by Janine Ashbless
"I do not drink … coffee."
Bwa ha ha…
Vampires. They’re insatiable, they’re everywhere and they’re hungry for sex as well as blood. Gone are the days when they hung out in dingy castles in the Carpathians and stole the occasional filthy peasant baby for dinner. Nowadays it’s all sharp clothes and nightclubs and urban gangsterism, or exotic locales, designer drugs and hard liquor. And yes – they’re well into the sex thing these days. Omnisexual and sadistic, travel may have broadened their minds but they’re just as mean as ever ol’ Dracula was.
In Lust at First Bite, the new Black Lace anthology of sexy vampire short stories, you’ll find vampires in Venice, in Egypt and on the Ganges, in the theatre and the suburbs, Coney Island and remote hotels and the offices of media executives. And since four of us Lusties have stories in the collection, here’s your sneak peek:
The Oasis at Night by Madeline Moore
(Charles and Miriam are searching for the lost tomb of Cleopatra deep in the Egyptian desert…)
Charles shimmied down. He tongued orange in and out of her sex, until the mangled fruit disappeared down his throat. An inch from his eyes, her inner lips were delicate, and scarlet. Beneath her skin a vein pulsed so strongly he could count her heartbeats. He sucked one tender lip into his mouth. With it held between the lips of his mouth, he could feel the throb of her blood as it pulsed.
It was so tempting … He let his incisors sink into the flesh, just a tad, still divided by a thin sensitive film of flesh. She groaned, so he did it again and then released her pussy from his mouth like a beast of prey dropping its catch.
‘I could eat you, little bird,’ he said. He propped himself on his elbows and stretched his body the length of hers. ‘And I might. But not tonight.’
‘Tonight is all we have, Charles,’ she whispered.
‘I still need you,’ he whispered back.
He entered her then, roughly, in one hard thrust that travelled deep inside her tight tunnel. Six hard strokes and he’d had enough of it. Too soft, this tunnel, too yielding.
He pulled out, flipped her over, yanked her to all fours and was in her bum before she could take another ragged breath. The rougher he got, the louder she got. He wound his fist in her hair and tugged her head back. Her mouth dropped open and she was shrieking, which made him laugh. He couldn’t see the pulse in her throat but it didn’t matter any more, he could hear it, or was it his own pulse, his own heartbeat recklessly, wildly fuelling the monster between his legs.
Sometimes They Come Back by Portia Da Costa
(Richard, having walked out on his wife Mel, returns to their house in the hope of reconciliation…)
Sounds from upstairs made him nearly faint in an agony of mental pain.
It was voices. Mel’s and that of a man. Low with pleasure and ragged, as if deliciously close to orgasm.
He almost flew up the stairs, more sure footed now, his anguish lending him wings.
In the bedroom, as he burst in, exactly the tableau that he’d feared assaulted his eyes.
His Mel, astride another man, her body magnificent in torn black lingerie, her eyes wild with lust and hot dark glee as she gazed down at the pale muscular form of her lover. A lean man, ripped and powerful, with long flaxen hair.
Richard froze, unable to speak or move. He could do nothing but watch in a saturation of horror and grinding despair.
Slowly, slowly, Mel undulated and rocked on the body of her paramour, her slender form hypnotic in its grace and almost glowing, fluorescent with sensuality. Slowly, slowly she turned her head to the side and looked straight at Richard, her beautiful face a disdainful mask of passion. Her eyes still on him, she reached down to the apex of her thighs, where she sat on the slim hips of her lover, and languidly, almost insultingly, strummed her clit.
Her lips were red, decadently stained, and her neck was bleeding, just as the neck of the man beneath her was.
Only her blood, and her companion’s, was almost black.
The Blood of the Martyrs by Janine Ashbless
(Emily and her lover Paolo have accidentally released an undead medieval saint from his Venetian crypt…)
‘Ah.’ Aronne’s breath was hot in my lips. ‘This is sin.’
‘It will be forgiven,’ I whispered.
He stared. We were both trembling now. Ghost-pale, his cock sprang out into my grasp. Hot velvet skin moved under my hands as I measured his rigid length. I dared to look down. His prick was big and ruthlessly eager, not sharing his misgivings. A bead of moisture gleamed at the tip: no pearl, but a ruby.
I wanted to take the body and blood in my mouth.
Do this in remembrance of Me.
Stolen clothes. Stolen memories. They were too much for him. This saint had the appetites of a predator, whetted to a razor edge by years of deprivation and darkness. His eyes were scarlet reflective discs of light as he stooped and picked me up, jamming me against the chapel bars. And then he opened my loose pyjama jacket, the last pathetic piece of clothing between me and those jaws, and with immense care bit my breasts, over and over. His teeth were so sharp that the bites hurt comparatively little, but every puncture sent the lightning of Heaven crashing through my body. His tongue burned and soothed me simultaneously, lapping at my flesh. I wrapped my legs around his torso and knotted my hands in his white hair and rode the waves of shock and euphoria, surrendering myself to his strength and his need.
And last but not least…
El Alquimista by Madelynne Ellis
(Jessamine has gone to confront the vampire called the Alchemist over the death of her lover Billy…)
I’m like a furnace now, burning up. But the Alchemist never stops coaxing. ‘You shouldn’t have gone so long without a lover,’ he says. ‘Your hunger is consuming you. I can ease that. I can make it all go away. Just give me the word and we’ll make a bond.’
I want him; crave him with every ounce of my being, but the price he’s asking is far too high.
When he nicks my ear lobe, panic floods my veins and I rise up beneath him. I don’t escape. Our bodies just press closer, but he does release my wrists. ‘You must know how this works,’ he says. ‘I need to take a little the better to give.’
‘No. I saw what you did to Billy, you won’t take that from me.’
‘Are you implying that your boyfriend was bisexual? Do you imagine I fucked his arse as I took his blood?’
‘No!’ I don’t know what I’m protesting at: the implication that I’d imagined it or the image he is planting. Billy was true to me. This beast preyed upon him. They were never lovers.
But I can see them entwined now. Billy’s knees on the floor, his upper body supported by the white sofa and his hand on his cock, wanking himself while the Alchemist thrust roughly into his arse.
‘Stop it,’ I gasp. ‘Stop planting these images.’
‘Why?’ he laughs. ‘They’re turning you on.’
If you want to read more then you can buy Lust At First Bite from Amazon UK as of this week, or pre-order from Amazon US (out in January). Just the thing for those long Winter nights…