24 comments/ 52488 views/ 25 favorites A Date with Delilah By: Quince Since I was 12 or 13, I've had a thing for vampires. That was the only way I knew to describe it—a "thing." As I grew up, I learned words like "obsession," and later "fetish"—this last as a result of that strangest of late 20th/early 21st Century creations, the World Wide Web. I'm 36, so my early adulthood didn't include the web, although now I can't imagine how I ever functioned without it. But as I say, the web taught me—and countless others, I'm sure—about the myriad flavors of fetishes, by providing hundreds, not to say thousands of web sites for every imaginable kink, including mine. Still, when it comes up, and it doesn't come up very often, I resort to my old word. I have a "thing" for vampires. And I had no idea how strange a part this "thing" would eventually play in my life Now, I don't think there's any great psychological mystery about my vampire nuttiness. I'm sure I fear death and yearn for eternal youth as much as the next guy. But I'm the product of a middle class suburban upbringing, and if the web wasn't a part of puberty for me, the VCR was. By the time I was 14, I had recorded almost every Hammer Horror film off late night television. Voluptuous vixens in cleavage-bearing nightgowns wandered through my dreams with fangs bared. When Colleen, the first girl to let me make out with her, kissed my throat, I came so hard, she thought I was having a seizure. When she discovered what had actually happened, she was a bit weirded out at first, but soon she was fascinated, and she kissed and nipped at my neck every chance she got to see if she could make it happen again. If I learned nothing else from my months with Colleen, I learned how to control that particular mechanism. I never stopped loving it, but I no longer creamed my jeans after every nuzzle. Throughout college and grad school—Lighting Design, if you please—I dated and had sex with several women, but for some reason, I never discussed my vampire "thing" with any of them. I couldn't figure out how it could be worked into a relationship. It seemed somehow harsh to say to my lover: "Yes, Honey, I love what you do to me, but would you mind pretending to be something else?" I made gestures towards it, but nothing too explicit. One example: I bought some long, flowing white lingerie for Dana, a bosomy redheaded stage manager I dated in drama school—she only wore it once--and of course all my girlfriends discovered how kissing my throat reduced me to jelly. But by the time I turned thirty, and took a resident lighting designer job at a major Midwestern regional theatre, I had discovered the web. I realized that I could indulge my vampire fantasies on my computer at home. I didn't actually have to date Carmilla Karnstein. Not that I did much dating for the next six years. And it wasn't for lack of interest on either side of the equation. I'm an attractive man: 5'10" and burly rather than trim. I have thick black hair that's just beginning to recede, large brown eyes and a strong chin on which I usually wear a full beard. My arms and legs are thick and hard, and my chest and stomach muscles are well developed from dangling off of lighting grids to hang and focus my instruments, before I worked at places that could afford crews. I've also got a healthy sexual appetite, and plenty of attractive women work in the theatre, but somehow, nothing ever really developed. The hours make it tough of course; lots of late nights. And I am ambitious. When the Rep is dark, I take design jobs in other area theatres. Sometimes I'll even go out of state. And finally there's my "thing." Somewhere along the line, I had begun to think of time at home as fantasy time, and I was disinclined to let anything, or anybody, cut into it. So I hadn't had sex for close to a year, when I saw the ad for the contest. "WIN A HALLOWEEN DATE WITH DELILAH" flashed in dripping blood red letters across one of my favorite websites: showfangs.com. This outfit manufactures dental prosthetics for people who actually want to wear fangs, and given that my particular fantasy involves being bitten by a vampire rather than being one myself, the site would ordinarily hold little interest for me. And yet I visited it almost every night, because of Delilah. Delilah was the model. Showfangs produced several different fang styles, as well as contacts, make up, and a line of gothic jewelry, and Delilah wore them all. She was almost always photographed from the neck up--although the occasional shot cut her off at the waist—still, it was difficult to get an idea of the whole woman. But what was there was well worth looking at. The pictures made her look maybe 22 or 23, with a pale oval face and a complexion like cream. She wore her bleached blond hair short and spiky, occasionally covering it with a long, black wig. Her eyes, sans contacts, were the gray-green of seawater on a cloudy day, and her nose was small and delicate, but her lips! Even pulled back into her characteristic predatory snarl, her lips looked full, moist and inviting. The thought of what she must look like smiling, the thought of what those lips must taste like, how they would feel on my neck, my chest, my cock, had consumed my imagination for hours if not days. So it should come as no surprise that I almost broke a finger clicking on the link. The contest turned out to be nothing much—a publicity stunt to draw traffic to the site. Entrants had to answer three simple questions about female vampires in the movies—you could all but read the answers off imdb.com--and email in your responses along with some contact information. The winner would be chosen by lottery from among those who answered the questions correctly. Third prize was a pair of tickets to a local haunted house, second prize was a set of custom designed showfangs in the style of your choice, and first prize was "A romantic dinner for two at a local bistro on Saturday, October 30th with our own fang-tastic fang model, Delilah!" I answered the questions, sent in my entry, and almost immediately found myself immersed in designing an Ibsen play, set to open on the 17th. I'd forgotten I'd entered at all, when I got the email telling me I'd won. It was around 11:00 AM, and I was checking my email at the theatre. When I finally figured out what I had won, I started thinking back. I had entered the contest from my home computer some hours after midnight at the end of an absolutely bloody day, and my imagination had conjured up images of myself dancing and drinking with, and finally fucking the brains out of some goth princess in a black PVC bustier, g-string, and thigh-high rubber boots with five-inch spiked heels. And fangs, of course; mustn't forget the fangs. Now, in the business office, on a weekday morning, with watery September sunlight coming through dirty Venetian blinds, I felt like a jackass, and an overheated adolescent jackass at that. The email set forth the parameters of our meeting, and, depressing as it was, it contained nothing that I couldn't have figured out for myself, if I'd been using the big head to think with, rather than the little one. Our date was to consist of a meal at a local restaurant—local to her, by the way, not to me, which meant that I had to drive some three or four hours to get to it in the first place. Showfangs would pay a check up to, but not exceeding $80.00. Fair enough, although I wondered where they'd come up with the figure. The meal was to last no longer than two-and-one-half hours, at the end of which time a car service would arrive to collect my companion. I could ask Delilah for an autograph if I so desired, but I was to request no personal information from her, including, but not limited to, her last name, phone number, address etc. I was to initiate no physical contact, and Delilah would be carrying a cell phone with which she could terminate the encounter at any time should I fail to abide by the regulations here set forth. Happy fucking Halloween. The tone of the thing made my bristle a bit, but I really couldn't blame either the site or the lady. They couldn't really know anything about who would win the contest, and they were probably expecting some mawkish horror movie-geek with the social skills and sexual imagination of a thirteen year old. It came as a really unpleasant shock when I realized that, with a few minor caveats, that's exactly what they were getting. Now I've always had a pretty good opinion of myself. It's a virtual prerequisite for a career in the arts. But as I sat staring at that email, thinking about the contest and the "prize" I'd just "won," I began to wonder how Delilah felt about the whole thing. And I began to think that she probably wasn't looking forward to it. She'd agreed to do it, of course, and I assumed—hell, I hoped—she was being paid something beyond a free dinner for participating. But a blind date is usually a pretty awful proposition, and the fact that, in this case, one of the participants was a semi-sexual celebrity, however minor, wasn't likely to make things any easier. I could certainly tell myself that I was good-looking, smart, whimsical, and what not, and I might even believe some of it, but what would any of it matter to her? What could she possibly see other than a guy who gets his rocks off looking at pictures of her wearing false teeth? At that moment, I decided that, if the subject of the site was to come up at all, she was going to have to mention it. I was going to have a pleasant meal with a pretty woman. I was going to be as pleasant and charming as I could be. And if, at the end of the evening, I felt the need of some kind of release, I would go back to my hotel by way of a video store, rent a VCR and a copy of Twins of Evil, and abuse myself to my heart's content. The weather had turned cold by the end of October. I'd driven through some rain on the way to her city, but as I parked and walked towards the restaurant, the sky was clear, and the air was crisp. I was dressed casually—cords, a band-collared shirt and a sports jacket, and I held a small bunch of autumn flowers, mixed red and orange among the green of the stems: pleasant and charming. I was repeating it like a mantra: pleasant and charming. The place was in a small strip of businesses just off one of the major downtown arteries. I gave my name to the Maitre D and sat down in a booth facing the door. I was ten minutes early, and I could feel my heart beat high in my chest. Twenty minutes later, I looked up from the menu to see a young woman standing beside my table. It took me several seconds to realize that this was indeed Delilah. It hadn't occurred to me that I'd almost never seen her face in repose. Now I looked closely at it as I hurriedly stood up to shake hands. It was a lovely face; perhaps a little more triangular than I had thought from the photos, but that was probably because her mouth was closed. It was snarling in all of the pictures, displaying those marvelous fangs, but it was smiling now, a little tentatively. It was a lovely mouth, and a lovely smile. Her hair surprised me as well: thick chestnut waves gathered into a loose ponytail. The style made her look young, although, as I looked into her face—she wore almost no makeup, nor did she need it—I saw that she was probably nearer 30 than 20. Her complexion was as flawless as I remembered from her shots, but there were the faintest beginnings of laugh lines around her eyes. I was amazed to discover that she was pretty, perhaps even beautiful. Her pictures conveyed an aggressive sexuality—context, I guess, because her face in repose was sweet rather than provocative, with the exception of those luscious lips. Even in a polite smile, her lips held my attention. They were wide and shapely, the lower slightly fuller than the upper, giving her a sexy little pout, slightly at odds with her peaches-and-cream prettiness. I wondered if another winner might not have been a little disappointed to be dining with this apparently wholesome young woman instead of the torrid temptress presented by the web site. Perhaps they would have been. She didn't seem to care. Her only concession to Halloween was in the colors of her outfit: black slacks and a blazer over an orange blouse buttoned to her throat. Tiny enamel pumpkins decorated her ears; she wore no other jewelry. "Hello, I'm Joe," I said, trying not to stare. "You must be..." "Delilah's a professional name," she said, breaking the handshake and moving toward her side of the booth. "I'm Peg. Very nice to meet you." "Short for Margaret?" I asked returning to my seat. "Yeah, but I hate 'Margaret.' Let's stick with Peg. Are you Joseph?" "No, Jonah, if you can believe it. I hate it too, so...Joe." "The Benevolent Brotherhood, and/or Sisterhood, of Lousy First Names," she intoned. "Be welcome to the order, Brother Joe!" We both laughed, and that was the beginning of the best dinner date I've ever had. I think we took to each other almost instantly. For my part, I was gone before my butt hit the seat. Peg was a talker, a laugher, and a storyteller. She'd grown up in Northern California and come east for college. She'd taken a B.A. in History, and then moved to the big city to become an actress, of all things. She'd been at it for some years now—from what she told me about when she graduated, she had to have been 30 or 31—and she'd been having a little more success recently, but not enough to be able to quit either of her two money jobs. That was as close as we came to discussing her work for Showfangs. We talked about the theatre, my work at the Rep, a recent Raymond Chandler binge she'd gone on, how I managed to feed myself since I hate to cook, and the roommate she'd had to dispose of because of an incontinent cat. About an hour into our meal, Peg excused herself for a few minutes and wandered to the back of the restaurant, where a largish man in jeans and a football jersey was eating alone. They seemed to be arguing, and when she came back to the table, her face was a little flushed. "I've just cancelled our time limit," she said, with a grim little smile. "Honest to God it's like pulling teeth with these people." "I know I'm not supposed to ask..." I began. "No, you're really not," she answered with a grin, "and there is some stuff I really can't tell you; business related stuff that would bore you to tears anyway, but," and here she looked at me from under her eyelashes, and drawled in a breathy little voice: "if you're very sweet and kind to me, you may get something out of me later on." It took me a moment to catch the double entendre, but when I did, I made a great business of loosening my collar and fanning my face. "Check, please!" I squeaked, and Peg giggled. We lingered over coffee and dessert. The place had been closed for almost an hour when we finally stood up and headed for the door. I let Peg walk in front of me to the door, which allowed me a little time to notice and enjoy her curvy little body. She was tallish, for a woman, maybe 5'7", which made her only two or three inches shorter than me. And much of her height was in her long legs, which ended in a cute little heart-shaped butt. Her shapely hips swayed a bit when she walked, and after a few steps she must have felt me staring, because she stopped, wiggled her backside at me, and turned to look over her shoulder. "Enjoying yourself?" she asked. "Have you registered that with the police?" I responded, "You could foment civil unrest with that thing." "Hmmm. How much did you pay for your copy of Impress the Babes by Improving Your Vocabulary?" "Buck-and-a-half on Ebay," I shot back. "Is it working?" I didn't get an answer to that one, but when we got outside, Peg stuck her hands in her pockets and shivered. "No car service, I'm afraid. We were in there for something like an hour longer than we were supposed to be. Want to give me a ride home?" "Sure," I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. "You have an early day tomorrow? "Weirdly enough, I've got tomorrow off." She turned to face me. "Look," she said, and she sounded a bit uncomfortable, "I'm really enjoying myself. I know it's late, but I don't want to say goodbye just yet. Is that OK?" "Yeah," I said, relieved. "Me too, I mean, that's fine." She put her arm around my waist then. "I'm freezing, Joe. How 'bout you?" "Could be worse," I replied, delighted to have an excuse to put my arm around her. But then I hesitated. "Uh, what about...?" "Don't worry about it," she leaned into me as she spoke. "I sent the guard dogs home, and by the way, just for the record, I'm not real keen on rules." She leaned into me as we walked back to my car. Neither of us said anything; neither was inclined to break the mood. But as she directed me towards her place, the tension, half sexual and half social, which had been with us from very early in the evening, grew stronger. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but it reminded me of how little we knew about one another, and of the bizarre set of circumstances that had led to our meeting. From the first, I'd found Peg attractive and desirable, and I hoped she felt the same way about me. I wanted her badly, but I also wanted to see her again. And I was trying to come up with some way to put both desires across, when we arrived at her building: a row of townhouses on a short street, which ended in a small park. I parked on the street, and she led me to the unit on the end, opened the door, and led me into her place. A short entryway opened up onto a pleasant living room, with a couch and a sliding rocker surrounding a coffee table, and facing a fireplace. She took my coat, hung it on a hook nest to her blazer, and offered me a drink. She seemed to be feeling some tension as well, and her description of the rest of the place—office, guest bedroom and master upstairs, kitchen, laundry room and half-bath down—rushed out of her on what sounded like one breath. We sat together on the couch, facing forward with a foot-an-a-half of material between us, sipping our wine. Neither of us spoke for a long moment. Finally, Peg put down her glass and turned to me. "Can I ask you a question?" "Ask away." "You haven't mentioned the site once this evening. Why?" I hesitated. Finally: "I wasn't sure if you wanted to talk about it. You haven't said anything about it either, you know. To tell you the truth, I'd decided not to bring it up before I got here. I wanted you to have a nice time and not feel like you had to, I don't know, gratify the curiosity of a fan, or something." "Okay," she said, slowly, "I understand. I had a lovely time, by the way, but I'm curious. Are you a customer?" "Not exactly," I replied. I wasn't sure I liked where this was going. She smiled. "Do you like looking at the pictures? My pictures?" I felt myself flushing. "Yeah," I said quietly. "That's right." She moved a little closer to me. "It's okay. I'm not insulted or disgusted or anything. I kind of assumed the people who entered the contest would be more interested in me than in the products, although I didn't expect to meet a guy who looks and acts like you." That sounded encouraging. "What were you expecting?" I asked. "Younger—sorry—and less, I don't know, comfortable with themselves, charming, attractive?" I turned to her then: "Nothing I can do about the younger but I'm really glad to hear the rest of it, because I find you incredible attractive." "Even without the fangs and the gothy hair-do?" "Of course, I—" She reached out and put her index finger to my lips. Smiling, she said, very softly: "So? How did you wind up on the site?" Here it was. I'd thought up half-a-dozen little lies to avoid this very question. Little vampire web-perv? Uh-uh, not me. I couldn't come up with one of them, so I kissed her finger, and told her the truth. A Date with Delilah "I have a, um, thing for vampires." She pulled her finger from my lips, put her hands in her lap, and grinned at me. "A 'thing' for vampires?" She was almost giggling. I sighed. I resisted the urge to swear. My dirty little secret had just torpedoed what I had hoped might be the beginning of something nice. "Yup. That's right." was all I could find to say. But apparently I had it wrong. Peg crawled over to me and climbed onto my lap, put her arms around my neck, and wiggled her bottom a bit to get comfortable. She must have felt how hard I was becoming through my pants, because she looked down, and then gave me a mischievous grin. "Well," she said, an a matter-of-fact tone of voice, "I have a confession to make." Then she pulled me tight against her, and ran her tongue along the edge of my ear. As I gasped at the sudden sensation, I could feel the warmth of her breath, and I heard her sigh: "I have a 'thing' for vampires, too." She nipped my ear, and then began kissing around towards my mouth. Until now, I hadn't had any sense of her upper body, which had been hidden by the blazer, as well as the loose, long-sleeved blouse, but now I could feel her full breasts through her bra as she crushed them against my chest. I barely had time to register her voluptuousness before her mouth found mine. She brushed her lips lightly against mine then kissed me harder. I opened my mouth beneath hers, found her lower lip, and bit gently. She growled and thrust her tongue into my mouth, forcing me teeth apart. Not to be denied, I nipped her tongue, too. She gave a little squeal, and pulled back to look at me. "No fair, you bit me!" she said breathlessly, and pouted. "Now you have to kiss it and make it feel better." "Kiss what?" I rasped, equally breathless. "This." she said, and opened her mouth, letting her tongue slide provocatively over her lower lip. I leaned in and kissed her tongue gently, then slid mine into her mouth, and drew her to me again. After a few more minutes, she broke our kiss, and put her mouth to my ear again. "Did my pictures turn you on?" she breathed, reaching down between her legs to stroke my erect cock through my cords. "Oh God, yes. That feels so good," I moaned reaching between her thighs to press my hand against the heat of her crotch. "Did they make your cock this hard? Did you jack off looking at me?" Her dirty talk combined with her stroking me had me seconds away from coming in my pants. I didn't want that to happen, so I grabbed her wrist and brought it to my lips. "Yeah," I rasped, kissing her wrist. "I did. I came like crazy looking at your..." Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!... I was so startled, I bucked Peg right off my lap, and she only just avoided going ass-over-teakettle straight off the couch. We stared at each other, our mouths gaping like idiots, and then, at exactly the same moment, we both howled with laughter. It must have been close to a minute before we could control ourselves, and even then all I could manage was: "Oh my God, oh shit that's funny, where's that fucking clock?" Peg whooped once or twice. "Kitchen..." was the best she could do, and then: "I never noticed it was so loud." We climbed back onto the couch, and I put my arm around Peg, while she snuggled into me. The mood was broken for the moment, but I was no longer worried. Our need was mutual. So, oddly enough, was our kink. I had just begun thinking about that, when Peg nuzzled my neck. "Hey, it's midnight," she murmured, and then she sat up straight. "Do you know what that means, what day it is?" "Uh, Sunday?" I ventured. "Halloween." she said softly, almost to herself. Then she turned to me and gave me a seductive little smile. "Want to play a game?" "What kind of game did you have in mind?" Matter-of-factly: "A kinky sex game." "Sounds good to me." I breathed. I could feel myself getting hard again. "What're the rules?" "We'll make them up as we go along. You've just got to decide one thing." She stood up and crooked a finger at me. I rose too, and she came to me, pressing her body into mine. She slipped her arms around my neck, ran her fingers through my hair, and then leaned into me and whispered, "Vampire or victim?" My heart skipped a beat. "Victim," I said. "Yeah," she sighed, and brushed her lips lightly against my throat. "Good." I spent the next forty minutes on the couch in the living room, feeling like a half-starved man less than an hour away from a banquet. Peg had gone upstairs. When the phone in the kitchen rang once, I was to follow her up, walk down the hall, knock twice on the last door on the left, and walk in. Peg's last act, after breaking our embrace and giving me my instructions, and before climbing the stairs, was to stand facing me, and begin unbuttoning her blouse. She'd undone four buttons, and I had caught just a hint of deep cleavage and a pale bra, when she turned her back to me. She continued removing her top as she sauntered, hips swaying, slowly up the stairs. When she was out of site, the discarded orange blouse had been dropped carelessly onto the fifth stair from the top. When the phone finally rang, I gasped as if I hadn't, for the previous three quarters of an hour, taken a single breath. Up the stairs. Down the hall. Two knocks, and I pushed the door open slowly. The light from dozens of candles showed me a king-sized bed against the middle of the far wall. Two small chests of drawers stood on either side of the bed, and a wardrobe stood against the far wall next to a door, closed most of the way, through which a bit more wavering candle light shone. "Peg?" I whispered. She came out of the door by the wardrobe, backlit by more candles in what must have been the master bathroom. "I'm sorry," she said, in a low, seductive voice. "Did you want Peg? She's in here." gesturing behind her into the bathroom, "You can have what's left. I'm afraid I got a little thirsty, while I was waiting." Her chestnut hair was down now, flowing in untidy waves to her shoulders. She'd put on mascara, some gray eye shadow, and blood red lipstick. A black lacy bra displayed the tops of her full, pale breasts. A garter belt held up black thigh-high stockings on her long shapely legs. She wore no panties, and a small neat triangle of hair drew my eyes down to the lips of her vagina, just visible in the candlelight. I stopped moving; just staring, not speaking. She was pleased with the effect she was having. Smiling, she began walking towards me, slowly. "Say something, Handsome." She pulled back her lips then to reveal her fangs. I swayed a little, but she continued: "I'm sure you have a tongue somewhere in that pretty mouth of yours. I haven't ripped it out yet." "Delilah?" I rasped. Her smile was wider now, and again I saw the sharp, elongated incisors flash in the candlelight. "You remember," she cooed, "That's sweet. Now," she had reached me by this time, and she ran a crimson fingernail up and down the bugle in my pants as she spoke, "you can have Peg if you want her, but just between us, I think you'll find me more, um, responsive,"—she caught her lower lip with her fangs—"and fresher," she broke away from me then, moving back towards the bed, "and sweeter." she finished, turning to face me again. Her hands rose behind her back to unclasp her bra. It fell away, and she cupped her hands beneath her bare breasts, offering them to me. "Want a taste?" I started towards her, but just as I was reaching for her, she grabbed my by my lapels, swung me around and sat me down hard on the side of the bed. She straddled me then, grinding her naked pussy onto the cloth covering my engorged prick. Then she grabbed me by the back of my head, and forced my face into her breasts. My mouth found a nipple, and I began to kiss and suck. A very un-vampire-like squeak forced its way through her parted lips, and then she was growling and moaning as I licked and sucked, kissed and bit her soft, sweet globes. "That's it, Lover," she hissed, "Suck on them! Suck my big tits. Make me like it, and I may let you live for another couple of hours." At this, my mind and body entered completely into our fantasy. If fucking this cruel, beautiful vampire was to be my last living act, I'd make her remember me. I grabbed a handful of breast, squeezed until the nipple jutted towards my mouth, and bit her hard. She screamed, pulled her bruised tit from my mouth, and slapped me hard across the face. I fell back onto the bed, and before I could push myself up, she was on me, hands pinning my arms, her wet, red mouth inches from my face. "Careful, Sweetie." she panted, "Don't piss me off, or I may just tear your heart out of your chest and forget to fuck you, and believe me," she ground her crotch against me, and licked at my lips until my they parted. Her tongue invaded my open mouth, and the power of her kiss forced my head back into the mattress. "You want me to fuck you," finishing her thought, "before you die. Now lie quiet, Lover, and let's get you naked." Delilah grabbed the collar of my shirt, and pulled. Several buttons popped off as the shirt tore open, exposing my chest. "Nice," my vampires whispered, as she bent her head to lick and suckle me in turn. Her loose hair tickled my chest and stomach as she kissed around my torso, stopping just below my left nipple. I felt her lift her head then, and I looked down at her. She bared her fangs, letting me know exactly what she was about to do, and then she took her revenge, biting me as hard as I'd bitten her. I felt a quick, hot stab of pain, and then her lips closed around her teeth and she began licking and sucking, making little wet sounds as if she was actually drinking my blood. A sound I couldn't describe rose in my throat, and my dick became harder than I had thought possible. After a little while, Delilah raised her face from my chest. I looked down again, and she ran her tongue around her lips lasciviously. "You taste good, Handsome!" she cooed, "But you know how it is," she added conversationally, as she slid down my body until she was standing over me. Then she reached down and began to unbuckle my belt. "Give a girl a taste of something hot and wet and sticky," she had my pants around my ankles by this time, and was reaching under the waist of my briefs, "and she just gets thirsty for more." She grasped my cock gently in her fist, and I could almost feel it pulsing against the warmth of her hand. She knelt in front of me, stuck out her tongue and licked me lightly from the base of my balls to the tip of my shaft. I groaned, and she purred: "Mmmm, why don't you watch me suck you dry." Some tiny part of my mind wondered how she would manage a blowjob with her fangs in. I needn't have worried. She licked me like a lollypop for a few minutes, pressing her fangs gently against my shaft when she felt my attention was wandering. Delilah obviously loved being watched. When she was certain she had my undivided attention—she'd never actually lost it—she opened her mouth, and, with a little growl, took the head of my cock into her mouth. I thought I'd black out from the pleasure: the wet heat of her mouth, watching my thick shaft disappear between her full lips, her rough tongue laving the bottom of my prick. She moved her head forward, letting her throat relax around my entire length, pulled back slowly, and then engulfed me again. I was amazed that I hadn't come yet, but I knew I couldn't hold out for long. She deep-throated me for a while, and then she backed off licking and sucking the head while her hand stroked my shaft faster and faster. My breath became audible: high panting moan after moan. I felt my cock swell, and then I was coming and coming, shooting jet after jet of thick hot cream into her eager mouth. She squeezed and licked until she had every drop from me, and when I thought I couldn't stand the intensity of sensation for another second. She lay back on top of me and kissed me deeply, letting me taste the remains of my seed on her tongue. Then she propped herself up on an elbow and smiled down at me. Her fangs seemed unnaturally white in contrast to the lipstick, which now resembled blood, smeared as it was around her mouth. Her hand found my now flaccid member and squeezed. "That was delicious, my Love," she whispered, "but there had better be more where that came from. I'd prefer to fuck you with this" tightening her grip on my now-swelling cock, "attached to your body, but I'm willing to try it the other way. Now don't move. I'll be right back." She disappeared for a few seconds, and I heard the bathroom door shut. I lay on my back staring at the ceiling, without a thought in my head, my entire being given over to pure sensation. I don't know how long she was gone—not long—but the next thing I remember, her lips were teasing the head of my cock again, and a high, breathy little girl's voice way saying, between licks: "Oh my goodness, Grandma," –kiss—"what a big"—lick--"thick"—kiss—"sweet penis you have!" "All the better to ravage your pretty little cunt with, my dear." I growled, sitting up and reaching for her. She had cleaned her face and put on a bit more lipstick, and she'd removed the stockings and garter belt. Standing in front of me, naked, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen or imagined. My arms closed around the small of her back, and I began to fondle the cheeks of her tight little ass. She snuggled up close to me then, pressing her breasts against my face. "All in good time, Handsome." she whispered, and then she leaned in and bit me again, her fangs scraping hard against my throat. My cock throbbed and I recalled that, for tonight at least, I was her victim. She could do with me as she pleased. "Lie back against the pillows." she commanded, and I stretched out on the bed, lying on my back. She climbed onto the bed and hands and knees and began crawling towards me slowly, her luscious tits swaying slightly as she moved. "You just came in my mouth," she snarled at me, "and I think I ought to come in yours before your final fuck, don't you?" I nodded wordlessly, and she knelt with her knees around my head, and the lips of her pussy resting on my chin. "Go ahead, Big Man, eat my sweet cunt. Make me come hard." I leaned forward and drew my tongue up her slit, until the tip fount her hard little clit, and I heard her sigh. Her cunt was all salt and sweat and spice. I danced my tongue around her clit for a while, moving faster and faster until she was just at the edge and then slowing down, to make her whimper in frustration. I drew pack her labia with my fingers and drove my tongue as far up insider her as I could make it go, and she ground herself down on my face, doing everything she could to deepen the penetration. Finally I pushed first one and then two fingers deep into her, fucking her with my hand while my tongue attacked her engorged bud again. I sucked it between my lips, and even bit down on it as gently as I possible could. She gave a tiny scream, and her body shook with a quick little spasm. I began to brush my tongue slowly back and forth across her clit, never breaking contact. Sounds like rhythmic sobs were breaking from her now, and they grew louder and higher as I slowly built up speed. Finally I was lashing her, all my body's power focused in the tip of my tongue. Delilah howled, and her whole body jerked forward, shuddering as she came, and drenching my face with her sticky, sweet juices. I continued tonguing her, until she wrenched her body off of me, and collapsed, panting beside me on the bed. I gave her some minutes to recover, but then decided to press my advantage a little. After all, even a doomed man would want to go down fighting. I climbed on top of her, pushed her legs apart with my knees and knelt over her, my rock-hard cock inches from her dewy pussy. "Hey Delilah," I whispered, "I'm ready for my final fuck now." Her eyes, which had been glazed and half closed seconds before, snapped open. Then her expression changed, and she gave me a lubricious little smile. "Want me to get it hard for you?" she whispered. "Want to put it in my mouth to get it all wet and slick and then rub it between my tits?" She opened her mouth wide and stuck her tongue out resting it on her lower lips, inviting me to fuck her face. But that would have involved giving up my position above her body, and, tempting as I found her offer, moving formed no part of my plan. This bloodthirsty beauty had been calling the shots all evening. I relished the idea of a little time in the saddle for a change. "No thanks, Beautiful," I said, and my voice was soft and deliberate. "I've had your mouth, and now I'd like your cunt. Right now!" As I was speaking I'd positioned the head of my prick between her labia, and at the last word, I drove my shaft balls deep into her pussy, still wet and slippery from her most recent orgasm. "Oh God!" she shrieked, as our role play dropped away for just a moment, "Oh fuck, that's good, yes, oh yes, oh yes, please! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck me, c'mon, fuck me hard, mmmmm, yes!" I'd begun driving into her, with hard short thrusts. At first she had been so wet and loose that I'd felt heat and damp rather than friction, but now she was gripping me with the muscles of her cunt, as she trust her hips up to meet my motion, and I began a rhythmic moan. Soon I was answering her obscene pleas with a litany of my own. "You like that, like that, huh? Like me fucking you? Want me to fuck you hard, like this, like this, you beautiful bitch, you gorgeous cock-hungry slut? Oh God you feel so good, so hot, oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" My thrusting slowed as I struggled to catch my breath, and I could feel her movement around my cock change slightly. I looked down, and she was smiling up at me, running her tongue across her fangs. Her hips were now moving in a gentle figure-8, rocking my cock from side to side even as I slid in and out of her. Her smile widened into an evil grin, and I could feel my advantage ebbing away. When she spoke, I could hear that Delilah was herself again. "How's that, Handsome? Does that feel nice? Like what my hot cunt is doing to your hard cock? Did you enjoy taking me like that, hearing me scream? My turn now, Lover. My turn to fuck you!" She bucked her hips hard, forcing me back and almost out of her, then she twisted away from me, and I shouted in frustration as I fell out completely. Quickly she pushed me over onto my back and squatted above me. I lay looking up at her, as I felt her reach down, position my cock at her entrance, and, with a quick little drop of her hips, impale herself on me, forcing my erection deep into her womb. For a second she sat motionless, and we both absorbed the sensations of this new position. The she began to rock slowly back and forth, fucking me almost gently. Then her motion became--not faster--but rougher. Soon she was grinding onto me, tightening her cunt so that I could feel her along every inch of my shaft. I could feel my balls begin to tighten, and my cock begin to swell. I wanted to come, but I needed her to fuck me just a little faster. As if she could read my mind, she looked down at me then and smiled. Her hair was a mess, hanging in damp strands all over her face and forehead. Her full breasts were bouncing to the rhythm of her grinding, rocking motion. And her gray-green eyes were all but invisible behind hooded lids. "Want to come, Sweet Man?" she murmured. "I want you to." The speed of her thrusts increased slightly. "I want you to empty your delicious cock deep in my cunt, want to feel your hot stuff splattering my insides. And I want you to tell me just before it happens." She was moving harder and faster now, her words coming out in disjointed pants: "Come...on...Baby...fuck...me... fuck...ooh...come in...me...my...pussy...fuck...oh...yeah...fuck..." And I screamed: "I'm coming! Oh God, I'm..." As the first jet of spunk flew from my dick, Delilah leaned across my body, dug her fangs into my throat, and began to suck at my neck. I howled and thrust harder and harder, coming and coming for what seemed like hours. At some point, she began to come too. Her mouth left my neck and she gasped for air, making tiny little noises, which contained no words at all. A Date with Delilah When we awoke, it was light out. Peg was still sprawled naked across my body. The sheets beneath my now limp cock and her leaking cunt were damp with our juices. Fortunately, she'd managed to spit out her fangs, connected by some kind of dental wiring which held them in place over her teeth. They hadn't come loose once until the last time she bit me. When I finally saw them the dents in my neck looked so deep, I was surprised she hadn't actually drawn blood. Showfangs apparently did pretty good work. Once we opened our eyes, we disentangled ourselves a little self-consciously. Neither of us was quite sure if we'd just experienced an extremely kinky one-night-stand, or a highly satisfying, if somewhat off-kilter, beginning of something. We lay next to one another for some time, not speaking. Finally Peg said: "That was marvelous. Thank you. It's been a while." "For me too," I said, "I mean marvelous and thank you, and it's been a very long while. I... Thanks for indulging my, um..." "Your 'Thing for Vampires?' I told you. I have the same, what would you call it, kink, I guess." "Are you always the vampire in your fantasies?" It seemed the easiest topic to discuss at the moment. "No. I guess I'm about half and half. Sometimes vamp-er, sometimes vamp-ee." I chuckled. She said, "You know the rules say you're in my thrall now, for eternity." "Not yet," I countered. "Technically I suppose I'm dead now, unless you give me a little of your blood to drink. Then I become your, whatever, creation, offspring? There's some Anne Ricey word for it." "Fledgling," she said, and giggled. "I always hated that word. Reminds me of fuzzy little chicks or something. Takes me right out of a story." And then she stopped laughing. "Would you want to be?" "What?" I was scared to understand her too quickly. ""My Fledg...my thrall, or whatever, for all eternity? Want a little blood?" "I don't know about all eternity," I said, "But I'd love to be, um, with you, see you, be your...I don't know?" "Boyfriend?" she asked? "Stupid word. I don't care much for 'Significant Other' either. How about 'Lover?' Would you like to be my lover, Mister...oh jeez, I don't even know your last name." "Castle," I supplied, "and yes, I can't think of anything I'd like more than to be your lover, Miss..." "Kaplan, I'm afraid," said Peg, and grinned. "Well, Joe Castle, since I don't want your death on my conscience, I suppose I'd better give you some of my blood." She scooted closer to me, and raised herself on her elbow. Cupping a beautiful, pale breast in one hand, she drew her fingernail across the top of her nipple, pretending to draw blood from the cut. Then she offered her breast to me. "Drink, Lover." She whispered. I sucked her nipple gently into my mouth, and then later, as I was drifting off to sleep again, with Peg Kaplan snuggled up beside me, I heard her say, very softly: "Happy Halloween."