I pumiced the souls of my feet and found an old razor by the side of the sink. With a few quick strokes I removed the thatch of dark curls from my pussy. Scraping away the hairs made my sex feel extremely sensitive and I thought the new look would give me the same raunchy allure that Mel had carried so well.
Eventually, I stepped from beneath the water and towelled myself dry. Deliberately, I stopped myself from standing in front of the mirror as I performed this ritual. I didn’t want my mood to be dragged down by the sight of an empty room when I was feeling full and satisfied from the simple pleasure of having washed. Not caring that strangers occupied the lounge, I walked naked past Christine and her toy-boy as I went to retrieve clothes from my bedroom.
She straddled him on the rumpled rug.
Her legs were long and shapely, enticing enough to spur my interest, and I forcefully quashed that reaction. I could see her toy-boy’s pale pink cock pushing between the lips of her splayed labia. The flesh glistened wetly as he thrust in and out. Cutting into the flesh of her sex was the string-thin crotch of her black thong. It looked like razor wire slashing into her sex and that image made me shiver with fresh desire to join them. Christine’s cheeks were blushed with a thrill of excitement and I sympathised with her enjoyment. If I had been in a similar position I knew I would have worn the same contented smile.
‘Do you want to share him with me, darling?’
‘You look dressed for the occasion, babe,’ the toy-boy grinned.
‘Don’t talk,’ Christine snapped at him. ‘Save your energies for something important.’ To make her point she reached between her legs and grabbed his scrotum. Her fingers pressed into the malleable sac and they both groaned as though sharing the same pained pleasure.
I ignored them and went to my bedroom.
Selecting clothes was a nuisance.
I had wanted to wear a suit, but I feared it would make me look like I was imitating Christine. There were jeans in the drawer facing my bed, and a couple of skimpy tops that were clean enough to be serviceable. But after a night spent in such mundane attire I wanted to wear something different. Also, because I was a newly made vampire, I wanted to make a positive fashion statement. I still had to save Mel and I wanted to dress in a style that was appropriate for a hero.
Black fishnet stockings were my first choice.
I toyed with the idea of lacy panties and then decided they would likely get in the way. I had no plans to seduce anyone at that point but, since becoming a vampire, my world seemed to revolve around sex and sensuality. It made sense to accept things as they were and plan accordingly. I found a pair of patent heels at the bottom of the wardrobe and decided I should combine them with a simple black dress.
Christine’s voice came through the thin bedroom wall. She sounded breathless with excitement. The tension in her tone suggested she was holding back a climactic explosion. ‘Are you going to be much longer in there, darling? I’m going to have to drain this one on my own if you don’t hurry.’
The toy-boy laughed eagerly. ‘Just drain me, babe. Drain me.’
‘Oh! Shut the fuck up, you wearisome little grunge puppy. You don’t know what I’m talking about.’ In a louder voice she added, ‘Tessa? Are you coming out to feed on this one?’
‘No thanks.’
I listened as they went through the throes of their ecstasies and agonies. I brushed my hair, applied a coat of polish to my nails, and tried to decide if the Raybans would work with the vampish ensemble I had created. When I thought it might be safe to return to the lounge, I picked up the sunglasses and told myself I looked ultra-chic.
Christine was climbing away from the settee where the toy-boy lay.
He looked paler than when I had last seen him and he was no longer as active. A droplet of blood sat on Christine’s chin but I decided not to mention that it was there. She grinned at me with obvious approval for the way I had dressed.
‘You’re my mentor?’ I started. As I had showered and dressed I had come up with a few ideas that I thought might help Mel. ‘You’re here to teach me how to be a vampire?’
‘I’m just giving a little back to the community, darling,’ she grinned. ‘There’s no need for you to revere me as though I’m some magnificent and benevolent saintly type.’
‘OK. I won’t.’
Her smile faltered and, for the first time she seemed to realise that I wasn’t overawed by her glamorous persona. Drawing a deep breath, stepping back from the verge of confrontation she said, ‘The council employ seers.’ She lit herself a fresh cigar before continuing. ‘Each time a new vampire is made, the seers inform the council, and the council then assigns a mentor. The mentor is supposed to help the new vampire adjust to life as a member of the undead.’
‘Adjust how?’
She shrugged. ‘Basic things. Warn you about crucifixes and holy water. Advise you against tanning salons and say that there will be penalties if you show up on Oprah, or present yourself to the copy desk of somewhere like The Times or The Sunday Sport.’
She blew a plume of cigar smoke in my face and grinned.
‘But you don’t look like you’re concerned with Oprah or the Sport. So we’ll take it as read that you’re not going to make any silly mistakes. Therefore, my work here is done.’
‘I need help.’
Christine shook her head.
‘I don’t do help, darling. I’m doing community service.’
Quickly, and with growing impatience, I explained that my friend had been taken by the legion of vampire hunters and that I needed to save her. The scenario sounded like the plot for a fantastical comic book but I wouldn’t let myself be distracted by that nuisance. I concisely told Christine all the details about Mel’s capture and my desire to foil the fate that her captors had planned. Christine was shaking her head before I had finished.
‘As much as I’d love to assist you, darling,’ she began. In a cruel aside she added, ‘And believe me: it’s not much.’
I glared at her.
She carried on. ‘I can’t help you with this one. If a vampire wants to continue being a vampire, the most effective way of pursuing that path is to avoid the legion of vampire hunters.’
She spoke in quick-fire bursts and I got the impression I was now seeing the real Christine – an effective and sharp-witted businesswoman. I despised her with greater ferocity.
‘There are two groups of people you don’t want to cross now you’re a vampire. The legion of vampire hunters is the nastier of the two. The council of vampire elders are the other ones and they also have their twisted punishments. Look at me.’ She glanced around the tatty décor of the lounge. ‘Instead of dining on executives I’m down here in this slum. There’s a grunge-puppy drained on your nasty sofa and the stench of this apartment seeping into my Armani. Can you imagine a more sadistic punishment?’
She tugged the lapels of her jacket to show her distaste.
‘I have to rescue Mel.’
Christine drew on her cigar. ‘Forget it. It’s not going to happen.’
‘I have to rescue Mel.’
‘The council of elders will never actively strike against the legion of vampire hunters. To do something so bold would be akin to declaring war.’
‘What does that mean in words I can understand?’
‘In words you can understand, that means you’re on your own.’
I considered her thoughtfully and understood she wasn’t going to give me any help. ‘I don’t think I’m on my own,’ I said coolly. ‘I’m taking this to the police.’
Chapter Twelve
I hid beneath a golfing umbrella on my way to see Dean.
While I was dressed like an agoraphobic hobbit I had made my way through the town centre without raising an eyebrow or causing a single head to turn. But wearing a short dress, Raybans, and carrying a golf umbrella seemed like a combination that defined the words “eye-catching”. I was conscious of strangers all around me, appraising me with cool glances and calm
ly studying me as I walked on the shaded side of the road.
Perhaps it was the stockings and heels? Admittedly they were a little dressy for so early in the afternoon. Or maybe the slinky black dress hugged my figure better than I had hoped? Without being able to use a mirror, there was no hope of finding out one way or the other. I guessed there was even a chance that people recognised I was no longer mortal and they could see something unearthly and supernatural in the paleness of my vampire skin. But most likely, I thought, it was the striking colours of the Union Flag on the umbrella I carried.
Whatever the reason, I was tired of all the attention by the time I reached the police station. After trying to remain indifferent to the gazes of strangers, and struggling to remain poised, cool and calm, I felt flustered from the effort. I was anxious for nightfall to come so I could freely walk the city once again.
‘Miss?’
The burly desk sergeant glanced up from his paperwork at the reception desk. He took a moment to consider the way I was dressed but his features remained stoic and impassive. He was clearly used to dealing with a variety of unusual characters and didn’t treat the appearance of a pale brunette, sheltering from the sunlight beneath a Union Flag golf umbrella, as anything out of the ordinary.
I told him who I was and that I was there to see Detective Sergeant Dean Wallace. I impressed on him that it was urgent and, within two minutes, I was escorted through a secure doorway and led up four flights of stairs to the detectives’ communal office.
Dean sat behind a PC, frowning at the screen and looking sweetly adorable. We’d been dating for a year. He had the build of a rugby player and looks that were vaguely attractive in a nondescript fashion. He didn’t have the swarthy, Mediterranean charm of Carlos – but I figured that was a point in his favour rather than against him. I suppose the only reason why I had come to feel disappointed in my relationship with Dean was because it had fallen into the depths of a deep and insurmountable rut. He was dependable, reliable and, by the nature of those traits, that meant he was depressingly boring. He glanced up when I entered the room, blinking with surprise.
‘Tess? What are you doing here?’
‘I came to see you.’
The explanation puzzled him. ‘Did we arrange to do lunch?’ He cringed as though preparing to make an apology.
I held up a hand to stop him before he could begin. ‘No. We didn’t have lunch plans. You haven’t forgotten a prearranged date. I’ve got a problem. I just called down here to ask for your advice. Maybe even your help, if you think it’s needed.’
He visibly relaxed and then closed the window he had been reading. When he turned back to face me his features were composed and solemn.
It was a communal office, each of the detectives huddled inside a small padded cubicle. Dean’s workspace was hatefully functional. Aside from the potted ficus I had bought him for Valentine’s Day, and a cuddly pig that had seemed cutely appropriate because of its police uniform, there were no signs the cube was occupied by a human being with a life outside the office.
I could hear the lethargic hubbub of other detectives in their own respective cubes. It was not a noisy room but the omnipresent babble of telephone conversations; the quiet curses; and the mumbled exchanges all reminded me that this wouldn’t be a private conversation unless I took matters into my own hands.
When the idea came to me I struggled not to grin at its wickedness.
‘Can you show me to the lavatories, Dean?’
‘Sure.’ He raised a hand to point. ‘They’re out that door, turn left, and you’ll find them at the end of the corridor.’
‘Show me,’ I barked impatiently. ‘Don’t just give me directions.’
He stood up and led me from the room.
Gallantly he placed a hand on my arm.
‘Jesus! You’re cold,’ he exclaimed.
I shrugged. Admittedly, Dean deserved an explanation. But this wasn’t the right time and there was too great a danger of someone overhearing. Trying to dismiss the matter, I suggested it could be his hands that were too warm and urged him to lead me down the corridor toward the toilets. We walked in silence and that reminded me there was a growing rift between us. Whatever Dean and I had shared, and I wasn’t wholly convinced it had been something particularly special, it was in danger of disappearing forever. The thought made me angry and, unable to stop the sound, I sighed with despair.
Dean slowed to a halt and forced me to face him.
‘What’s wrong with you today, Tess? You’re acting strange – strange even for you. Are you pissed because I spent the night out with the lads?’
It was an unexpected comment and it resounded sickly inside my head.
I’m not a great believer in fate but I realised, if he had chosen not to spend the previous evening in the pub with his fellow officers, my world would have been drastically different. Mel and I would never have decided to become drunken lesbians; I would never have been made into a vampire; and my life would never have been affected by the impacts of Carlos, Christine, Alan or the legion of vampire hunters.
I didn’t know whether I should be angry with Dean or grateful to him.
‘I’m not pissed at you,’ I replied. The acoustics of the empty corridor returned my voice with an eerie flatness that seemed to contradict the words.
‘There’s something strange about you,’ Dean argued. He glanced at me with the same scrutiny I imagined he would have used on suspected felons. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he had snatched the Raybans away from my face and glared menacingly into my eyes. ‘Have you done something with your hair?’ he demanded.
I pulled my arm from his hand and marched to the toilets.
Dean hurried after me.
‘What is it, Tessa? Will you please tell me what’s wrong?’
The doors stood side by side: one marked ladies, the other gents.
Dean stepped aside, holding out his hand as though gesturing for me to enter. Deciding I had to go through with my plan, I grabbed his wrist and pulled him with me, into the gents.
‘Tess! Jesus! Tess! What are you doing?’
The panic in his voice made me grin.
I rushed him past the urinals, laughing as the lone man pissing there fumbled to cover himself while glaring confrontationally at Dean. A bank of mirrors on the facing wall showed Dean hurrying alone towards the cubicle lavatories, pulled along by his own errant arm. But I was the only one who saw that detail.
Dean was too involved with apologising to the man we had disturbed, who in turn was glaring hotly at the pair of us. Neither of them noticed that I wasn’t reflected in the mirror.
‘Jesus! Tess!’ Dean snapped.
I flung him into the first empty cubicle.
Laughing, I slammed the door closed and then flicked the switch to show the word ENGAGED.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he hissed.
I grinned, tugged his trousers and his shorts down, and then urged him to sit on the toilet seat. ‘Shut up. Sit down. And enjoy yourself. This is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.’
And it was the truth.
The scenario was sordid and tacky but it remained desperately thrilling to my mind. Dean was sitting on a public toilet and, while the room was comparatively clean, the stench of farts, urine and bleach were prevalent in the air. His trousers and shorts were round his ankles and the beginnings of an erection poked through the front tails of his shirt.
‘Jesus! Tess!’ he gasped. He sounded panicked and bewildered. ‘You can’t be serious? You’re not really going to…’
I placed a finger to my lips and he fell silent.
Grinning broadly, I dropped to my knees.
As a lover Dean had always been unexciting. He favoured the missionary position and made himself available for that escapade twice a month – three times if I was lucky.
The scenario was so routine it went beyond being mundane. Dean would turn up at my flat with a rented DVD, a bottle
of cheap wine and a lukewarm takeaway. We would eat, drink, watch the movie, and then retire to the bedroom for 15 minutes of fumbling and frustrating disappointment.
To make these encounters more exciting I often toyed with various fantasies. But this was the one that repeatedly crept to the forefront of my mind: I wanted to blow Dean in a public lavatory.
Other fantasies that had heightened my excitement included my spanking Dean’s bare backside, Dean spanking mine, and the occasional thoughts of a group scene that involved a travelling circus complete with a spectacular high-wire act and a troupe of curious and obliging midgets. But it was the tawdry appeal of blowing him in a public lavatory that kept resurfacing as my number one fantasy. And, with my newfound confidence, I wanted to discover if the reality was as rewarding as the fantasy had always suggested.
‘We’re in a public loo, Tess,’ Dean babbled. His voice was lowered to a truculent whisper. He raked a hand through his hair, making himself look dishevelled and exasperated in one effortless gesture. ‘Jesus! Tess! We can’t do this in a public loo.’
I didn’t reply.
I’d been brought up to believe it was rude to speak with my mouth full.
My lips had already encircled his glans. I rested my hands on his thighs, pinning him to the seat and forcing him to accept everything I wanted to do.
His flaccid length stirred quickly to hardness.
With my tongue pressed against his shaft I could feel the warm blood flowing into him and I registered the steady pulse of his increased excitement.
Dean’s breathing dropped to a sigh as I lapped gently at his hardness. It barely took a minute to have him fully erect. His cock was not particularly long but it had a decent thickness that, if it had been used properly, could have spiced up our monthly encounters in the bedroom. My jaw began to ache as I tried to stretch my mouth wide enough to fit it between my lips.
Once Bitten Page 11
