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.