That might prove difficult for one so shy of commitment. Even though his reds were growing for her, they weren’t necessarily shrinking for others. Eva practically made the colours explode, although there was a change noticed, one difficult to read. It was a subtle change in the yellow, from the hazy, almost metallic hue that was often thought to signify dishonesty or hidden secrets, to a murky mustard colour, that she believed signified jealous resentment and bitterness. Bethan wasn’t even aware her husband much spoke to the biker girl up the road, but here was evidence of a closer connection, of specific feelings towards her, as if he had somehow been wronged by the resident at Number Three.
It was things like this that made her hate her ability to see so clearly. But what should she care what was or wasn’t going on between her wayward husband and their supposed lesbian neighbour? She had known he was a cheat from years back - if not in practise then certainly in spirit. These things he couldn’t hide from her. She always knew it was inevitable and that inevitability grew greater by the years as the gloss came off their marriage. It was a subject that had always seemed to want to monopolise her attention. She could see infidelity all around the street in which she lived. It could have dragged her straight back down into depression except that she was set to be raised to a higher plane. Far more important than the give-aways of her husband’s aura were those now visible in Hunter’s, because his had also changed, returning from his time away expanded and with lighter, clearer hues.
There was limited information out there on the specifics of vampire auras. They had them, of course, because everything had them, animate or inanimate. Some interpretations, such as them showing a naturally darker, more shrunken state, were common sense; the lack of life-force would see to this. Other elements were a little more doubtful, although there was no reason they should not follow exactly the same pattern as in humans. Which meant Hunter was back amongst them and his passions were blooming. The increase in red was obvious. Always there with his kind because of the lust inherent, his reds were expanding to show an urgency that left her trembling. Scarlet hues this clear could have been interpreted as a desire for positive change or greater vibrancy in life, but he wasn’t alive, and she knew it.
And because his aura was growing, the girls mirrored him. They couldn’t help it. Bethan could see the reds growing almost by the day, billowing whenever he was in their midst. She herself avoided him, scared he would suck her in if she got too close. While he was around and she was in positive mood, everything would be fine. She had even managed to avoid the rain of recent - something she was almost beginning to feel she was a direct cause of, like her gloom was seeding the clouds. It was still there in the air, ready to fall again whenever her positivity dropped, but if she could stay focussed and - dare she think it - remain happy, then the sun might yet come out and stay out.
How long she could stay in control was anyone’s guess because things were starting to build. Something was going to give. The emotions were growing deeper and this was affecting every one of her neighbours. The rainbow auras were going mad: darkening and deepening with resentment and even hatred amongst some of the men-folk; jealousies and frustration showed at certain times by some of the women - none more than Eva - joy and expectation shown at other times.
Most obvious, however, and all the girls showed this, was a surge of dangerous, reckless passion. She saw it so clearly around them, like flames radiating off the surface of the sun seen through a telescope. He was making it happen. They were responding to his rising desires, whether they knew it or not. There was no way to check it. Their auras would grow as his did, feeding off it, expanding until they mixed whenever one stood near to another, breeding it faster and charging the air with it. His lust might only be for the one, but all the girls would be dragged along by it. Perhaps it would prove impossible to resist, but Bethan instinctively felt that she had to cling onto the railings and stop herself being drawn into the swirl, although the temptation to let go would be strong. She wanted to resist and enjoy this new-found clarity of mind, this strength and happiness. The longer she held out the more exhilarating the ride, the more excited she would become about what lay in store for her. Now was the time to batten down the hatches and try to stay calm, because something - she didn’t know what but something - was about to happen very soon.
Inside Him
Nothing was happening, that was the bitch of it. It was weeks since Eva had seen him properly, or was it months now? First he had gone off on some massive holiday without even telling her. She had raged inside over that for a while, until she found out that he hadn’t let anyone know. She had to admire that don’t-give-a-shit-about-you attitude, the idea that this little street community that erroneously thought it got on so well, and looked out for each other, and wanted to live in each other’s pockets on the pretence of always being there for one another, now had a member who did not even begin to want to keep up the charade. Next, and this might not be entirely his fault, she had been tied up with a deadline for her new book, which might have been finished if she hadn’t scrapped the original in favour of a new story about a drop-dead handsome man moving in to a new neighbourhood and blowing it apart.
Sales for her last book were really motoring and this next one would be the clincher. If it proved to be as good as she thought, she could peddle it around the publishers for once, get herself a bidding war going and a proper deal and start making some serious dollars. It had all the ingredients. The hero was a man of mystery and few words and was Clooney-level gorgeous - except with more Pitt-like eyes, only a bit larger and perhaps a bit more intensely blue. The ruggedness was a kind of mix of the two of them. She’d even thought of giving him an amalgamation of their names, to help provide an instant image for the reader, but Pitlooney sounded very unlike any hero she’d want to end up in bed with - although it was a marginally better name than the other alternative: Clitt. Anyway, he didn’t have the hairstyle of either of them, so it was all by the by.
Of course, all the married women of her fictional street were bowled over by Pitlooney, falling for his discreet charms. They suddenly realised how bored they were with their trite marriages, and how much better life was around him. They were so overawed with how perfect their new neighbour seemed to be, but each was so conceited they thought he must be a figment of their fantasies made real, some kind of other-worldly life-form sent there just to save them from the mistake of marrying someone inferior and having their kids. It became their mission to snag the hero despite the devastation this would cause domestically. The only thing to thwart them was Pitlooney’s innate sense of decency. Fortunately, he would fall for the sassy singleton at the other end of the street, the wild kindred spirit who barely seemed to register his presence. Eventually, to the reader’s enormous relief, the two of them would cut through the nonsense and end up happily together. Well, all until Part Two, when something would push them apart right until a final wonderful reconciliation. She didn’t know what Part Three of the trilogy had in store yet.
So, what with the writing and with him always swanning off unannounced, she hardly seemed to see him at all these days - which, if one was searching for silver linings, at least gave some substance to the idea that the book’s hero and heroine could be kept apart for so long. However, this wasn’t providing her with any real-life inspiration and she needed it, especially as her usually frequent sexual activity was seeing something of a self-imposed hiatus while she waited for him, and this was proving very hard to maintain.
She now saw her regular go-to fuck buddies in a much less favourable light. The Italian had been binned completely, which was a shame in some ways, as she missed the hissy nastiness and animal urgency of their cramped, quick, dirty fucks. Still, he was just a pussy, all mouth and no balls, nothing like she had first imagined. Initially it had been hard to ignore his filthy texts, imploring her to give him her nasty wet cunt - she had almost given in on instinct and replied. Then
she remembered his face that night, felt again his utter defeat at the hands of Hunter. And his texts were just so awful, so littered with bad English and typos, it scrunched her insides and made her hate him. He was thick-as-shit stupid and shamefully pathetic, and she had let him fuck her.
The Policeman was just big and ridiculous. She couldn’t remember why she thought doing him any sexual favours had been a good idea. To think that he might have some semblance of power that she could benefit from! Who cared if his cheap whore wife, with her bleached hair and juddering cleavage collapsed into a vanquished heap of bitterness and futile envy once she found out? Really, it would be safer not to visit him in secret again because once she got him handcuffed it would take every ounce of her willpower not to beat the living shit out of him with any and every kitchen utensil that came to hand. The Show-Off at Number Six was just that: a mouthy sexual amateur batting way out of his league with her. What was she thinking? Who cared if these nobodies worshipped her? She needed to be adored only by the Big Boys. She needed to ensnare Hunter and only him.
She put the paddle down and made her way over to the sofa. ‘Suck my toes,’ she said, and the response was immediate. The sex scenes of her book were crucial. They needed intensity and individuality, a twist to make them rise above the ordinary. For the climactic last scene she was seriously considering an episode of “pegging”. That’s right - Pitlooney, the suave, intelligent, super-hard, super-handsome alpha male being on the receiving end of the heroine’s strapped-on sex toy! Perhaps the heroine would have to have a female lover to explain why she had such sexual equipment to hand. Perhaps she could even be gay. Yes, that’s it: Pitlooney could actually turn her, so powerful was his attraction. Hence the reason it takes him three-quarters of the book for them to get together. It might upset a few real-life lesbians - some of her best friends included - but, hey ho, you don’t make an erotic omelette without breaking a few eggs.
The trouble with “pegging” was it sounded a bit rubbish, and there didn’t seem to be any other word for it. It didn’t sound sexy. It didn’t convey the intensity of the act, the power reversal, the depth of trust and pleasure. For a man such as the one currently giving her a painstaking toe-job, being fucked in the rear by a dominant female was something they did not have the power to stop, and were glad of this fact. But for someone like Hunter - sorry, Pitlooney - for him the act had way deeper emotional significance. There were all the macho ego issues for a start, the acceptance of pleasure received in this intimate way, so different from the norm. Eva knew there were risks that it might damage the image of the character, but her hero was so strong, so confident in his own sexuality, such an übermale, she was sure he would only come out of it looking even more like the ultimate catch.
‘Leave my feet alone and get ready for me,’ she said. Nesta’s husband did as she commanded, as he always did. It was one reason she hadn’t yet kicked him into touch. Whenever she was feeling spiky or hurtful or unloved, it was good to get the instant reminder of the power of her attraction. She stepped into the harness and fastened it tight. The thrill of this never dissipated one bit. The Power of the Cock was unique. She could see why some men strutted around with such unbearable confidence and self-appreciation. To have her girls with her toys was one thing, but it couldn’t match the buzz of doing it to a man. Males were not as wonderful to look at as females when bent over and prone, but fucking them, taking on their role and sliding into them, driving the pleasure into their bodies for once, wielding their power and control, well, that was just out there on its own.
It wasn’t just about enjoying the rudeness of it, and from being the pleasure giver, as it was when she did it to her girlfriends. There was also the psychological element, the messing with their masculine values, the chance to hurt them just a little. Eva used some of the oil to smear across the surface of her toy but really it was down to him to make sure he was properly lubricated. The dildo in question was narrow and smooth, but long, to reach right inside him. She wasn’t into stretching; it was all about depth, of spitting them to their centre, to their emotional core. Most women, she guessed, wouldn’t be able to handle the power of this kink. They would shirk from the vulgarity of it. But they were missing out on something that would make them truly unforgettable.
Eva eased her way into him, holding him tight by one hip and sliding forward as he relented, reaching round to grip his prick and feel it swell to iron as she reached that spot inside. Men never felt better than at this time, with you forcing the blood into them until they were almost fit to burst. Whilst she moved in and out she would run her clasping fist up and down his length, or hold and squeeze his balls, and his prick would stay seemingly impossibly rigid, kept so full by the pressure of the toy against the gland within. When she finally took him over the edge it would always be with wrenching force, far harder than when this internal stimulus was not applied. To think that so few women ever had the nerve or inclination to use either toy or fingers to coax such a knee-buckling climax. Still, their loss was her gain.
It made her smile to see the muscular backside at her mercy, the skin blotchy red from where she had been spanking him with her leather paddle. This was the ultimate position of surrender - for males and females alike - bent over, open and defenceless. She doubted her hero would whimper in such a fashion. Maybe this way was too demeaning for him, too emasculating. Perhaps he would have to be done in a missionary way, a way she had never done in reality, on his back with his knees raised to allow entry. She doubted the depth gained would be as great but there were other compensations: the hero and heroine eye to eye as she did him, holding each other, kissing even.
Her heroine would have a more complex harness than this one, with a vibrating pad attached to give her physical as well as mental pleasure. She had seen a clip once of a lithe porn star sporting a long plastic toy at her waist, entering her man this way whilst sucking his superb cock. A simultaneous finish brought about like that would be one to remember forever. Just the thought of it had her fist slipping up and down his length with added rapidity. She increased the force of her thrusts too, but then she was feeling particularly nasty that day - not because this man whimpered like a pathetic arse-wipe when he was bent over like this, or because his wife was such an uptight pussy-teasing bitch, but because on the Hunter front absolutely nothing was happening.
Sure, she had been busy and seldom out but that shouldn’t stop him coming to hers and forcing the issue. There had simply been no ground made whatsoever.
‘Why didn’t you invite me to go away with you?’ she had said, on one of the few occasions she had bumped into him over the last month or so.
‘I didn’t know you wanted to come,’ he had replied, although she couldn’t judge the seriousness in his voice.
‘Yeah, well, next time!’ had been her lame reply, called after him as he drove away. The memory of this failure made her slap the backside she was plundering hard, eliciting another unmanly squeal. The more she thought of Hunter, the more time went by without her conquering him, the nastier she felt. It brought her destructive side bubbling to the surface. Why he was making her wait, when he clearly wanted her, was anyone’s guess. Perhaps it was just to ensure she had completely rolled over in defeat when the time came. Or maybe it was down to her latest theory: that he knew that when she did finally get her claws into him she wasn’t going to let him go any time soon, and he didn’t want to capitulate so easily and look bad in front of the neighbours, having made all those solemn promises to never fall in love again.
Well, fuck the neighbours. She was sick of their influence on everything. She was close to wanting to bring it all down, to start letting the truth be known. The only thing stopping her was a failure to predict Hunter’s reaction to the fallout. She was sure it would drive him to her, watching her being vilified and ostracised for something that was essentially the husband’s fault, not hers. They were the cheats. Then there was his unpredic
table fairness, his desire to be seen as a reformed character after a chequered past. It had given rise to the vague suggestion that he would claim her as his own, if only to put a stop to the cheating ways of the neighbourhood and prevent her bagging the last remaining husband. However, she couldn’t be sure of this and she didn’t want to mistime things and force the issue in case Mr Good Guy didn’t want to take her side in the face of all those poor heartbroken wives. Better to get him first and then light the fuse, so together they would be forced away to somewhere new and a little more private.
She knew how it should all end - she was going to write the book on it. She couldn’t wait long though. Her patience had its limits. Now she was down to this wuss and Roni’s husband, who was a little too good to let slip just yet. Her outlets for pleasure were drying up, all for Hunter’s sake, and she was not one to want to miss out on life’s ruder pleasures for long. Now that her sights had been set she wanted to commence firing. The prick in her hand was also nearly ready to go off. She had almost blanked out the wimpy noises coming from the man, so concentrated was she on thoughts of Hunter and perhaps of having him this way one day. Now they were back and needed to be extinguished.
She jammed her hips forward and clasped the balls hard, feeling their ready-to-blow tightness. Quickly she slipped from him and went underneath, gripping his balls with one hand and using the other along his length to rapidly toss him off. Just in time she closed her mouth over him and took the succession of loose, salty hot spurts onto her tongue and right to the back of her throat. Hunter had better make his move soon, that was for sure, or she would have to do it for him. And if she thought even for one second that his attention was being drawn elsewhere in the street, well then secrets were going to come tumbling right out of the bag, double quick, and no one was going to be spared. Think on that, Mr Perfect!
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