewarded handsomely,” she raises her chin and straightens up, walking to where the door is creaking as it closes behind her.

Handsomely. I will be rewarded handsomely. Handsomely…well, fʊck. That’s the understatement of the year. Because her husband isn’t all that handsome! He’s a pudgy fifty-year-old whose tongue is probably longer than his côck! Okay, fine. To give him credit, he is possessed by a demon s***h warlock s***h imp. Not always a good combination of genes. It’s a fʊcked-up hybrid that you get when your mom decides to bend over and have her lady bits get renaissance-d by a medieval warlock, a century-old demon, and a well-endowed Irish elf.

I guess interracial relationships also existed in the underworld after all.

This old geezer has been pummeling me for minutes now. And I am no longer aroused. Yeah I can feel the delicious burn in my clít like it’s being licked by hot coals. But I’m so not building into an orgasm, which I have to, in order to finish this ritual since the demon is already unleashed and in full force as seen through the dark, swirly haze in Mr. Montgroper’s dilating pupils.

Oh fʊckdammit. Just when I needed to come and come hard it’s not happening for me. God this is so gross. It’s like being taken by Conan O’Brien and his red Irish manhood. Is Conan even Irish? I don’t know. And I don’t wanna know. But I can almost imagine him slamming into me, with his cartoonish red hair bobbing like he’s having a seizure.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God I’m gonna vomit. So fʊcking gross!

I close my eyes and think I’m being taken by a fat Channing Tatum. Oh yeah…that’s so much better. A fat Channing Tatum with a big, fat díck. That image is so much better than having to open my eyes to see this lunatic, this…this insane old geezer!

Oh my cʊnt, oh my cʊnt, oh my cʊnt! Yes. I’ve converted from Atheism, to Scientology, and now to worshipping my own fanny.

I should get a lifetime achievement award for doing my job. I’m saving lives here. Not just exorcising demons. I know that no matter how debauched it is to open my legs like a pub for everyone to drink, I’m still making a damn difference! I know that at the end of an excruciatingly delicious orgasm that I’m giving people a new lease on life. A second chance…a second…ow…ow…oh my God his claws are coming out. Shít! SHíT! But it’s a good shít. It’s good because this means he’s coming.

He’s close…closer…getting there…almost there…yes he’s very close, evidenced by the smoldering energy that’s radiating off of him in waves. Oh God he’s so warm. Oh my cʊnt he’s getting hotter. Holy crapola why did I open my eyes! I close my eyes. Think Channing Tatum. Think Channing Tatum. Big, fat Channing Tatum with a hard, throbbing díck. I need to come. I need to come. I have to. Oh my God, Channing feels so good.

Goddammit! I will most definitely endeavor in breeding my own children. And I want girls. So that by the time I reach my mid-thirties I’ll be able to retire and have my girls do this job for me. I’ll hand over to them the task of exorcising demons.

I know I’ve only been doing this for a few years but my vâgina is tired. Holy crap! I did not just see that. Oh God, why did I have to look down? My poor vajayjay is so red as the veiny length of Mr. Montgroper’s shaft slams into me repeatedly like a finger possessed.

Channing Tatum. Channing Tatum. Fat Channing Tatum with the big, fat, monstrous díck!

Urgh, that’s it! I’m taking control—!

Instead of having my back rubbing against the mattress with my breasts flopping and screaming for support, I decide to flip him over, straddling him so I can assume control and debauch the demon from Mr. Montgroper’s body.

With my eyes scrunched tight and on the verge of tears, my palms clenched around his hands that are gripped around my waist, and thinking of a fat Channing Tatum impregnating me—whoa that’s so hot. It’s hard not to get off of Channing Tatum. Even if he’s much older now and packing a few pounds—I roll my hips, mercilessly plowing Mr. Montgroper’s erection to brush my clít with the heat of our sweeping, forceful lovemaking, sending wave after powerful wave of delicious tremors down my legs, shooting pre-orgasmic shivers all the way up to tickle my aching clítoris. Oh yes, I’m so close I can feel it.

I grind my hips, my gyrations going on autopilot as I whip and circle around Mr. Montgroper’s…no…Fat Channing Tatum’s fat díck. And with one stabbing thrust he grunts loudly…his body convulsing as he unloads inside of me. And I can feel the faint touch of the demon’s claws wanting to come out from inside me through my cʊnt but I hold him in…suctioning him deep into the chasm inside me that even I don’t know what looks like. It must look like the Grand Canyon inside my uterus for having all those demons trapped in there. If I could only see inside my own cʊnt, I would totally pose while looking over my own Grand Canyon of a cʊnt, and then take a selfie to post on f*******:.

Cʊnt Canyon, now that…that’s what I’d like to call a national landmark.

“Mrs. Montgroper!” I shout. And not a moment’s breadth do I hear her bony shuffling.

“Is it over?”

I pivot by the waist to look at her, “Done and dusted and fʊcked all the way to kingdom come, Mrs. Montgroper. Now…my wad.” I raise an eyebrow and she nears me to hand over the Benjamins tied with the rubber band.

I carefully leaf through the notes to make sure it counts fifteen thousand…all the while Mr. Montgroper is groping my breasts in his deluded state. He’s probably thinking this is a dream since I don’t believe he’ll ever have his way with someone like me. Okay, now I’m down to counting eight thousand and his thumbs have decided to rub circles around my n*****s. Fʊcking hell…think Channing Tatum, think Channing Tatum, think Channing Tatum fondling your breasteses.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” I remark, not looking at either one of them as I’m focused on my dollars, “He’s just out of it. Probably thinking this is a dream with his eyes open. Ten thousand…twelve…thirteen…” yeah, most of my clients think they’re in a dreamlike state after getting debauched of their demons. Their minds all think that way. It’s a side effect of my exorcism. They all visualize that they’re hovering on a metaphysical plane when it fact they’re completely conscious. But whatever. I got my fifteen.

Not looking at Mr. Montgroper, I slide the mouths of my labiâ away from the possessive intrusion of his Channing Tatum príck.

I clothe myself into a semblance of decency. Forget dignity. I’ve lost that a long time ago. I then sift my fingers through my wavy locks to comb my just-fʊcked hair as Mrs. Montgroper pulls the sheets to cover her husband, who’s now falling fast asleep. Well, he doesn’t look so bad. He’s like a Ewan McGregor. But old. And fat.

“Thank you, dearie…you’re a lifesaver.”

I sigh looking out the window to the moon making its appearance, “Don’t mention it.”

“You don’t sound well, sweetheart. Is something bothering you?”

I shake my head looking at her, “No. Nothing’s bothering me.”

“Is it a boy?”

I stiffen, “How do you know?”

She smiles, “It’s always about a boy.”

I’m grinding against a guy I don’t even know.

Moira felt itchy. So here we are. In the club, grinding and copping a feel of men. One after the other. All of them sporting a hard-on like it’s the hottest new men’s accessory.

I’m wearing a dark strapless corseted top that ends just above my navel, a tight leather skimpy bottom that falls just below my fanny, and thigh-high hooker boots that’d make Miley Cyrus proud.

Moira had squeezed her lengthy frame into a short LBD, making her look like Bambi’s evil twin with her long legs and scandalous mane.

We went for the gothic glamour-look tonight, with our lids dusted in dark minerals. I wasn’t into the whole pale look, but Moira is. She looks like the late Michael Jackson…but with a vâgina.

We are so drunk we can’t even hold ourselves. And that is why our bodies are pressed together while being sandwiched by two guys. If there is a bed at the corner by the wall, I would totally drag all four of us and have ourselves a fʊckfest. But that is not gonna happen, “Moira…” I whisper in her ear through her hair as another man approaches ten steps from behind her, “Your ex.”

Her eyes grow big and wide, popping out of their sockets, “Do I look okay? Do I look presentable?” she is suddenly self-conscious like a convulsing t**t, “Do I look decent!?”

“Decent?” I arch a brow, and I don’t know if she sees my expression what with all the flickering, dancing lights, “Look at us. We’re like hookers on Hooker Street.”

“Good!” she shouts over the music into my ear, “I want him to see what he’s missing.” She hooks her thumbs into my micro-mini and starts to wiggle her shoulders. It’s so unattractive. Like she’s a worm having a seizure. She is so not hot.

“Dance normal,” I whisper closely to her ear as her ex approaches.

Her version of normal is dropping it like it’s hot.

“Hey Mo-mo,” croons her ex who’s now invading her personal space, “You look hot,” he wraps a possessive arm around Moira’s waist, his free hand clasping her hair to expose her pale, dainty neck.

“I am hot huh?” I hear Moira saying over the loud music, which means that she’s shouting. And it’s so not hot what with her drunken state. “I’m so hot that you decided to leave me for that wench!” she tries to push the man away but fails miserably. Moira is all height, but none of the strength.

“Back off, tool,” I wedge myself between them, “You don’t do my best friend like that. You got a pencil díck!” I accuse and I can see his jaw clench in embarrassed discomfort, “And you know what they say about pencil dícks.”

He doesn’t answer. But Moira does. “What, Delvie? What happens to pencil dícks!?”

“They snap!” I remark, forcing my knee to meet the man’s groin and he bawls over the floor in pain.

Moira raises her palm for a high-five and I’m about to bítch slap her hand in triumph when she decides to collapse face-first onto the dance floor falling flat, making the people around her spread out like waves in a still pond.

I bend at the waist flashing my thong for everyone to see as I try to hoist her up with her one arm over my shoulder. I’m all muscle, but I don’t have the height to compensate for the effort it’s taking to wrap her around me.

“You need help, Delvina?”

I almost dropped Moira right there and then as the sound of a voice so familiar that it pierces through my drunken stupor, seeping into the very depths of my nether regions.

“Drake.”

“Delvina.”

“Can you ah…” I gesture for him to lift Moira away from me. It’s like trying to drag a gazelle out of the forest with her. She’s that long. With legs for days.

Nathan throws her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, with her arms jangling behind him, “What say you we get out of here?” he suggests, and for some reason I can hear every syllable of his words over the loud, thumping music. And so I nod. I just nod as I follow him through the crowd, the people separating to give way like he’s Moses parting the Red Ocean…or Sea. Whatever.

Outside the club it’s the dead of the night, noticeably quieter, but brighter due to the street lights. The lighting almost putting things back into perspective for me as I shake the drunkenness out of my head.

“We have to get a cab and…” Drake turns on his heel and pauses, his eyes raking with malice as he drinks in my scantily-clad body, “…what exactly were you trying to accomplish looking like that?” he asks and a rush of heated blood spears hot and heavy through my entire system, converting my drunkenness into pure, sensitized arousal. Be still my pulsating clít. Now is not the time to come out. But god oh god I feel like rubbing my cʊnt all over him!

“I was hoping you could tell me,” I peck for a more subdued tone. Suave.

“Babe, I don’t read minds. I’m not fʊcking Edward Cullen, or whoever vampire that was who reads minds. Oh, there, a cab…taxi!”

Did I subconsciously want to get noticed tonight cos I missed him? Was that it? Is that the reason why I went to great lengths just to wear something that didn’t have length? Because I’m secretly harboring a sort of girly clinginess for someone who I know I can never end up with? Is that what I’m feeling all this—

“Delvina? The door...please?”

“Oh…oh! Right…here.”

I pull the door open and Drake folds Bambi into a messy pile of arms and legs in the backseat, her long limbs occupying the entire seating space and I have to fold her legs close to her torso so that I can fit.

Outside looking in, someone would think that there are several dead bodies inside the cab since Moira’s folded limbs look dislocated, lifeless and pale, “I’ll ah…” Nathan’s burning gaze is looking down at my inner thighs, which my micro-mini is doing a miserable job covering, “…I’ll be in your front…I— I mean, the passenger seat,” he licks his lips and looks at me, “You fine back there?”

“Yeah, it’s cool,” I reply, holding Ms. Bambi legs in place without taking my eyes away from Nathan’s predatory look. A kick to my bosom startles me as Moira starts to come around, shifting and kicking as if she’s in bed.

Drake smiles, then his fangs pop out and I gasp, “I’m sorry,” he says, popping them back in. He closes the door and I pull the handle as I jam my body to pack myself and Moira inside the stuffy cab.

The silence is deafening. The driver—obviously glamored by Drake’s vampiric gaze so we won’t have to pay for anything—is steadily driving, eyes trained on the road ahead.

“So,” I start for conversation, “What have you been up to lately?” I missed him. Are my words too obvious? I mean, I really missed Vampire Drake more than I like to admit. He’s the reason why I was able to buy and fit into those skinny jeans I bought at Macy’s. I may have to ask him to suction more of the fat inside my inner thigh, so I’ll look like one of those Victoria’s Secret Models. You know the gaps those women have between their thighs as they sashay down the catwalk? I want one of those. I want the gap. I think it’s sexy.

But then…Nathan may not like that. He may not like the gap. Some men do like some fat inside a woman’s inner thigh because it slaps really hard and loud when a woman is getting penetrated. It makes for a much raunchier skin-on-skin slap-a-thon during animal s*x. Damn, why am I even thinking that? Thinking about wanting to please Drake is a sign of infatuation, or worse…love.

“Delvina?”

“W-what?”

“You’re spacing out again. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine…I’m fine. So, what you been up to?”

“I was busy filling up every girl on the street.”

“WHAT!?” I snap, with seething jealousy. I swear I’m almost green with envy.

He laughs at my reaction as he turns, pushing the passenger seat to recline so he can dip his smoldering presence that much closer into my personal space.

“I was inside a lady,” he says casually, then laughs.

His enigmatic laughter is so arousing, coupled with his sweat, producing a glimmering sheen over his sizeable pecs which I’m only noticing now since he unbuttoned his moss-colored button down, which is a very unattractive color that miraculously he’s able to pull off.

Oh my God, his roguish laughter is enough to make me wanna have babies with him. Unnnnnggggghhhh…

He stops laughing and becomes serious, “I was inside a lady…and then I killed her.”

I suck in a lungful of air as my blood runs cold, all the blood draining from my face.

He laughs once again, “You should’ve seen your face, doll. You looked five shades pale,” he smirks with a lopsided grin, “I was expecting fifty shades.”

I gasp as my lower abdomen tightens at the thought of bondage and domination. Oh my.

He laughs yet again.

“You âss,” I comment with the intent to lash out, and yet I find myself smiling too.

Shortly we arrive at our apartment, with Moira bítching about leaving her at the backseat because she’s already feeling snug and comfortable.

“Get up, Moira…” I yank both her arms in my hands, pulling her to sit upright, and to save her from the humiliating sight of her LBD rising up to her waist, revealing a thick forest of unshaven hair where her clít is hiding.

“Holy fʊck,” Drake gasps, turning around quickly upon seeing Moira’s secret garden, “Never expected to see her sss looking lush like that. Does your uh…does yours look the same?” he asks me and I stiffen, a flash of heat coursing through my entire body, awakening my sleeping arousal, leaving me lightheaded. It is then that I mindlessly pulled Moira all the way out with a force that came not out of strength, but by the surprise I felt upon hearing Nathan’s salacious words. It’s already too late when I realized that Moira smacked her face hard against the pavement.

“OH MY GAWD!” I fluster, “Are you bleeding!?” I sit on my heels to inspect her, Drake laughing in the background. “Are you okay!!??” I asked even if it is obvious that she’s not, with the blood pouring down her nose.

“Delvie…” she whines, but then drives a hand down her LBD’s in-seam pocket, searching for something, “Here…” and she gives it to me, “Come on…take a picture of me.”

“Why!?” I ask, completely and utterly puzzled as to why I am holding her phone, and more surprisingly why I’m suddenly thumbing through the menu to pull up the camera application, “No, seriously, why am I taking a photo right now?”

I squeeze her face between the crosshairs of her camera app as she says, “Are you kidding me!? This is so fʊcking awesomesauce!” she proclaims with blood dripping down her lips. Nathan is trying his damn hardest not to pop his fangs and suck my friend’s face, “I need to tweet about this, hashtag bloody uh-mazing.”

Oh Lord.

After taking a bunch of selfies for Moira to post on Twitter, Drake hoisted her up on his shoulder, beckoning me to lead the way into our apartment.

We lay Bambi and her pale skinny legs sideways over the sofa, shoving a pillow behind her neck as she snored unattractively with drool dribbling at the corner of her mouth.

“Delvie…?” a sleepy voice. It’s my brother, Tommy. “…it’s late, Delvie…” he croaks, throat dry from sleep.

Tommy walks in his Superman pajamas to the fridge to fill a glass with water. He downs it in one glug and then saunters lazily back where he came from, but not before eyeing the man I took home from head to toe, “You…are you screwing my sister?”

“Tommy!”

“What? I have the right to know if he’s screwing my sister.”

Drake gives me a sideways glance with his tongue poking his cheek, “What if I am?” I gasp at what he just said, “Is there a problem with that?” he looks to Tommy almost menacingly and it makes Tommy shake his head.

“Don’t hurt my sister,” says Tommy, disappearing behind his door, which then opens once again, “Delvie…don’t scream too loud, okay?”

I shiver all the way down to my clít, “Okay,” I squeak, making Nathan suppress a chuckle.

With Tommy out of sight, Drake turns to me and says, “Delvina, I was just—”

“Joking?” I ask.

“Yeah…cos if you don’t want to—”

“I want to.”

His cold hands find a place behind the small of my back, effectively tugging me closer to his body, which is somewhat cold, but cold in a sense that I find really hot.

His left arm snakes possessively around my back to clasp my waist, his other combing through my hair to tilt my head back, “Did you know that your blood does amazing things to my body?” he says like it’s a statement.

“No, I didn’t know that,” I cop a feel of his bum with my palms flat over the groove of his buttocks. I can feel his body tense beneath my touch. With an exhale he presses his crotch against the heat of my own, and I can feel how hard he is, almost pleading for me to let him inside.

“Your blood is different, Delvina. I can’t compare it to anything I have tasted in the many years I fed on innocent blood. It’s special. It just is. But what scares me about you is that I have this urge to take you in every way possible. And I’m certain that if I do I’d lose control and I’ll end up killing you during s*x…or worse, get you pregnant.”

It should scare me that his s*x can possibly kill me, rip me open. But for some reason I’m not afraid. I’m actually welcoming it. I never had a vampire fʊck me before. It’s exciting, “Don’t worry. I don’t get pregnant. Not by demons. Or any supernatural.”

“Really?” his eyes are slowly gleaming, swirls of anticipation coloring his gaze, but there’s also a tinge of disappointment somewhere that makes his eyes lose luster, “Such a shame, though. Your womb is the perfect vessel.”

“How so?” I ask, and he slowly glides his arm from my back to take his hand and cover my womb. His hand is cold, but his touch feels sensationally warm.

“I can feel it,” he whispers, his palm flat against my lower abdomen, “It feels maternal.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not the mother-type.”

“Like I said…such a shame,” he murmurs, and then picks me up into his arms with no warning. I gather my frazzled wits, surprised at the sudden movement.

“What are you implying?” I question as he wanders, unknowing where he can take me, “That’s my room,” I tell him, and he dips a little to turn the knob on my door. We step inside, him still carrying me as he eyes my bed which isn’t made, with sheets and pillows disheveled like a typhoon had just swept the place.

He looks down on me, his face bathed in light from the moonlight spilling through my un-curtained window, “What I’m trying to say is that you’d do well carrying my brethren.”

“Your brethren?” I almost laugh, “Don’t you go medieval on me.”

“Not medieval. Renaissance.”

“Even worse.”

He smirks at that as he lays me down very gently over my raised mattress, which makes me vulnerable with my lower body in a direct line to his crotch. He pulls me by the legs and I giggle, my skirt riding up, exposing my underwear which is positively damp against my pʊbis.

He’s smiling at me. A smile that is wistful, contemplating.

I’m not sure if s*x is ever going to happen between us, because Drake’s feral gaze has turned into something more playful. I find it...out of character, especially for a vampire to be acting this way. I’ve always known them to be aggressive, feral creatures. Not giving a damn whether they suck a woman dry or fʊck a man to pieces. They are never gentle. They are never kind.

“Nathan?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you so gentle with me? Are you gay?”

Laughter breaks the smile on his face, making him look more handsome if that is even possible, “I’m gentle because you are precious. Your blood is valuable. And no, I’m not gay. Though I have penetrated both men and women over the centuries…but I always find myself wanting to come back to a place that feels like home,” his one hand grabs my inner thigh and separates it slowly from being pressed against my other thigh. I find myself breathing much harder as his other paw skims the sheerness of my thong, brushing against the crevice where my clít is hiding. I buck my pelvis, wanting for his fingers to penetrate me through the silky fabric.

“Drake. I want your díck inside my pʊssy, please.”

His fangs pop and this time he doesn’t retract them, and instead rolls his lower lip inside his mouth for me to see the sharp incisors looking pearlescent against the moonlight. His silver-blue eyes almost change color as he slowly unwraps my breasts free from their corseted prison.

He gropes one of my breasts in his hand, my n****e hardening instantly against the textured rub of his palm, while his other hand hooks into my thong and slowly pulls it down and away a leg at a time. The same hand that stripped me falls flat over my s*x, thumb frisking my weeping entrance as it rubs down to entice my clít. Holy fʊck, I arch my back and curve my neck at the slow and practiced glide of a thumb that is causing my vâgina to moisten.

I flatten my foot against his crotch which makes him groan. I work him through his denim by rubbing my toes up and down the line of his erection. He rewards me by fondling my breast with a thumb that is flicking for the n****e to swell. His other hand fingering me knuckle deep which makes me wetter, hotter, and more eager to get penetrated.

I was never a fan of foreplay, considering that the people I fʊcked, I fʊck for business. And when you’ve gotten used to s*x with no foreplay, pleasure kind of takes a back seat. And so I’m surprised. Pleasantly surprised that I’m getting foreplay, and it pushes me back to a place of innocence…making me realize how arousing it truly is, like I’m actually doing something which feels like the first time.

“Delvina, I’m going to burst,” he whispers, shaking as he takes both his hands away from me which for a moment makes me whine, but then I’m filled with renewed excitement as he works his belt buckle and unzips his pants.

In a matter of seconds I’m welcomed by the sight of a well-endowed organ, hot and throbbing in his palm as he lathers spit onto it with the practiced motion of his hand.

I am about to suggest a lubricant that I keep in the bedside drawer but what the hell. Spit works just fine.

He grabs my legs and leans forward, spreading them and folding my limbs by the knees which makes me draw breath in anticipation of the first ever vampire who’s going to take me. He then grabs me by the waist, pulling me that much closer to brush my damped pʊbis against his broad, plump tip, which is poised right outside my quivering orifice.

He places one palm flat beside my head and I unbutton the rest of his shirt going down. Our eyes burning into each other’s gaze, not losing eye contact as I pull the collars of his shirt away from his shoulders to reveal a broad torso with a light dusting of sweat-sheened hair, all the way down to where his tool is teasing the outer rim of my aching vâgina…my folds kissing the spongy head of his díck which is absolutely glorious in its hardness, with the body much larger than the head which makes me shudder in anticipation because I can already tell that Drake is going to stretch me wider in a way that I haven’t felt before.

“I’m going to make you mine,” he slowly enters and I gasp at the intrusion. Instantly I tighten around him as his girth separates my slit into two painful halves, like a mouth being forced to open wide to receive a throbbing côck.

My mouth is hanging open as I draw breaths, my hands clenching around the lapels of his shirt as he thrusts into me rhythmically slow, making me cry because I want him to quicken and he doesn’t. It’s a very slow, and painful tease he’s doing, rimming the outer core of my s*x and then filling me up slowly, only to withdraw which makes me want more of him, “Drake…please…don’t play with me. Give it to me, Drake. Give it to me,” I plead with tears smarting my eyes. However, my pleading is only short-lived as he decides to hasten right there and then and it makes me buck against the bed, tugging at his shirt like they were reins to a chariot I’m maneuvering.

“For a woman who has fʊcked many a demon...you are surprisingly tight,” he punctuates what he just said with a heaving thrust that hits my core to its very limit, making my eyes erupt in tears, and my mouth dropping open with a voiceless cry of pleasure as I arch my back to the combined sensations of pleasure and pain, meeting his thrusts as I bounce against him.

I can feel my s*x getting hotter by the second as he delivers blow after blow, slamming into me with more powerful thrusts which forces me to close my eyes. But then I startle awake as his fangs sink into one of my breasts, the one away from my heart because surely I would die if he decides to feed close to my beating organ.

He pounds into me as he feeds. His arms wrapping around the small of my back and I can feel the hair of his body rubbing against my sweat, which makes me all the more crazed with lust as I bounce hungrily to swallow his brutal penetration.

“Stop...I’m feeling faint...” I whisper and he stops feeding.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay. Just fʊck me.”

He forces more of him inside of me, fʊcking me into the bed as I wrap my arms around his neck, his mouth breathing hard against my ear which makes me all the more aroused for making him groan the way he does.

I swallow him whole and I hiss at the slow build-up below my abdomen. I can feel the touch of my pʊbic hair getting smudged against the folds of my labiâ, introducing another dimension of pleasure I wasn’t expecting, “Drake...Drake...I’m close, please, I’m close...” he grunts in response and penetrates me harder, with our hips slapping, him withdrawing fast only to sink that much harder, pushing all the way to up to my very limit.

Our bodies quicken. And then he goes rigid, unloading inside of me with heavy spurt after heavy spurt. He bucks his hips into me as he fills me up, and it prompts my orgasm to detonate as I wail white-hot ecstasy, sinking my nails like talons into his broad shoulders as I shudder and quake. My nails dig deep like claws as I stretch my orgasm, and it makes him hiss with pain at the harsh lines I’m drawing down his back.

His body heaves, still pumping into me what’s left of his juices, and with every lazy thrust I feel a shiver shoot through my body, and it’s such pleasurable feeling...the silky sensation of our organs meeting in the middle, bathed in our own juices, leaving me sensitive as he withdraws with his côck dripping with my essence.

“Jesus fʊcking Christ, Delvina...you come a lot.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. So I just blush.

He breathes, smiling. His forearms bracketing my face as our lips meet for a kiss. His lower lip cradles my upper lip and I smile at the contact. He teases me to slowly open my mouth and invite his tongue for a taste and I oblige, savoring the feel of our bodies pressed against each other as we tongued. I can still feel the aftershocks of what felt like lovemaking as we share a deep, open-mouthed kiss. And from an emotional place unexplored, I can feel Drake possess me completely...my body, my mind, my soul, and my heart.

“Hold it in your hand. That’s it. Get a feel. Stroke it for a while. Have some fun, girl.”

“Moira,” I shake my head at her lascivious effort to upsell me her new phone—which by the way was bought using my money, “I love my cell,” I say, “I’m not changing it.”

“Hah, you’re missing out on the new iPhone,” she glides her new cell away from my grasp and reveres it like it’s the Holy Grail, “I love this new model,” she rubs it against her cheek, “It’s both for business, and pleasure. And talk about pleasure. Let me just set it on vibrate,” and she does, setting it on a five-minute vibrate and slipping it into her fanny pack—a pouch belted around her waist, with the pocket dead center on her crotch. The phone does its job. And she starts to moan.

Oh my, that reminds me. I check my phone for messages, wondering how Drake is. Gosh, the days that followed after our first night together has made me into a clingy teenage mess. He would take me out to the movies, to dinners, to hot make-out sessions in cars which he stole from people he hypnotized using his glamorizing pull, and don’t forget the bestial s*x which we did in almost every place we went to during our dates.

It was fun. We were dating. And dating means he and I are in a relationship. Whatever this generation calls it.

“Oh my God, that is so hot.” I remember him saying, describing the way I was licking my ice cream.

“Ice creams are cold. Not hot.”

“Shít, that’s so hot.”

I remember rolling my eyes at that.

“Can you give me a handjob?” he asked at that point, and I was more than eager to kneel between his legs and unzip his pants. I remember stroking him, as fast as I could with my mouth capping the head of his swollen erection. I m*********d him so fast and so hard to the point that my wrist started feeling carpal tunnel syndrome. But I didn’t care. It was so hot. It was so hot that—

“Delvie?”

“W-what?” I startle from my daydream.

“Ugh, forget it,” Moira rolls her eyes.

She and I and Tommy are in a museum, and apparently my attention was being called by the man who was in charge of the guided tour. Oh my cʊnt, I was so out of it. My mind is filled with nothing but Nathan. And those delectable fangs which I know should leave me physically drained, but for some reason I feel absolutely energized every time he feeds on me. Weird.

What’s weirder is that his body is going through some changes too. Vampires don’t sweat. But lately, whenever we had s*x, he’s starting to feel more...human? I don’t know. Something’s not right.

“Ew...” says one of the men in our guided tour, recoiling at the sight of a naked woman sculpture, “...the female anatomy is so gross,” he starts explaining, “When women are touched, they get pleasure near that smelly, disgusting hole down there,” he points at the woman sculpture’s lady parts.

“Don’t you mean a vâgina?” I say by way of responding to his ill-attempt at debasing the beauty of the female anatomy.

He scrunches his face in utter revulsion, “Ew. The vâgina...brrr...” he shudders, “I believe the male member is much more elegant...and surprising,” he giggles. I roll my eyes.

“Oh my God,” another girl exclaims, “Mortal sin at 12 o’clock!” she points at more sculptures that are— “Eewww!! Amputee pornography!!!” she wails, her face almost melting in disgust at the statues with bodies that didn’t have limbs.

“Those are statues from the Renaissance,” I whisper by way of telling her to stop her baseless ridicule.

“Eeewwww Historical Amputee Pornography!”

“Oh my God, that’s it,” I snap at Moira and Tommy, “Coming here was a bad idea. We should’ve thought of soaking culture by other means. We could’ve just gone to a bar or something. Such a complete waste of time.”

“And money,” interjects Tommy whose face is several shades of boredom.

Moira sighs, “I thought you wanted to know more about the medieval and the renaissance? That’s why we went to the museum in the first place.”

“Well yeah,” I grimace, “I thought it’s gonna be interesting, but all I’m seeing are whiny little brats.”

“Well, it was your idea,” chides Moira.

“Well, yeah...” yes it was. I just wanted to know more about the medieval and the renaissance since Drake told me he lived through those times. And I thought soaking up some of that history is going to help me become more akin to him. I should’ve thought it was going to be this lame.

Tommy, Moira, and I soon leave afterward, not finishing the tour we paid for. We settle in a quaint Mediterranean restaurant nearby and sit at a table with open menus below our noses. I make Tommy scan for whatever it is that looks scrumptious and he orders one from each row in every page of the menu. I’m not in the mood to choose what to eat. I just want to eat something, anything...or a particular someone.

Halfway through feasting on our meal, Moira starts questioning me about my relationship with Nathan. And if it’s wise that I’m canoodling with a vampire.

“I don’t know, Moira. But I feel like what’s inside of me wants to come out whenever I’m with him. And it’s scary and...I’m surprised to say...arousing.”

Tommy almost throws up at that and before he does he decides to stuff his mouth with more food, his attention focused on eating and not listening to his sister whine about her vampire lover.

“You really think you can have a normal life with Vampire Drake?” Moira asks, “Didn’t his kind kill all the Umbra witches? Your whole lineage?”

Tommy interjects, “Which totally sucks by the way,” he comments, “Because I don’t have a drop of witch in me. Not even a smidgeon.”

“Oh, Tommy, trust me. You don’t wanna live my life. It’s complete hell waking at three in the morning, only to find a demon or an incubus on top of you wanting to fʊck you.”

“Would’ve been cool though,” he mutters, “Always getting laid.”

“Anyway,” Moira jumps in, “You have to make a choice, Delvie. It’s either you move on with your career, or give Drake a chance.”

“Well, a career cannot butter my crumpet, because I don’t have a career. I can hardly call it professional. No matter how you look at it, I’m still a hooker. Because that’s what I do. And pursuing Nathan kinda’ scares me. He’s still a man. And a vampire at that. And uh—no offense Tommy—but men test drive a lot of cars before they choose the right one.”

“You’re just chickening out,” Moira says, “Love goes through a lot of stages, Delvie. So when are you gonna start yours?”

I think about her words. Process them really deeply.

She’s right. When am I ever going to start mine? Am I afraid to be left alone? Because surely Nathan’s going to outlive me in this lifetime, and I don’t think I’d want that, “What if thirty years down the road I become old and wrinkly and could hardly roll my hips on top of Drake? You still think that says love? No one wants to fʊck grandma.”

“Oh, oh!” Tommy chimes in, “What about Joan Rivers?”

“What about her?” I ask.

“Well, she’s old and wrinkly...but she’s still sucking off young boys isn’t she?”

“Tommy...” I call his attention.

“What?”

“That’s so gross.”

“I know,” he replies, laughing, “Hey, let’s order our take-out here for dinner. Moira’s cooking is abysmal.”

“It’s not!”

“It is,” Tommy and I state in unison, with Tommy adding, “Besides, a family that eats take-outs together, gets the runs together.”

“Oh my God, Tommy, I can’t believe we’re siblings.”

“What kind of music do you like?” I ask Drake as I melt against his hard body. My naked back to his bare front. And I can feel his semi-hard erection snug and getting warmer between my inner thighs.

The two of us are in my room, listening to tracks. He kisses me in the temple and brushes my hair with one hand, his other clasping one of my wrists, feeling my pulse of blood which I know he’s eager to drink.

“I like the 80s, the 90s, and the naughties,” he nuzzles my hair and I blush, feeling all kinds of sensations a girl feels when pressed against the body of a guy.

A gasp spills from my lips as his hand travels to where my pʊbis is waiting, parting the hair with his fingers to brush inside my warm folds of skin. I close my eyes to the feeling of his perversion as he slithers one of his fingers stroking deep, down into the very hot core of my womanhood. He separates my folds to fish the clít between his fingers, squeezing it very gently while his other hand molds around my breast, tweaking my n****e that is crying.

“Yes, that’s it, love. Sweep your front porch using my fingertips,” he whispers into my ear as I shamelessly finger-fʊck myself using his index, his middle finger, and his ring finger. All three digits fiddling my most sensitive parts, helping me climb the ladder of my orgasm.

Drake is a master of the two-hour female orgasm. And that I experienced yesterday night after he fed me his own blood, filling my body with energy which he knew I needed if he and I were to fʊck like animals for two hours. And it was so worth it tasting his blood. All thoughts of him and me being different go down the drain as I relish in his possession of my body. All thoughts of revenge for my Umbran clan fly out the window as he ravaged my cʊnt in the most primal way.

“Oh God, Drake...” I grab his forearm, squeezing his arm tight because I’m nearing orgasm, “Stop...quit playing with my cʊnt.”

“Can’t help it, babe. You’re like sexToys R Us.”

“Oh God, you’re so corny.”

“And horny.”

“True…but…aah…goddammit stop it! My vâgina is not an oyster. So don’t chuck it. Fʊck it!”

“If you say so.”

Using his strength, he lifts me by the waist, slowly dunking me an agonizing inch at a time onto his erection, and I can feel my body slowly adjust to the penetration of his manhood. I gasp as my nether lips part to wrap around him, slowly sliding into place, all the way inside, forcing his size into me and I moan like a whôre. I can feel my incoherent mewls burning in my throat as I cried my intense carnal surrender.

He continues to sensate me with his hands skimming over my naked body, over my heated flesh. His one hand clasps my breast with fingers squeezing my n****e, the other palming my s*x, sensitizing my clít with the lazy rubbing of his index which he times perfectly well with the agonizing motions of his díck. The sensation of having his cold, but hot body behind me makes more intense my cries of passion as I bounce with my hips slapping to meet his own.

“You have such a hunger for me, Delvina...” he rasps down my nape, and I can feel the sharp glide of his incisors before they sink to bite into my neck.

I shiver at the many sensations that are happening all at once...behind my back, in my throbbing s*x, my sensitive n*****s, and his bite...I feel like I’m gaining something back even if he’s draining me. I hear the succulence as he bites onto another section of my neck, but then he also bites the pad of his hand which he feeds me with, “Drink my blood, Delvina. Let our bodies become one,” and that I do. I savor the blood as I suck on his hand, draining him in the same manner that he drains me. Our blood being shared between us, binding us together with a bond that I’m both afraid and excited to welcome. We now own each other. I’m his. And he’s mine.

I close my eyes and curve my neck over his shoulder after feeding, relishing the way his blood courses to inhabit my veins, marrying our bodies together as I roll my hips to feel more of his penetration. And then I tear open my eyes as I’m in a heightened state of euphoria. He slowly lifts me up, with my body still impaled onto him, not breaking our precious contact.

Suddenly we’re in bed. My back curves as he takes me hard from behind...frantic...and then slow, with his hands cupping my breasts, flicking my n*****s, teasing my nerves. Drake is sinking every inch of what feels like his entire body. I say body because he’s putting everything into the way he thrusts into me. And I like that. Actually…I love. I love a man who’s very involved during intercourse. Oh my, I can truly feel the shape of his hard díck inside me...moving...rubbing against my silky depths...driving his b***r like he can’t get enough of the feeling. This…this s*x I have with him...is my sanctuary.

“Tell me...” I whisper, my breath stuttering just as much as my body, “...tell me more about your early years as a vampire.”

I can feel his hot breaths caress my back, “It was difficult in the beginning. I had to accept that I was different. And that I would live long enough and see faces repeat in time. The same faces. Over and over. Only made different by their names. But they’re always the same people. The same people I leave behind because of my immortality.”

I can feel his moans, his labored breaths down my spine like the sprinkling of sugar granules, “Mindless fʊcking...day after day...night after night...like I didn’t have control of my urges. And I didn’t want to control them either. I would get on top of another man’s woman and leave a stain for the man to see the next morning. Then come the following night I’ll come back and fʊck the husband in the same manner I did his wife the day before...I don’t know, Delvina...it’s like I have insatiable hunger for flesh, for blood...for you.” I draw a sharp breath as he rams me with his manhood, hitting the very depths of my core, and it’s getting faster now, more animalistic, more primeval, demonic, primal...and I don’t want him to stop.

“Oh Delvina...back then there was no fast-food...there were only bodies,” he thrusts into me repeatedly and I scream with tears of lust, “Back then it was lonely...because people are dying all around me. And I’m left alone...leaving behind people that I loved...and as the years go by it feels so much worse than having someone crush your windpipe, scalp your brain a slice at a time, or pluck the tubes of your heart. Much...much worse,” he punctuates his statement with a driving thrust, spearing into my womb which makes me scream in pleasure...screaming for more, more, more...I want more.

“You’re getting weaker, Delvina. Are you hungry? You want me to feed you?”

“I’m not hungry. I’m horny. There’s a big difference.”

“You want me to come inside you again? It might hurt this time.”

“And why is that?”

“My sperm have fangs.”

I reach back and slap him, “Not funny. Just keep fʊcking me. Oh God, that’s it. Fʊck me harder, yes...oh Nathan...you have an astute understanding of a woman’s desires, and how to make a girl very hungry...and very horny.”

“Heh, allow me to make you feel something different,” he murmurs in his husky voice, and before I can ask what it is he wanted me to feel, I already was feeling it.

“Oh my God...your díck is cold.”

“Is that bad?”

He woos me by slowing his rhythmic jabs as he continues to fondle my breasts. I arch my back with my palms braced against the mattress as I reply, “No. I think it’s hot.”

“Oh my God, Delvina...I’m so horny I can burst.”

Our bodies rock violently, arms trembling as we support each other’s weights. I dunk myself back, pumping my hips down to swallow him whole as he drives all the way up, “Oh baby, you fit like a condom. Snug...”

“Vampires wear condoms?”

“Sometimes...for fun.”

Oh my God...Drake feels like second skin. He’s digging his man meat into me. His p***s does things to my body, and I find myself leaking out of every possible orifice as I cry my ecstasy. I’m so close. So close that I can feel my vision rolling backwards as I fist the sheets in my hands. I don’t want to stop...but I’m so close. And so I work his côck using long, tight strokes and I can feel him starting to quicken behind me as my jugs get squeezed in his palms, his index fingers rubbing down my n*****s and it drives me nuts.

Drool is an unfettered stream down my mouth and onto the pillow as I grind against his manhood. Not only does Nathan enter me privately, but every private crevice of my mind and body he’s penetrating as well, and I can’t help but say, “Drake...I love you.”

His response is to ram into me with bruising force, “Oh, Delvina...I’ve been waiting for you to say that.” And with those words we move together in perfect harmony, our friction getting hotter as we feel ourselves near. Within a hair’s breadth he slides out, flips me onto my back, and then sinks all the way in making me gasp. His silver-blue eyes communicating his love for me as he enters me, withdrawing fast, then sinks back once again, “Your love gives me hope, Delvina. It’s like drinking life’s blood.”

I place my palms on his chest and I feel the rustle of something faint, “Drake...” I whisper, my touch molding near where his heart used to be, “Nathan, you’re...” I can feel a faint heartbeat. I then grab his wrist to feel for a pulse and it’s there, “Drake...you have a heartbeat where it shouldn’t.”

“W-what?”

“Don’t you feel it?”

His eyes widen in realization, “But...but that’s impossible.”

I wrap my arms around him as we quicken, his body becoming warmer with every thrust, and I can now feel the touch of his heart, beating as I press my palm flat against his chest. Our hips are colliding much faster now, and without preamble I feel my release rip through me like an arrow, fast and swift as I burst into a deluge, which he welcomes as he slams his release to meet mine. A beautiful finish to such an amazing revelation, “Drake...I think you’re becoming human,” I breathe, trying to catch my breath as he rests his weight on top of me.

“I think I am,” he murmurs between my breasts, respiring just as hard if not harder than I am which only means that he’s become human now. I mean, vampires don’t get tired. Humans do.

“But how is that possible?” I ask.

“I think it’s your blood, Delvina.”

“My blood...but...will it be permanent?”

“I don’t know, baby. I guess we will have to find out.”

6 months later...

We did find out. I didn’t feed him with my blood for weeks after he got his first heartbeat that night. The need to feed never came back. No. Not anymore.

His sharp incisors were no longer fangs. They were just teeth now. I have managed to exorcise the vampire in Nathan Drake. I have managed to make him human.

“Are we excited to see the baby?” asks the lady doctor as she glides the cold touch of her probing device over my womb. Nathan is by my side holding my hand, just as excited as I am to see our baby for the first time, “Oh, how precious...there it is...a rambunctious boy,” the doctor says and I look to the baby monitor and—

“Oh no.”

“What is it, doctor?” I snap, alarmed.

She nears the ultrasound monitor to press a few buttons, and not a few seconds later out comes a printout which she gives to me. Drake and I each hold one end of the photo, and in the haze of brown and caramel lines in the printout, I can see them…a pair…a pair of teeth…sharp incisors.

“Oh hell no.”

END.

Seriously, that’s the end. Lol. No, I’m not being a douche. The story is getting way too long. So I had to end it there. Hihi ^^ please don’t burn me at the stake. I’m not a witch...last time I checked.