Once Bitten

by Lisette Ashton

  I drew a deep and heavy breath.

  She hesitated before putting her mouth around me, her large almond eyes continuing to study my face. I realised, if there had ever been a chance when I could back out of what we were doing, this would be my last opportunity.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ I encouraged.

  Mel placed her mouth around my left nipple and sucked.

  In the past, I’d been up close and physical with boyfriends. And I’d done enough things sexually to know that I enjoyed naked fun in a variety of places and positions. But I’d never thought the chemistry could be so intense.

  Admittedly, I felt a moment’s doubt about how my boyfriend would react if he found out about what Mel and I were doing. Dean is a strait-laced guy with strict views on the subjects of monogamy and monotony and that hoary old argument about not-having-sex-with-other-people-while-you’re-in-a-relationship-with-someone.

  But it was easy enough to push him from my thoughts.

  Dean had elected to spend the night with his drinking buddies instead of me. And his sexual performance had always been slightly less satisfying than the vibrate option on my Nokia mobile. When the batteries were screaming for a recharge. Mel, on the other hand, promised to be far more exciting company and I focused my thoughts on her rather than the man who should have been pleasuring my bare body.

  Mel sucked against my breast until the nipple stood hard and rigid.

  The most exquisite sensations flooded through me making me giddy; heightening my responses; exacerbating my need. The wetness at my sex was molten. I could smell the embarrassing scent of my musk as its perfume filled the room. A part of me wanted to apologise to Mel for being so excited. But, because she was the cause of that fluid rush, I decided that saying sorry might come across as redundant. When she nibbled at my breasts, plucking at the nipples with sharp, tiny bites, the pungent scent was so strong it was forgotten.

  My mouth was bitter with the electric taste of excitement.

  The air around us had thickened and every breath was a chore.

  I didn’t think the moment could get any more thrilling. But Mel proved me wrong as she eased her fingers beneath the waistband of my panties. The touch of her hand tickled against my flesh. The intimacy of where she was touching added a fresh aspect to the depth of my arousal.

  ‘Are you sure we should be doing this?’ I mumbled.

  Mel regarded me solemnly. ‘I can stop if you want me to stop, sweetie.’

  ‘Don’t stop!’ I said the words quickly. The thought of her stopping now – when we were both nearly naked and my arousal had been spurred to such soaring, soaking heights – was too agonising to contemplate. ‘I was just asking if we should be doing this. It was only a question. I just wanted to make sure we were both cool with this.’

  ‘This is cool with me,’ Mel said simply.

  It was as much as she needed to say. Although we were both perspiring with arousal, I understood the situation was “cool” with both of us.

  Slowly, as though she was unveiling a work of art, Mel peeled the panties away from my hips. She stared for a moment at the dark thatch of my pubic curls and, when she raised her gaze to meet mine, we sighed in unison.

  Her face moved between my breasts.

  For an instant I wondered if she was going to suck my nipples again and that thought made my stomach muscles churn eagerly. When her tongue trailed down, over my chest and toward my abdomen, I stiffened with anticipation. Fearful she might think I was having second thoughts, and anxious to hide any reservations, I forced myself to relax. Even as her tongue travelled below my waist and down to the curls covering my pussy, I managed to breathe easily and maintain a façade of quiet expectation.

  A part of me still wanted to pull away, sure we would both regret this indiscretion when we sobered up and came to our senses. But a greater part of me was curious to experience everything she silently promised. On some intuitive level (a level that I seldom used but always relied on) I understood this evening would prove the start of a very rewarding adventure.

  And, as she moved her mouth between my legs, her fringe tickled my stomach. The light caress was subtle yet exciting. As I basked in the thrill of that simple pleasure, I knew there was no chance of ending this until we were both satisfied.

  Gently, she devoured me.

  Her tongue stroked lightly against the folds of my sex. She touched me with a delicacy that I had never known before – not even from my own inquisitive fingers when I was in a mood for the tenderest touch. Heat rose in my loins and I knew, when the orgasm eventually came, it would be meteoric. The thought made me squirm eagerly against her face and I silently urged her to take me beyond the limits of pleasure.

  I glanced at the TV set and noticed Korn had replaced Slipknot on screen. They screeched through the chorus of Freak on a Leash but the noise was loud enough to ignore. I distanced myself from the ambience of thrash metal tunes and brought my attention back to the room.

  And I suddenly wanted to taste Mel. Curiosity and determination urged me to do more than simply lie down and accept all the pleasure my friend wanted to give. Although her mouth against my pussy was a fantastic sensation, I didn’t think I could enjoy the experience unless I was trying to return some of the pleasure. Also – and this was probably the main reason I started to move – I was hungry to taste her sex.

  I positioned myself on top of Mel.

  The movement was made with absolute delicacy.

  I didn’t want to shift out of her reach but I was anxious to pleasure her in the same way she was pleasuring me. I wanted to explore her body, taste her skin and her sex. Ideally, I would have loved to suck against her nipples but there was no way I could do that without taking my sex away from her mouth. And, as long as Mel continued to inspire such delicious sensations in my pussy, there was no way I would think of moving my sex from her kisses.

  Gingerly, I stroked my hands against her smooth, bare legs.

  She purred.

  I placed a soft kiss against each of her thighs and remained mesmerised by the sight of the naked woman beneath me. The sight of her tattoo briefly distracted me. The starkness of black ink against her milky flesh was bold enough to jar my thoughts away from their purpose. But, when I watched Mel tease herself daringly beneath my gaze – her fingers slipping easily over the flushed split of her sex – I remembered what I was doing there and I knew that I had to draw my tongue against her flesh.

  Hungrily, I moved my mouth toward her pussy.

  She moaned.

  I had never been so close to another woman before.

  The scent was intoxicating. Her musk had the same rich flavour that I had found on myself but the fragrance was slightly different, reminding me it was a bouquet I had never previously encountered. I was breathless with the need to taste her and anxious to find out how her sex would feel when I pressed my fingers against her lips and – hopefully – into the confines of her hole. The sight was divine and my eagerness was strong enough to push me to the brink of climax.

  Mel continued to lick, curling her tongue against my pussy lips and trilling the tip against my clit. Waves of escalating satisfaction rippled through my body and I understood, unless I started to pleasure her soon, she would have me helpless and writhing and in no position to satisfy anyone except for myself.

  I clutched the settee in an effort to control my responses.

  Unable to resist the impulse, I buried my face between her thighs.

  The black ink drawing on her thigh fluttered on the periphery of my vision. It was a crude piece of artwork and designed with red eyes that made it seem somewhat sinister. But that was all the interest I had time to spare. I was too involved in experiencing my first taste of feminine flesh to concern myself with unnecessary details and I threw myself into that task with hearty enthusiasm.

  The wet lips of Mel’s sex engulfed my mouth.

  ‘Yes!’ Mel sighed.

  Her cry was enough to tell me I had done some
thing right.

  I teased my tongue against the slippery labia and tasted her wetness. Her musk was both sweet and bitter: not a flavour I had anticipated, but one that I had to devour. I pushed my tongue inside her and her inner muscles clutched at me. Mel squirmed against my face and, desperate to give as much as I was receiving, I licked her lips and clit before thrusting my tongue back into her hole. It wasn’t something I’d ever done before and I knew my efforts lacked finesse or sophistication. Mel daintily lapped the pleasure from my labia and teased thrills of joy from my clit.

  In return, I was merely guzzling at her hole and hoping to inflict satisfaction as a by-product of my enthusiasm. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she had moved my head aside and then instructed me on the proper way to kiss her sex. But, instead, she struggled eagerly beneath me and pushed herself hard against my face.

  I brought my fingers to her pussy and pushed two inside.

  Keeping them curled upward, remembering an article from some old issue of Cosmo I’d read in a dentist’s surgery, I continued to lick at her sex while trying to find the elusive hiding place of her g-spot. I had never properly managed to locate my own, although I continued to believe it might be there. Like God, or Jesus or Santa Claus. But all the information I had read suggested it was the most sensitive place I could touch if I wanted to administer pleasure. My breathing had lowered to a coarse rasp. Sweat drenched my body but did nothing to cool me down. And I grew desperate to make the woman beneath me reach her climax.

  ‘Higher,’ Mel directed. She panted the words and I could hear the genuine effort she was using to speak. ‘Move a little higher!’

  She shrieked when I did as she asked. It was a sound that combined pain and pleasure in ways I had never heard before. The blend of extreme responses excited me as much as any other aspect of what we were doing.

  ‘Too high!’ she complained. The words were torn from her like a sob. ‘Try touching lower. And just a little more firmly.’

  Her demands would have been irritating if we hadn’t both been striving for the same goal. I struggled to do exactly as she asked and was rewarded with her agonised cry of release. Her muscles stiffened around my fingers and my ears were crushed against her thighs. A spray of warm musk spattered against my cheeks and brow.

  ‘YES!’

  Mel’s jubilant roar echoed around the room.

  My mouth was against her pussy when she exploded. My tongue teased the pulse of her clit while my fingers remained buried deep inside. Her sex gripped my hand so tight I momentarily thought she might snap the bones. Her inner muscles convulsed and the scent of her excitement coloured every breath I snatched.

  My own arousal reached a pique in sympathy with Mel’s.

  I groaned loudly as I realised I was also on the verge of release. Glancing at my new lover, seeing the satisfied smile on her face, I was relieved to hear her say, ‘It’s your turn now. I want you to lie down.’

  I didn’t argue.

  Mel pushed me back against the settee and fell ravenously against my sex. Her tongue slipped effortlessly inside me. Her lips bruised my labia and her teeth nibbled just a little too sharply against my delicate flesh.

  Because I had just been treating her to the same brand of illicit pleasure, I could mentally picture all that she was doing between my legs. The image was debilitating and vivid enough so I could see it as though I was watching through her eyes.

  My sex lips were engorged to a dark, flushed red.

  The skin glistened with a fluid rush of wetness.

  Sensory-overload struck before I knew what was happening.

  The muscles in my neck stretched rigid. A rising explosion of joy started in my loins and then bristled through every fibre of my body. Before I realised she had taken me there, I rode a shockwave of raw delight. The climax crashed through me with the force of a slap across the face. I squealed and screamed and pushed myself against her until the orgasm was fully spent in a wet and wonderful release.

  Mel glanced up at me from between my spread legs.

  Her smile dripped with the remnants of my sloppy explosion.

  And, although I was trembling from the climax, I struggled to appear unaffected by the orgasm. It’s not cool to show excessive displays of enthusiasm and I knew Mel would think less of me if I gushed about how fantastic the sex had been. Adamant that I would appear casual, trying to mimic her air of confident calm, I lay limp against the settee and said, ‘That was a blast, sweetie. We should do it more often.’

  Mel nodded and slipped idly from between my thighs.

  She seemed surprisingly comfortable with her own nudity and poured fresh mugs of vodka for us both as though this was the norm. Her hands trembled slightly as she put the rim of the bottle to the mug and I was pleased to note that she was also trying to hide her genuine responses.

  ‘It really was a blast, sweetie,’ she agreed. ‘It certainly got my thoughts focused. Thanks for that. I owe you.’ She raised her mug in grateful salute. Retrieving a pack of Marlboros from the pocket of her discarded blouse, she placed a cigarette between her crimson lips and fixed me with a purposeful smile. ‘I now know what I need to do to get back with Alan,’ she declared.

  And, with that unexpected announcement made, Mel lit her cigarette and stared thoughtfully into space. Her distraction was so complete she didn’t notice me filching a smoke from her packet.

  I lit up and pretended I understood her current boyfriend situation.

  I don’t wish to sound unkind, but Mel’s boyfriends have been known to change on an hourly basis. In truth, I’d heard her mention Alan before, but I’d also listened while she waxed lyrical about Stephen, Desmond and Carlos within the last month. Trying to keep track of who was in vogue and who was out of favour was too much of a chore and I’d often thought it was easier to follow the bed-hopping antics of soap opera characters. It crossed my mind that I might now be on her fickle list of lovers and conquests but that concept was too surreal to entertain.

  ‘What’s the problem with Alan?’ I asked, hoping the words didn’t reveal that I hadn’t been following the complexities of her relationships. ‘How come you two are having so much difficulty getting together?’

  ‘We’ve got the age difference,’ she began airily.

  I closed my eyes and tried to compose a mental picture of Alan. We’d met briefly and I recalled him as being attractive, blond and muscular. There was something unique about him but my thoughts were still tied up with the sex I had just enjoyed and they refused to focus on small details. When we’d met I hadn’t thought Alan seemed either older or younger than Mel so I assumed the age difference was something marginal that only covered a handful of months – a few small years at the most.

  ‘I can’t see age being a big difference between you two.’

  She shrugged as if to tell me I was wrong, but she would let that detail pass on this occasion. ‘There are a few cultural differences too,’ she allowed. ‘But it’s mainly religion that’s a problem.’

  ‘Religion?’ I frowned, not sure I had heard correctly. I struggled to fix on that elusive detail that marked Alan as different. Through the hazy fog of my recollection I remembered he was as white as Mel and conservative enough to be a successful politician. Neither of those stereotypes suggested he was a member of some radical group or extreme cult.

  That final nagging detail – the one that marked Alan as different – refused to come to me regardless of how hard I frowned and concentrated. But I knew that it was something that bore a strong relevance to this conversation. ‘What do you mean by religion?’ I pressed, trying to cover my ignorance. ‘Aren’t you two the same religion? And, if you’re not, does it really matter that much?’

  ‘It matters to him,’ Mel assured me. ‘Alan is training to be a priest. And that conflicts with the fact that I’ve been a practising vampire for the past century.’

  Chapter Three

  There are some moments in life that are so surreal you can’t take them in at
once.

  I was sitting in the familiar surroundings of my apartment. It was low rent accommodation and I’d done little to change its appearance since taking over the tenancy agreement. Tatty posters covered the wall behind the TV. Unpleasant wallpaper decorated the rest of the room and I had always thought, if the decorator was striving for a look that epitomised dinginess, he had met his target with enviable accuracy.

  A threadbare rug lay rumpled on the floor beneath our discarded clothes. And I sat naked, facing my best friend while the musk from her orgasm remained sticky on my chin.

  Which would have been surreal enough.

  But I had a Marlboro in one hand, a mug of vodka in the other, Slipknot had started to sing Confessions on MTV, and Mel had just announced she was a vampire.

  I struggled not to gape. The effort of appearing unaffected by this news was gargantuan. But it would have gone against the grain of my ultra-cool persona if I had acted with shock or surprise and I know Mel would have been disappointed by such a reaction.

  It came to me that the nagging detail I had forgotten about Alan was his involvement in the church. I now remembered he had been wearing a clerical collar when I first met him. He assured me it wasn’t a fancy dress costume and he was really in training to become a member of the clergy. He had spent four years studying theology at a seminary, was a Master of Divinity, and had been assigned the role of assistant pastor at the local church: St Germain’s. Aside from the fact that he seemed a little too involved with his religion, he had seemed pleasant enough.

  In a nonchalant voice, a voice that sounded alien to my ears, I repeated slowly, ‘Alan’s studying to be a priest and you’re a…’

  My voice trailed off.

  I couldn’t bring myself to say the final word.

  ‘I’m a vampire,’ Mel assured me. In a deep and surprisingly masculine voice she added, ‘Forget what you think you know: vampires do exist.’

  I recognised the line from the introduction to Blade II. Mel and I had watched the trilogy of movies a week earlier during a less eventful girls’ night in. Her impersonation of Wesley Snipes was weak enough to make me smile.