SEXWHILEDRIVING contributed to the writing of this story, in its first inception on a thread in The Playground section of the forum, and I wish to publicly thank him for his inspiration and his contribution.
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It was just after midnight. He couldn't tell you why, but from the day he bought the black Corvette he felt compelled to go for long drives at night. It seemed he was drawn to driving by the old cemetery. That's where he saw her in his dreams many times, waiting there by the road for him to pick her up. The dreams were so compelling that if he didn't take the Corvette out at night to look for her, he never got to sleep. She seemed to be calling to him and he was powerless to stop himself from answering.
He shifted gears and took the turn too fast, heedless of the misty fog that wafted through menacing branches and the light drizzle that slickened the streets. The black Corvette pulled up to the ornate wrought iron gate, the engine humming, purring, as he idled just in front of it. He sat there, hands clutching the wheel, and waited. What was he doing here? Was he going insane? There was no one here.
He lit a cigarette and was preparing to leave, but something stopped him. He heard it first, a soft sweet sound that seemed to whisper to him. It came from everywhere, and nowhere. He lowered his window, listening intently, trying to determine the direction from which it came. He flicked his cigarette into a puddle, and stared past the iron gate into the dark cemetery beyond.
"What the hell am I doing?" He opened the door, cut off the engine and exited the car. Without some trepidation, he opened the iron gate and entered the cemetery.
Her presence was palpable as he blindly walked along the cemetery drive, yet he seemed to know just where he was going. The sound, no longer a whisper, grew louder with every step he took. Nervous excitement coursed through his veins. She was here. He just knew it! He couldn't see her, but he felt she was near. The fog seemed to swirl around him, thick and dense, when he tripped into something hard, cold and wet. An old marble statue of an angel, marking the grave of someone long departed, loomed just before him. He brought his hand to his head, felt the cut and the hot sticky blood that oozed from it. And it was in that moment he saw her.
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. He didn't care what happened to him, he just wanted to please her. Whatever she wanted he would do. The woman uttered not a word. She just stood there, an ethereal figure, not quite within his grasp. Silently, she stepped forward, and with her eyes transfixed upon his, brought her hand up to his, and wiped at the blood on his head. And then she brought her fingers to her lips, and slowly, and seductively, licked and sucked his blood from each one. She smiled then, a wicked grin, and his cock surged at the sight. Leaning in closer, she raised up on her tip-toes, and licked at his cut, at the rivulet of crimson fluid that trailed from it. He couldn't move, and he choked on an intake of breath as her hot wet tongue laved his cool damp skin.
He felt as though he should run for his life, but his desire for her meant more to him than life. "I bought a black Corvette recently, but I think it really belongs to you." He handed her the keys.
"Please, take me for a ride?" He stood there. Spellbound.
She stepped back then, and still didn't speak, but snatched the keys from his hand. Turning away from him, she effortlessly made her way down the drive towards the gate, and the waiting black Corvette. He followed, her willing victim, sure of his own doom, yet unable to resist her.
She slipped behind the wheel, her spike heeled shoe pressed down on the accelerator, and the engine roared. He stood rooted beside the passenger door, staring at her through the rain trickling down the window. Turning her head to the side, she stared back at him, and the door opened. He didn't remember reaching for the chrome handle as he sat next to her, breathing in the smell of her, and of leather. He loved that smell. He closed his eyes and breathed deeper, and then he held on tight as she peeled down the road.
As soon as he sat down in the passenger seat, the door closed of it's own accord, quickly, and locked. The way she drove the black Corvette showed that she had no fear of death, but why should she fear it? He glanced up to see the speedometer shoot past 100 m.p.h., and he watched as it continued to climb. Her stiletto heel pushing the accelerator to the floor, mesmerized him. She reached over and began to stroke the back of his neck, her ruby-red nails grazing his skin.
He wondered if she knew where she was going. She didn't seem to notice the traffic lights or street signs as she flew past them. And then there were no more lights, or signs, or anything that looked familiar. All he saw was darkness and fog in the glow of the headlights in front of him. Her hand trailed slowly down his arm and came to rest upon his muscled thigh. She squeezed it. Hard. He was surprised by the strength in her feminine fingers. Tauntingly, she lightly grazed her long nails up and down his thigh, and without thinking at all he reached over.
His fingers easily slid down between her skin and panties, and into her dripping pussy. He leaned against her and nibbled her ear, then whispered, "Faster!"
That he said this suprised him, because he was afraid. Even he had never gone so fast. It was as if her influence on him made him long for death. To be with her. He imagined her sucking the life out of him, and thrust his fingers inside her.