by Olivia Myers
“Is she the one you love, my pet?” Cerise said, gentle and concerned. “Did she betray you?”
“It’s worse than that, Cerise,” Imogen said, afraid that if she continued talking she would show tears. “It’s worse, because I knew in the beginning that she didn’t love me like I loved her. I knew she couldn’t ever love me.”
“But it didn’t stop you, did it, my pet?” Cerise planted a kiss on Imogen’s forehead.
“No,” said Imogen. The talking was soothing. If nothing else, it drowned out the sound of Cassandra’s voice. If Imogen had heard it, it would have broken her heart.
“Well,” said Cerise, “you know, with vampires it’s the same way. We love and we feed on all of the bad stuff, like candy. We know it’s bad for us but we do it anyway.”
“But I don’t understand it. I don’t understand why I keep loving if I already know it’s going to be so painful.”
Cassandra’s voice continued to croon:
I’m still here, and always will be.
Oh baby, I’m still here.
The song folded to a gentle end. There was wild applause from the other room. “She’ll be a hit with my girls, I can imagine,” Cerise said, a little ironically. “I told you before that they prefer the bad ones, didn’t I?”
“The bad ones,” Imogen repeated. Suddenly, she understood what Cerise was telling her. “You don’t mean to say that they’re, that they’re going to—”
“Of course, my pet. Why, you’ve brought us the crème de la crème. It would be a crime to waste it.”
“But,” Imogen said, “but will it hurt? I still don’t want anything bad to happen.”
“Oh, no,” said Cerise, laughing. “It’s just a little kiss on the neck. And then afterwards, she’ll be just like us. Unfit for real life. Content to hide underground and in the darkness of the night. A Rose girl. A fate as good as death. I imagine she’ll take to it quite well. Of course, it’ll take a bit of getting used to, but after the first hundred years or so I think she’ll enjoy it. Maybe by that time she’ll have learned a few manners.”
Cerise laughed but Imogen shuddered. A fate as good as death. Well, maybe there were worse things than falling out of love.
“Cerise,” she whispered. The vampire looked down on her, baring her fangs in a smile. “Cerise, I don’t know if I can go on living this way. Can’t you make me a vampire too?”
“You, my pet? I don’t think you’d like it.”
“But I don’t like the world or the people in it. I don’t like their cruelty or their betrayal. Compared to living in the world, living like one of you seems easy.”
“It is easy, my pet. Once you’ve gotten used to it. But I don’t think that’s a life for you.”
Cerise bent down further and kissed Imogen on the mouth. The coldness of the kiss felt good. It pushed the thoughts of Cassandra still further away, until she was lost like a retreating shadow.
“But why?” she whispered, kissing Cerise. “Why can’t I be like you? Why can’t I join you in your world?”
“Because,” Cerise said, lifting up Imogen’s shirt, revealing her breasts, kissing her face. “Because, my pet, what makes me adore you is that you don’t belong to my world, and that you never will. You’re a world completely apart, and your fate is to live in it. I wouldn’t cheat you of your fate.”
“My fate,” Imogen whispered, wrapping Cerise around her body. The words didn’t scare her. Coming from Cerise, they made Imogen feel stronger and capable. They filled her with the promise of a dim greatness.
Cerise descended her body, stripping her clothes, leaving her breathlessly naked. Yes, perhaps she could bear her fate. To stay in the paradise of the Rose would be to cheat herself. It was better to love and not be loved in return if the loving brought her wisdom. If the loving expanded her.
“Cerise.” Her breath caught. She pulled the vampire close to her and removed her shirt. Cerise’s pale, naked body thrilled her with forbidden desire. “I think I can bear it.”
“I’m glad, my pet,” the vampire smiled. She unbuckled her jeans and slid them off, and then she climbed on top of Imogen’s waiting body. One was pale and cold, the other hot and breathless, like two parts of a whole. Slowly, Cerise began massaging Imogen’s hips with her own, and Imogen felt the wetness of the vampire’s crotch rub against her own.
“You don’t know how much I want you,” Cerise whispered.
The rubbing went faster and faster. Imogen twisted around the vampire’s head and fed her tongue into Cerise’s ear. Cerise moaned terrifically. Her body was quivering, uncontrollable. With her free hand the vampire slipped her fingers down and down until she could feel Imogen’s slit, pulsing and hot.
Imogen groaned with pleasure. With her own hand she massaged her clitoris gently, each movement bringing a riot of pleasure. She was burning now. Although the vampire was as cold as death, her presence was like a fire on top of Imogen. And the fire was only heating up. Cerise’s finger came in faster and faster, stoking Imogen into life.
And Imogen felt the burn with greed. She was filling up with the vampire. Not in the way that Cassandra had filled her when she’d penetrated her with the dildo, but in a way even closer, as though it was Imogen’s own soul that Cerise was entering.
“Faster, faster,” Imogen moaned. Cerise curled her fingers upwards inside Imogen and stroked the spongy area gently. Imogen thought she would die of pleasure. She felt her mind leave her body, she was nothing but sensation. She was Cerise’s toy to be played however she wished.
“Oh, Cerise!” Imogen cried as she felt herself orgasm. It was too much to bear. How could she handle it? How could her body handle so much intensity?
“Come for me, my pet,” Cerise whispered, dabbing at the wet folds with her tongue. “I want you to come for me.”
Spasms ricocheted through her body. Imogen’s body thrashed about. She cupped her head in her hands and let loose a cry of pleasure. But the sensation persisted, as though her body were caught in a penetrating and awesome brightness that would not abate.
On and on it continued. Imogen couldn’t know. She was outside time. Only her body remained, locked to the vampire above her.
When at last the feelings had subsided into dullness, when at last her mind returned to her body, Imogen was aware of a deep and penetrating exhaustion, like she had run ten miles. She was so focused on her exhaustion and on Cerise that she didn’t even know if the girls were still in the other room. She didn’t think about Cassandra. She didn’t know if there was anyone in the world apart from her and Cerise.
“My pet,” the vampire said, her voice full of tenderness. “Tell me a story, my pet.”
It was an odd request but for Imogen it was the most natural thing in the world. It was the continuation of the dream she felt herself to be in, the dream that went beyond the walls of St. Nocturne’s, the dream that existed only in the heart of the Rose. Only in the darkness, where Imogen felt free.
“Tell me one of your poems, my pet.”
And the words came pouring into Imogen’s mind. Words as familiar as the body, now laying aside her that had transported her into a place of so much pleasure.
“A poem?” The world was made of poems for Imogen now. Everywhere she looked she saw the words materializing. But they were words that seemed to emanate for Cerise alone, as though they were the callings of her innermost soul. And it was these words that Imogen began to whisper:
In sundry, bright and cheerful days:
The poet to her lover said:
“My heart ‘pon your heart sweetly lays
Fair roses sweet, fair roses red…”
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Catherine awoke to a beautiful Saturday morning, her room flooded with warm light. She slept with the windows open, and the first breeze of the day bounced the sheer curtains around the walls. Catherine slipped out of bed and into her favorite robe
, a pale pink, long sleeved satin piece she had bought for herself after she’d claimed her very first lover. She now donned it every time she went to search for another, and this morning she knew she’d find one walking below her bedroom’s private balcony.
Catherine had many lovers. Her slender frame, supple lips, blonde tresses and deep blue eyes were the stuff of any man’s wildest fantasies. She gave herself to them, willingly and completely, and almost all of them were spellbound from the moment they met her. But when she left them, Catherine knew she had received more pleasure from their encounter than any of them ever did.
And she loved every minute.
Catherine was an exhibitionist. Exhibitionist. The term always seemed so cold to her. It sounds like I’m some sort of performer, she thought. She never thought of herself as merely throwing her tits and ass in the faces of strangers. Ever since she was a teenager, Catherine loved to please. As a pretty cheerleader and homecoming queen, she played her high school role correctly and lost her virginity in one of those classic “backseat of the football player’s car” high school adventures. Her college years and her twenties were full of much of the same – casual date partners who made their best attempts to woo her to bed. She appreciated their attention and advances, but when the ritual took them to the bedroom, Catherine left feeling unfulfilled. Sex was just a physical act, and she knew that finding someone to climb on top of you was about the easiest feat a human could accomplish.
Basking now in the confidence of her early thirties, Catherine realized that she needed more – a mental connection that transcended the ordinary girl-meets-boy storyline every fairytale teaches people to want. Instead of being the hunted, Catherine decided to explore the art of seduction from a new angle. She began to research a fetish she had heard of but knew very little about: exhibitionism. “Streaking,” or running across public venues was something any kid growing up in the ’80s or ’90s had heard of. It always seemed to involve some lone man or woman leading a haphazard chase of cops and athletes in a stadium, eventually being tackled with a blanket and carted off to receive a fine or a night in a police holding tank. But in her research, Catherine discovered a different side to being naked in public. She visited forums and read blogs from women who told their own stories of exploration ranging from childhood games of “I’ll show you mine” to the sensual curiosity of the repressed wife. Within all of the different tales she read, there was a common thread: every single woman left her experience feeling powerful, appreciated, and sexier than ever before.
Soon after her dive into the world of exhibitionism, Catherine decided it was time to give it a try. She chose a Wednesday morning as her first day; the middle of the week was a busy one at the law office where she worked as a paralegal, with a lot of stuffy, unassuming lawyers and corporate clients darting in and out of boring meetings and depositions. After her shower she chose her outfit carefully: a white silk blouse and a charcoal gray skirt that hugged her hips. It took every ounce of courage to not reach for a thong from her dresser drawer. Instead of slipping one on, she pulled the skirt on over her thighs, letting the fabric caress her skin as she strode to her vanity to finish her makeup and hair. When she was done, her wavy blond tresses rested softly on her shoulders, framing a simple yet flawless makeup job of foundation, eyeliner, rouge, and rose-colored lipstick. Usually when Catherine dressed for work or a date, she just thought about making herself pretty. But as she gave herself one last look in her full-length mirror that morning, something was different. Before stepping out of her bedroom, Catherine was excited about the little secret she had under her skirt. She would walk by hundreds of people on her way to the office today; none of them realizing that there was only a thin piece of Italian cotton between them and her already-aching clit. It made her feel powerful and sexy all at the same time.
That first morning without underwear was full of discovery for Catherine. Every time she went to grab a cup of coffee from the break room or was pulled into a meeting to take notes, she couldn’t help but grin to herself. I can’t believe how great this feels, she thought. I’m practically naked, and no one has any idea! When she sat at her desk typing, Catherine spread her legs just wide enough to let a trickle of air slip over her pink pearl, tickling her and adding to the anticipation of what was to come. The morning soon led into the midday – lunchtime. She figured that her best opportunity would be now; there would be more than enough people to choose from, and the courtyard behind the office building was the perfect place to catch some sun … and begin a new experience.
Catherine grabbed a book from her desk and headed outside. The courtyard was a common area for all the businesses in her office building. On a pretty day you could find dozens of lawyers, accountants, and therapists quietly eating or reading. She found a bench underneath a tree near a long walking path, with another empty bench directly across from it. She settled down and began to “read” her book – that is, she held the book in front of her face and sneaked sly smiles to the men and women who passed her. They all returned a smile, but in a few of the passersby Catherine could see something else behind their eyes. It was as if they could see past the façade she was putting up. Are they here to play as well?
Catherine’s mind raced with the possibilities, until an attractive accountant sat across from her with his lunch. She had seen him before in the elevator and in the courtyard, and they had exchanged pleasantries about the weather or their mutual wish for the weekend to arrive sooner rather than later. He pulled out his cell phone and began to browse the web, looking up to give her the usual smile hello. When their eyes locked, Catherine knew that he was the one.
“Hey you,” she said coyly. It was right then that she realized she’d never learned his name. Good, she thought. That will make this even hotter.
“Hey yourself,” the handsome accountant replied. “So good to get out of there on a nice day like this.”
“No kidding,” Catherine responded. “It’s so perfect out here today. I’m just happy I picked this outfit instead of the pantsuit I almost put on.”
The accountant smiled slyly, his eyes drinking in every inch of her. Catherine did her best to avoid noticing though; she didn’t want him to stop. Jesus, it’s like he’s undressing me with his eyes already. “Well,” he finally said after what seemed like an eternity. “If you’re as comfortable as you are pretty in that, then I bet you’re one happy girl.”
Catherine responded with a shy giggle. She knew from the stories she’d read that this was the moment she was waiting for: she had him engaged and comfortable in his masculinity. Whenever she and the accountant encountered one another before, Catherine was content with playing the role of the demure lady, being taken with a dashing man, but now it was time to turn the tables. She took a deep breath, found all of her courage, and in the sultriest voice her nervous body could muster said, “I’m even more comfortable when I don’t wear some things.”
The accountant seemed to catch on quicker than Catherine anticipated. His eyes flashed with that excitement that comes across the face of someone who is about to live out a fantasy. “Oh yeah,” he said. “I can imagine that.”
Now, Catherine thought. It’s now or never. She uncrossed her legs and sat with her knees together. She then looked across the path to the accountant, looking for one more sign that he wanted what she was ready to give. He looked right into her eyes and slowly nodded. Catherine parted her knees slowly, once again welcoming the tickle of the warm air, feeling it creep up her thighs as she spread her legs wider and wider. She continued to lock eyes with the accountant, but as she continued to open up his eyes lowered and she threw her head back. At that moment, an intense, electric jolt rushed over Catherine – it felt like an adrenaline rush and an orgasm were happening at the same time. Now that she wasn’t looking at him, the experience was even better; she didn’t need to see him. There was a peculiar and strong energy that she felt from him. She could feel how much he wanted her, and his frustration in knowing that at
that moment, he could not have her. Catherine had all the power; as long as she had him spellbound, he cared about nothing else but her.
The seconds went by like minutes, and after what felt like an hour, Catherine lifted her head up and closed her legs. She smiled at the accountant – who could do very little to hide the nearly twitching bulge in his slim-fitting trousers, closed her book, and stood up. As she walked away, Catherine turned over her shoulder to get one more glance of gratitude from her lover. She was not disappointed. “Let’s hope this weather keeps up,” she called back over her shoulder. “It always puts me in the best mood.”
In all of her years of being wanted by men – all the flowers and candy, all the dating and fucking – Catherine had never been more turned on as she was after that encounter. It was as if she was watching herself from outside her body; the sensation was so new to her that she simply had no comparison. Her body was on fire. Realizing that she wouldn’t be able to last another four hours away from her trusty vibrator, she took advantage of her friendly boss’s standing offer and borrowed the key to the private bathroom. She couldn’t get the door locked fast enough before she leaned against the sink and slipped two fingers inside of her dripping pussy. She fingered herself quickly and expertly, licking two fingers of her other hand to gently massage her clit. The last four minutes of Catherine’s life played in looping flashes in her mind, and she rode the wave of reliving it over and over again until the hardest orgasm she had ever known brought her to her knees on the bathroom floor.
Reason and reality slowly seeped back into her, and soon she picked herself up off the floor. She straightened her clothes and makeup and returned to her desk. As she sat at her desk that afternoon, Catherine knew that this was what she had been missing her whole sexual life. Feeling more like herself than ever before, she tackled her to-do list while plotting her new life as an exhibitionist.
After the accountant, there were many, many others: the fireman at the hook and ladder garage down the street from her townhouse, the very helpful librarian stationed across from her in the periodicals, the pizza delivery boy (one of her favorites – after she answered the door naked, she let him keep the pizza!). With each new conquest, Catherine lost more and more of the timid, submissive nature she had been programmed with. She was still very much a lady – she loved being wined and dined like the next girl – but she no longer took her body as a gift she had to give away to anyone. Instead, it was the tool she used to please her own sexual appetites. She wasn’t obligated to just one form of sexual expression. Catherine still enjoyed what many would describe as “traditional” intercourse with a lover, but now she focused on pleasing herself, giving her lovers the cues they needed to bring her to orgasm. She was never met with resistance to her new aggressive nature; since they wanted to make her cum, all of her lovers appreciated the guidance.
