Safer Sex? No, this does not apply to sexual diseases.
Vampires won’t get HIV and neither get pregnant or make you pregnant, so you can easily enjoy the full Monty. What I’d like to refer to is having sex without getting bitten, cause that’s what you want to avoid as long as possible.
So why would you want to have sex with a Vampire anyway? Easy, there are many good reasons.
First, there’s no risk of accidental pregnancy nor of catching any sexual disease.
Second, there’s the thrill to have sex with a highly dangerous person.
Third, Vampires are very experienced lovers.
Fourth, they have an incredible endurance.
Fifth, they have good looks all over. Big cocks, firm boobs, tight pussies, juicy buttocks – all you can ask for. Hmm, well, you might miss the suntan.
Sixth, when they make love, they entirely commit themselves to it. No second thoughts on football or the classy new Jimmy Choo sandals out in shops next week.
Seventh, they never smell like garlic.
However, once the action starts, your lover’s lust may dim their self-control and make him/her susceptible to the accidental bite, even if he/she doesn’t really want to hurt you. The best thing you can do is to be aware of this fact – that’s why you read this blog after all, don’t you? – and take some precautions.
The most important one is to avoid SM practices. While their pain tolerance is incredibly high and they heal almost every wound, so that you wouldn’t have to hold back with your whips and needles, the same doesn’t apply to you. A very unbalanced game, but that wouldn’t be your first concern. No, the main problem is if you suffer an open wound. Once the smell of your blood is in the air, you’re in trouble, as this will tear his/her self-control to shreds.
Oh, and if you’re female, you obviously shouldn’t be a virgin. The blood again, you know? Understood. Fine. Now let’s have a look at the individual precautions, which very much depend on the kind of pairing we encounter. The basic trick is to keep him/her away from your neck.
1 – You’re male, the Vampire is female
No risk – do it doggy style. That way she won’t even look at you. If you’ve got a versatile tongue, a cunnilingus is a fine thing, too. While taking head she can’t reach your neck either.
Low risk – let her suck your cock. While your member is inside her mouth, you’re quite safe… unless she decides to bite it off, which is rather unlikely. Well, to be honest, no one ever told of such kind of accident.
Medium risk – she’s reclined on a table, you do it standing up. The good thing is, you see her boobs rock, the bad thing is, she can always get up and try to bite you. Watch for warning signs like her licking her teeth.
High risk – the missionary position, as you’re closer to her. Can it be worse? Yes.
Very high risk – let her ride you. Not only can she reach down to your neck any time, there’s no way to escape for you!
2 – You’re female, the Vampire is male
This is basically more risky, as there’s no way for you to have fun with him while he’s turning his back to you.
Low risk – suck his cock. If you’re good, he won’t want you to stop, so he can’t try to bite you, unless you do it sixty-nine. You know, the tender flesh on the inside of your thighs hides some veins, too, and looks so delicate anyway…
Medium risk – that’s why a cunnilingus is more risky to you.
High risk – There’s no entirely safe position for you while his cock is inside of you. Regardless if you do it doggy style, ride him or recline, he can always bend down to your neck, which is in clear, tempting sight for him all the time.
Very high risk – Missionary position, you can’t get away.
So if you compare, as a woman you have to bear a much higher risk. But then, you’re able to endure his strength much better, you can still have your, why, fifth orgasm or so, while the mortal male has long reached his limits. You think you can’t? With a Vampire you can, trust me!
3 – You’re both female
Okay, one thing up front: if a Vampire woman looks for another woman, she doesn’t look for a plastic cock substitute. Forget about dildos and strap-ons.
This does not mean that you’ll be having tea and a chat necessarily. Sometimes she’ll be in the mood for slow and tender stuff, with black candles and all. Sometimes she’ll be up to doing it really hard. Cut your finger nails short and train your tongue.
There’s no riskless lovemaking with a bisexual Vampire (note – there are almost no pure-lesbians. They’ll all look for a change once in a century or so).
Low risk – the best you can do is to be between her thighs and lick her. You might get addicted to the taste, I fail the words to describe it, try for yourself. If your tongue gets tired, rub with your hands, but stay out of reach. And just when she’s about to lean over to you, you can still stop her by pushing your fist in rather hard.
Medium to high risk – she’s doing the same to you. Again, keep your soft inner thighs as far away from her teeth as possible, that is, spread as much as you can.
4 – You’re both male
Sorry, I can only tell the little I’ve heard. If you’re gay, Vampire sex is highly desirable, as you can do it bareback. The Vampire can’t get hurt in the process – but you can, and that’s the problem, as any hint of blood while involved in rather violent banging will trigger his blood lust. You rarely hear of the victim again.
5 – Menage
No. Stop that. You don’t want to have sex with more than one Vampire at a time. You can’t control such a situation. They might start a fight over you, and the winner almost inevitably has to bite you to state his/her claim.
You’d bring a mortal friend instead? So you tell the Vampire you’ve given his/her secret away? Good luck then.
As you’re a mortal, while your beauty may mature over time, you also suffer the slow decay we all share. So, after a while, you might consider to change to the other side. Either consciously, by asking him/her to transform you, or subconsciously, by choosing one of the riskier methods mentioned above. In that case – Good Night to you!
(To purchase Lioness’ Bride click here)
“He took the bait,” I informed Matt by mobile phone, of course over an encrypted line, once I had searched my camper for bugs routinely but thoroughly. “The hook is in deeply and firmly.”
“Of course,” he commented briefly. “Cheb already made contact and is preparing the equipment. Rico and I start tomorrow. Watch yourself.”
Around noon Leo called. I was scouting the closer vicinity on my bike. This kind of movement allowed a much more detailed look around inconspicuously than rushing up the road in a car. When the phone rang, I stopped at the side of the road. “May I invite you tonight for a romantic candlelight dinner?” he asked.
Oh, how nice! “Sure you may. Dress code? I’m afraid I don’t own a little black dress.”
“Completely informal, come as you are. Close to nature. I’d strongly advise not to wear high heels, boat shoes would be better.”
“Do we have the same understanding of close to nature?”
“Me Tarzan, you Jane. No, wear something suitable for the beach. Sand- and seawater-proof. I’ll pick you up at five.”
He disconnected without waiting for my confirmation. So. This invitation was sufficiently unprecise to reduce any fashion-conscious woman to despair. Romantic candlelight, but no stiletto heels and no cocktail dress. Boat shoes! What men considered romantic, bah.
Well, it was easier for me. I had to stick to my role and my very limited choice of clothes, and according to the role there was no budget for shopping.
For city and clubbing I only had the yellow cotton pants, but for dinner nothing but the ultra-short white mini skirt seemed appropriate. I could only choose from the tops—shoulder-free or bare midriff? The latter worked better with the narrow, low-riding mini and turned the gaze away from my tits. No trainers, it had at least to be sandals, and after returning to my camper I had the rest of the afternoon left to repaint my toenails.
A few minutes to five I was ready. My camper didn’t provide a truly large mirror, but my outfit should do. Pink tube top, white mini, trekking sandals, my feet with painted toenails, quite nice, but to match my role sufficiently patched together for an ex-soldier and drop-out not versed in terms of fashion. No display model.
* * * *
Five o’clock on the dot, he knocked at my door. He wore a clean white shirt with short arms, white jeans and white canvas shoes, his hair was newly washed and done, his face shaven. He didn’t smell like marine diesel, but a bit like after shave. All nice, but truly unexpectedly he conjured up a bouquet of twenty long-stemmed white roses from behind his back.
“Oooh Leo, those are wonderful!” I asked him inside, gave him a long kiss and looked for something like a vase. The only available item was a sky blue five-liter bucket. Oh well.
“We have to go, the sun sets early,” he pressed.
It was only a five minute drive to his wharf. One of his mechanics held the boat ready with the engine running, so that we just had to change. The man couldn’t keep his gaze away when I stepped from the pier into the boat. No wonder, when I lifted my legs the skirt bared truly everything, and my panties—no G-string this time, it would have peeked out above—were rather skimpy. I didn’t care, he couldn’t take anything away from me.
With the boat it took about twenty minutes to reach a lonely spot on the western shore of one of the northerly located Keys. We had to wade through the shallow water for a short distance to reach the beach with its fine sand, so I left the sandals in the boat.
Leo struggled hard carrying a large ice chest and a voluminous picnic basket, which he dropped into the sand with a wink.
First he spread a large crimson blanket on the sand. On it he adjusted the top of a camping table horizontally with some rough wooden wedges. Then the ugly wedges disappeared under a fine white tablecloth. A bit hastily he arranged porcelain plates and silver cutlery for two, placed pre-folded cloth napkins on the plates and two silver candleholders with long crimson candles in glass tubes at two corners on the table.
“I’ve used glass-protected candles,” he explained when he lighted them. Then he added two champagne glasses from the picnic basket and produced a matching bottle from the ice chest.
After a first sip from the good Californian champagne he took a seat on the blanket next to me. The fiery sun had almost reached the horizon, and we enjoyed the natural spectacle in silence.
When only the play of colors in the evening sky was left, he continued to unpack. On silver plates he served a very delicate carpaccio of beef with Balsamico vinegar and freshly shaved Parmesan, followed by a cold gazpacho. For the main course he had brought different samples of cold sushi. Meanwhile we had changed from sparkling wine to a delicious dry Sauvignon Blanc, which accompanied us to the final chocolate cakes.
After the last chunk I reclined on the blanket and stretched, wiggled my naked toes. “Ooh was that good,” I praised honestly. “Why are you doing all of this?”
“You are the first woman worthy of it after many years,” he quietly explained. “Even if you’d be gone tomorrow, the memory of a wonderful night would remain.”
I heard Leo removing some leftovers from the table. It rustled on for a few minutes, then I felt a wet tongue at my left big toe. “Another dessert?” he asked, his lips already working their way up my instep to the ankles. I sprawled myself joyously like a kitten.
“Yeees,” I purred. “But it will take a long time before the dessert reaches my mouth.”
It took a very long time. On the way my clothes disappeared almost unnoticed. Finally he kissed my lips and asked, “Turn around.”
I followed his request, even if I accidentally touched his hard cock by turning, and rested on my belly. He sat down riding my legs—whereby I felt his stiff member lying on my butt crack—and began to massage my back with oiled hands, with the soothing sound of the ocean surf running up the beach.
* * * *
“You always get what you ask for, don’t you?” Leo asked much later. The candles had long burned out, and only the moon shed its light on us. His hand followed the curves of my buttocks in a circling motion while I lay in the warm sand on my belly. Of course he referred to the other ninety percent, which I had claimed perseveringly after his relaxing massage.
“Mostly,” I admitted. “I don’t ask for much.”
“I’ve never met a woman like you. So determined, so self-assured, so erotic, so playful, so energetic—”
“You’re not about to make a proposal?” I interrupted.
“—so sharp-tongued and so headstrong. No. You’re not the woman for me, sadly. I’m not sure if any man could bring you under control ever. Someone like you shouldn’t really be brought under control. Our world needs some wild dogs guarding all the sheep.”
Oh. Did he notice something? “You’re a wild dog yourself. Although dogs usually come in packs.”
He left my last statement uncommented and continued to pet my butt. After a few minutes he went on.
“I believe—be welcome to correct me—that you’ve fought all your life to be better than any man. You couldn’t easily take up a subordinate role in a relationship. A weaker or only equally dominant man couldn’t keep you though. This way or that—it wouldn’t work out.”
That analysis was as short as it was true. Even if my ever-changing job wouldn’t be in my way—the big true love couldn’t exist for me.
“You’re weeping?” Leo quietly asked and caught a tear with his fingertip.
His strong arms turned my body around and drew me closer, then he caressed my head, while I cried my eyes out at his shoulder and at the same time cursed myself because I couldn’t hide my weakness from him.
* * * *
It was long after midnight when Leo carefully steered his boss’ boat back to the pier. The treacherously shallow waters between the Keys hadn’t been easy to navigate in the dark, now the only task was not to bump into the pier too roughly.
I stood at the bow, one rope in my hand and ready to jump ashore. A movement close to a neighbored garage caught my attention. “Do you know those two guys next to the garage on the left?” I asked Leo in a low voice. He peeked into the indicated direction, but the two strangers were already running toward us.
“Oh shit,” my host uttered, “hold on tight!”
With a strong backward push of the racing engines the boat swung around and back into the inner harbor. I could barely catch a cleat before the move could throw me into the cold water. The boat already headed swiftly toward the exit to the ocean.
“So no friends of yours?” I concluded and climbed back into the cockpit.
“I have to get away,” he declared. “I only don’t know where yet.” A badly aimed bullet that pierced a scar into the hull supported his opinion.