Alpha Vampire Romance: Vampire’s Mate (Paranormal Shapeshifter Alpha Demon Vampire Romance) (Coming of Age Werewolf BBW Shifter Women’s Fiction Short Stories)

by Rebecca Abbott

  My pubic bone rests against hers. I can rub directly against her delightful clit. Every time I ravage it with my hard bone, she shakes and grunts. I keep doing it.

  We get to the main event. Her tunnel is drenched in her own liquids. It’s open enough to let me penetrate and withdraw with ease. I know if I lift my body up slightly, my cock will pull against the upper part of her tunnel, stimulating her clitoris. I build up a nice rhythm. She matches it.

  Remember what I said about finding something the woman likes and continuing it without change? We’re there. I keep us in this zone for as long as I can. I can’t see a clock, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we stayed in the same cadence for twenty minutes.

  And then it hits her without warning. She cries out and stops moving. Her back arches and she rolls back on the top of her head. Her eyes follow until only the white shows. Her arms thrash around without coordination or purpose, and her body twitches and lunges from side to side.

  I can tell she’s having trouble breathing. Her muscles are all clenched and won’t allow her to expand her chest.

  Her legs straighten above me and her feet curl inward.

  A new smell fills the room. Women give off a different scent before, during and after their orgasm. Hers is strong, and the most feminine thing I’ve ever encountered.

  Her hips bump up forcefully against me. She’s lunging them off the bed up into my hips. Each time she does it, my cock pushes hard against the end of her sheath. She cries out each time because it hurts, and because she needs it.

  She trembles and jerks without coordination for another minute. I can see her eyes come to me from time to time. I can see why. She’s looking at me for confirmation that I’m taking care of her, that she isn’t just a hole in a side of beef to me. No matter that state of the relationship; in this situation, the woman abandons ownership of her body to the man inside her. He must take active possession of her and carry her forward, in safety, to the next stage of lovemaking.

  She settles down. She glows and touches my cheek. I’m thoroughly satisfied with my performance. My bear is quite nice, very physical and aggressive, but caring. Good job.

  However, there is something that needs to happen. My cock is hard as cement, straight as a steel rod and about to burst. I look down at her and she nods. At the same time, I feel her internal muscles squeeze around me. It feels like she’s trying to milk the semen from my body.

  I have no objection to that. I pump several more times and penetrate her as hard and deep as I can. I must have rammed the end of her tunnel painfully. Her expression doesn’t change.

  I feel my spunk flow through my cock like water through a fire hose, rushing against the end of her tunnel, and up through her. I pump for thirty seconds, at least.

  I’ve never delivered this much semen in my life.

  Every bit of energy inside my body feels like it’s leaving, along with my semen. My muscles turn to jelly. I can’t support myself any more. I have to let myself down on top of her.

  I’m gratified and relieved when she welcomes me with her arms and legs.

  I weigh 240 pounds. She couldn’t weigh over 120. She makes a very satisfied sound when I’m pressing on her. I’m not strong enough to hold myself up. She’s being pushed into the mattress with a weight double her own. I look at her to see if she’s uncomfortable. She beams like the morning sun. Her arms stroke my back and hold my neck and head. I can feel her cheek caressing mine.

  We lie like that for a long time. She gets a bigger and bigger smile. She sees me notice it and says, quietly and calmly. “This is my favorite part. You’re holding me completely. I can still feel you inside me, and I can smell you. I like the smell of a man.”

  I’m weak and depleted. But I manage to say, “Good. I’m glad.”

  She finally pushes me off and goes to the bathroom. When she comes out, she shoves me on my back and snuggles under my arm with her cheek on my chest. You’ll notice she’s pushing and shoving. This time it’s different. She is simply a woman who knows what her emotions need and moves her man until she gets it.

  We rest like that for an hour. We don’t have the television on. We don’t talk. We don’t even move, except for the time she changes position. She likes to lie on top of me with her legs spread on either side and listen to my heart.

  After we’ve rested up, I become aware of her nipples on my chest and her pussy rubbing my cock. As soon as I get hard, we do it again.

  It takes a full twenty four hours to satisfy my bear. The next day, having had no sleep at all, we stand in the middle of the room where I howled at the ceiling. We’re covered with sweat and our own fluids and completely, totally exhausted. I’d given her five orgasms and three more loads of semen. I’m back to fully human.

  I walked around her, counting bruises. She happily shows me all of them and tells me what part of my body made them. She seems very proud of them.

  She’s chattering away like we’re old friends. I take her in my arms and hold her. She smiles up at me. I can’t take it any more. I say, “What changed? I’m very happy with the new you, but I’m curious. You’re being really nice to me. You weren’t before. What happened?”

  She pulls me over to the couch and has me sit down. She sits down next to me and rubs my naked leg with her hand. She says, “Tell me what happened at Latakia on December 13th last year.”

  I know that date. I still have nightmares about that date. “That’s when we wandered off course and almost died.” She looks expectant, like she knows what’s coming and wants to have it out in the open. More than that, she looks like she’ll enjoy hearing about it again.

  I said, “I had a squad of brand new SEALS, just out of training. We were supposed to be practicing coming ashore on a peaceful beach near the Syrian/Turkish border. The ship dropped us off at the wrong spot. We were coming ashore on a completely Syrian beach at a time when the Syrians were very angry with us. We dragged our rubber boats up the sand, and soldiers on the hillside fired down on our position.”

  I have to pause. All of the sounds and smells of that day wash over me. It isn’t pleasant. “I knew my squad hadn’t faced any live fire yet. They’d been training, and nothing else. The first time you receive real bullets, your brain shuts down. It doesn’t matter who you are. If you haven’t experienced that level of noise and danger, you can’t function.”

  I can’t talk any more. My throat closes up. She holds my hand. I take some deep breaths and continue, “I made sure all of my men had cover and went from position to position encouraging them and helping use their weapons effectively. Our radioman contacted our ship and brought in an air strike. We got in our rubber boats and went home. I didn’t think I’d done anything special. I was lucky not to be killed, but I didn’t think much more about it.”

  She leans over and kisses me. “Until they gave you the Silver Star.”

  “The Major let you read my file.”

  “You shouldn’t be shy to talk about your service record,” she says. She turns on the sofa so she can face me. “In high school, not only were you tall and skinny, you were in the chess club, the debate team and the French club. How was I supposed to know you’d changed?”

  I say, “Oh,” and take a deep breath. “I don’t tell anybody my wartime exploits because most people don’t believe me.” I give her a little kiss. “For the first time, I’m glad somebody found out. It changed your mind about me. I always thought you were pretty, but...”

  She looks down. She’s ashamed. I’d never seen that before. She says, “I didn’t treat you very well. There was a reason for that. I come from a military family. My father was very strict and had ideas about how boys were supposed to act. His ideas were wrong. Not his heart. He loved us, but he taught us to look down on anyone who wasn’t physically strong or couldn’t defend themselves. When I joined the Navy, I brought those ideas with me. When I looked at you, I remembered the high school kid who wouldn’t survive a fight with a bully. You were soft back then and that’s
what my dad looked down on. I couldn’t get that out of my head. I know this is wrong too, but my dad is still making me think the way he does.”

  “I understand. It’s brutal, but according to the military mind, it’s understandable. Before I bulked up, I couldn’t fight. You realized I wasn’t like that any more, that I’d become the strong, effective man you wanted, and your opinion of me changed.”

  “I’m sorry. I know that makes me seem like a bad person. I know I tend to dismiss anybody who doesn’t measure up to my standards. I don’t like myself when I’m like that. I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “We’ll figure something out. For right now, let’s just relax a little. Letting my bear go wears me out.”

  “Letting your bear go wears me out and gives me bruises and muscle aches!”

  I pull her close. “Was it alright, though? Was it too bad?”

  She swings her leg over mine and sits on my legs facing me. She bends over, holds my face in her hands and kisses me comprehensively. “It was wonderful. I don’t think we can do that every night. Our bodies won’t take it. But, I liked being the possession of an aggressive, dangerous man and being taken like some slave girl captured in a raid. We’ll do it again.”

  The next day, the Major gives us a briefing. He says, “We’ve got new intel and it’s not pleasant. It starts with something we found on the computer Lieutenant Baldwin tapped into. The man wrote home and mentioned the ‘Mother of all Bombs’ and the ‘Cercle de la mort’, which is French for ‘circle of death’; a rising terrorist organization.

  “In 2003, the United States developed a super bomb called the ‘Massive Ordnance Air Blast’, or MOAB. It turned out to have limited tactical use, and we only made twelve of them. They are unbelievably powerful, equal to eleven thousand tons of TNT. That’s enough to wipe out everything within a thousand yards. When I say ‘wipe out’, I’m using the biblical meaning which is that one stone will not sit atop another. Complete devastation.”

  He pauses. I told you how uncomfortable these pauses make me. He gives us bad news then hesitates before he gives us even worse news.

  He continues, “We gave the bombs to the United Nations, hoping they could find a use for them. Well, one of the bombs is missing. It was stored in a supposedly secure facility in Vancouver. They’re small enough to be transported by truck. Our intel tells us that the circle of death is in possession of that stolen bomb right now.”

  Again, he pauses. I wish he’d get to the point.

  Then he says, “The President of the United States is making a visit to Victoria (the largest city on Vancouver Island) this afternoon. In addition, that part of Victoria is home to the Israeli consulate, our consulate and the British Consulate. The President will travel down Commonwealth Avenue at one thirty this afternoon. That’s when the enemy will strike. Your mission is to stop them before they do.”

  We locate a likely hiding place for the bomb. There’s an empty, abandoned warehouse twenty yards away from Commonwealth Avenue. We’re going to establish a listening post and a possible sniper position in a warehouse across the street from the suspect warehouse. Honoria handles communications and comes along since we think it’s a safe building.

  The trip down the length of Vancouver Island went much better than any other time we’d been in the car together. We talked. Actually, Honoria talked and I listened. We find the right building in Victoria and knock on the front door. The watchman who keeps the building secure meets us at the front door. We don’t tell him we’re SEALs. It’s confusing to people. We just tell him we we’re with the President’s security detail and need to make sure the building is empty and secure.

  The watchman, Luther Daniels, couldn’t have been more than one hundred and fifteen pounds with rocks in his pocket and carrying an anvil. He smiles up at us and looks proud to be able to help the President of the United States.

  He leads us inside and up the stairs to the walkways above the warehouse floor. The warehouse should be empty. But it isn’t.

  Below us something about thirty feet long and eight feet wide sits on the concrete floor with four men standing around it.

  We get lucky. By chance, we’d been quiet as we came up the stairs. The men don’t notice us.

  Ten seconds later, they do.

  They don’t call out or ask us what we were doing there. They just open up with AK47s.

  We fall down to the concrete floor. Luther beats me to what I consider my job. I want to crawl over and protect Honoria. He’s already there. Her position is, unfortunately, near the edge of the walkway. He can’t protect her without putting some of his body in the line of fire. He curls his slight body around her chest and head. I see him take three rounds in the side and arm before I have my pistol out and begin firing back.

  I can hear Honoria talking to our comm center.

  The little man never retreats, never backs off. He doesn’t make a sound.

  When I start firing, the terrorists shift to me. I bob and weave around the walkway, moving farther and farther away from Honoria and Luther. I see two of them peel away from their friends and run in opposite directions. They’re headed toward the stairs on opposite sides of the building. In a few seconds, we’ll have fire coming from both ends of the walkway.

  I know I can’t hit anything on the other end of the walkway. It’s more than two hundred feet away. I need a longer gun, like an AK47. I know where I can get one.

  I streak toward the stairs, staying low. I hear several bullets whiz past me. When you’re on the receiving end of enemy fire, the bullets sound just like angry bees.

  I jump down the stairs, taking five treads at a time and hoping our luck would stay good.

  The last time I jump, the terrorist I’d seen running for our stairway charges up the stairs right into my upraised feet coming down. I wear shoes with steel inserts in the sole and toe. He gets both of them right in the chest. I follow him down and hit him once to make sure he’s out of the fight, grab his rifle and head back up the stairs.

  If I could give medals to civilians, I’d give the biggest one I have to Luther Daniels. When the other terrorist comes up the stairs and onto the walk way, Luther shifts his body around to protect Honoria from the new threat.

  I put the AK47 on full auto and empty the magazine at the man on the other end of the walkway. He crumples.

  I look over the edge, down at the warehouse floor. The last two terrorists are running like frightened deer out the exits.

  I run to Honoria and Luther. I hear Honoria tell comm that we need an ambulance at our location and that we’d recovered the bomb.

  I haven’t told you the bravest thing I hear that day. We bend over Luther. I count five holes in his upper body. He’s bleeding from every one of them. He reaches out and takes Honoria’s hand. He asks, “Are you alright? Did they hit you?” She holds his hand until the paramedics take him away.

  The operation to save him isn’t easy or short, but it works. He’d taken seven rounds in total; none life threatening. We visit him in the hospital, and I see a new side to Honoria. We stand beside Luther’s bedside, and he smiles at us. Before I can say anything, Honoria bends over him and kisses his face. She put her soft hand on his cheek and whispers her thanks in his ear.

  He blushes. What a man!

  Back at base, we sit on our couch and drink hot chocolate. Not booze. Our bears don’t like it.

  I say, “I’m glad you made it personal with Luther. I could tell it meant something to him.”

  She sniffs a little and dabs her nose with a tissue. “What a wonderful little man. I tried to push him away so he could get some cover, but he wouldn’t go. He kept telling me that I was more important than he was.”

  We’re safe. No one’s shooting at us. She has the chance to let down. She bawls like a little girl whose doll had been broken. I hold her very close and let her get it all out.

  She sits up. “My dad was completely wrong. He would have dismissed Luther as useless. I would too. No l
onger. I will never judge a man by the size of his body ever again.”

  The final part of the story comes a few days later. We have a few hours off and watch some cartoons on television.

  We’re sitting on the sofa and sharing our laughter. I love the Road Runner and Coyote cartoons. They’re so intricate.

  I’m on the end of the sofa and Honoria is laying across my lap, more or less on her back.

  I notice that her blouse isn’t buttoned all the way up. I slowly spread it open. She still looks at the screen, but she turns to let me get to her more easily. She has a contented smile. I like it.

  I slide my hand inside her bra and hold her entire breast. It’s warm and soft. She sighs.

  It’s nice. I caress her legs under her skirt. It’s a bit tight so she has to hike it up to her waist. I look down. “Why do your panties say ‘Hello there, sailor, been in town long?’”

  She giggles. That’s a sound I never thought I’d associate with Honoria Winchester. She has a nice giggle.

  “I’ve got a number of them. I wanted to surprise you with a little joke when you got around to getting your hand under my skirt. Do you like them?”

  “I don’t know yet. I haven’t been able to have the entire panty experience yet.”

  She nods. “I see your point. You don’t want to make a judgment without all the facts.”

  She closes her eyes and uses two fingers on both hands to hold her panties open. I let my hand glide along her soft, smooth tummy. I dawdle, caressing her skin from one hip bone to the other as I gradually edge toward my goal.

  She bites her lip while she waits and makes little grunting sounds. When I finally edged my fingers between her legs, she stops grunting and holds her breath.

  We leave the TV on and laugh at the characters until we don’t hear them any more.