Halloween Candie

[reneerose]

Candie exited the Tucson Center for Developmentally Disabled at midnight, exhausted from her shift. She scanned the dark downtown streets for anyone she ought to avoid on her five block walk to her duplex. Downtown should lend comfort in numbers, but unless it was a weekend, the only people who roamed Congress Street after midnight were looking for trouble.

A man approached and while he didn’t look menacing, she held her keys pointed through her knuckles, as she’d learned in self-defense courses, then added her own self-devised protection--imagining a giant ball of light surrounding her.

The moment she produced the image in her mind, the man stopped in his tracks, staring as if he could see it. Her breath froze in her chest, heart pounded.

A slow grin spread across his face. “Is this for me?” he drawled in a faint British accent.

Vampire.

She didn’t know how she could tell, but the word had entered her mind clearly.

His grin broadened, showing sharp canines. “Yes,” he purred as if she’d spoken the word aloud. “And you are…what? A witchling? He cocked his head to the side, “Priestess?” He extended his fingertips in the air, touching what would be the edge of her ball of light. Suddenly she could see it, too--a shimmering white wall of protection that rippled and repelled his touch.

Though it was dark, she could tell he was beautiful--dark hair that fell to his collar, a square jaw with pork chop style side burns. Deep dimples crinkled now as he looked at her creation with apparent fascination. He turned the glittering gaze on her, locking eyes.

Energy shifted within her and she felt the sensation of her belly moving to the left as her chest moved to the right. Her bubble of light vanished. Gasping, she tensed to run, and he smiled wider.

“Oh yes, do run, little witchling. I so love a good chase.”

She stumbled backward. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not a witch or a priestess. I’m nobody. I’m just a counselor at the School for the Disabled.”

He walked casually forward as she continued backing away. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“What? The bubble?” She shook her head. “I don’t know--I just invented it, I guess.”

“Powerful,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Do you do other magic?”

She shook her head, looking around for anyone who might help her. “No, sir.” She didn’t know where the “sir” came from, but it amused him and he beamed another toothy grin, his fangs seeming to lengthen before her eyes.

It had been the eye contact that had burst the bubble. All she had to do was avoid eye contact. She threw up another bubble around her and took off running as fast as she could. She heard his laughter behind her, but did not hear sounds of him following. Still, the hairs on her head stood up, warning her of something. She ran the seven blocks to her duplex and jabbed her key into the lock. Once inside, she checked the latches on the doors and windows, trying to catch her breath.

A stake through the heart. That was how you killed a vampire. And garlic. She looked around wildly for any kind of wooden stick. There-- the dowel in her little wall hanging. It might work. It was ¾ inches thick and 18 inches long. She brought it to the kitchen and began frantically carving the end into a crude point.
She almost screamed when she heard a knock on the door, but then her neighbor’s voice called out, “Hey, Candie, you got any smokes?”

“No, Jane! I don’t smoke, remember?” she called back.

“Well, can I come in?” Jane called.

Crap.

She went to the door, sharpened stake in hand, opening the door. Somehow, she was not at all surprised to see the vampire leaning in the door frame.

“Go back to your place,” he said softly to Jane, whose eyes were glassy and unfocused. She trotted obediently away, clearly hypnotized.

Even as her brain processed it, her eyes slid to his and she was lost in the liquid brown pools, her belly moving to the left as her chest moved to the right.

“Come in,” she heard herself say.

He grinned broadly and pushed past her into the apartment.

The moment their gaze was broken she had her wits back and she launched herself at him, aiming for the middle of his upper back with the sharpened dowel.

He whirled and caught her wrist so quicky she didn’t see it happen, but the outrage registering on his features was clear. Wrestling the dowel from her, he snatched her up around the waist and carried her, kicking and squirming to the sofa, where he sat and pulled her ass-up over his lap.

The wooden dowel struck her wriggling bottom directly across both cheeks and she grunted in surprise. Again and again he brought it down as she struggled uselessly against his superhuman strength. After a half minute of this treatment, her butt was on fire, the pain growing exponentially with each fresh weal.

He stopped and she panted in relief, thinking it was over only to realize he was trying to pull her jeans down. He hauled her to her feet and held her legs, looking up into her eyes. The fury was gone from his expression and now it held only calm command. “Pull down your pants.”

He must not have used the glamour, because she did not feel the odd pulling sensation. “What?” she cried in outrage. “No!”

The corner of his lips lifted and he unbuttoned them for her, slowly pulling both her jeans and her panties to her mid-thigh as she stood humiliated, legs trembling, mind frantically searching for a means to escape.
“Defiance will earn you extra strokes, my dear,” he said with the same predatory smile he’d given when she’d been ready to run out on the street. As if he were a cat and she was his mouse. Oh yes, do run, little witchling. I so love a good chase.

So at this point, he was just playing with his food. A fresh wave of terror flooded her as he bent her back over his knee, starting again with the unforgiving wooden dowel that she now wished she’d never pulled out of the wall-hanging.

“Ooomph. Ow!” she cried, squeezing her eyes shut. The implement stung her bare flesh. She kicked her legs, which made him chuckle.

He beat a steady rhythm, as if the dowel were a drumstick and her flinching bottom were the drum.

“Ooh. Ouch! Stop it!”

On and on he spanked until her entire bottom was blazing and she was quite certain she couldn’t take any more.

“Please! Please, vampire! I’m sorry.”



“Ah,” he said, pausing in his assault on her lovely cheeks, then giving her three more stripes in quick succession. “Magic words. Say it like you mean it,” he purred. The pleasure of having a lovely girl over his knee sent the familiar sense of arousal and power coursing through his body. His momentary irritation with her attempt on his life had long since been eclipsed by the enjoyment of spanking her.

“I--I’m sorry, vampire. I’m sorry I tried to kill you with a stake. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

He chuckled and gave her another swift volley of spanks. “I’m not sure I believe you.” He had delivered a sound spanking by this point, and the hue of her firm, round buttocks had turned from pink to a mottled plum. He was surprised, but not disappointed she had not shed any tears yet. He knew she had pluck from her brazen wielding of the stake.

“Owww,” she whined. “Please, vampire. I’m sorry.”

He tucked the wooden stake in his shirt and ran a cool hand over her bare cheeks, the heat delicious.

“That’s probably the best you can give me for now,” he mused, more to himself than to her. As he continued to make lazy circles over her swollen bottom, his cock twitched and he felt her stiffen, probably afraid he had sexual intentions.

“No, little witch,” he said, lifting her to stand and pulling her jeans and panties up before seating her on his lap. “That’s not what I want from you.”

She squirmed, her bottom obviously too sore to be comfortable on his hard thighs, but he held her firmly in place. Her hand slid to cover the alluring pulsing artery at her throat.

“No, I didn’t come for that, either.”

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

“For your magic, my dear.”

A look of confusion shadowed her youthful face. “I don’t have any magic.”

“Ah, but you do, and it is quite powerful. I’ll need you to learn to use it, because there’s a curse that needs undoing.”

She shook her head. “I can’t help you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her expression was defiant, but he detected a look of panic beneath it.

“I need your power, witchling. You may not even realize you have it, but you do, and I’m not going to leave you alone until you’ve solved my dilemma.”

Her lips began to quiver, her chest moving rapidly with shallow breaths.

“Ah,” he said, softening his expression. “There are the tears.”

As if naming them called them forth, her brave expression crumpled, and a choked sob erupted from her throat. He pulled her against his chest, tucking her head in against his neck and stroking her back like a kitten.

“I don’t understand any of this,” she sniffed when the sobs had slowed. “And I can’t believe you spanked me!”

He hid a smirk. He enjoyed the outrage of modern women when they were turned over a man’s knee, and this one was full of fire to begin with. “Yes, well, I’m a bit old-fashioned when it comes to ladies. I come from a different era.”

She surprised him by laughing through her tears. “No, I mean, I tried to kill you with a wooden stake, and all you did was spank me.”

He grinned, admiring the buoyancy of her spirit. “Yes, well, you were afraid. I can’t really blame you for that, can I?”

She studied him with big brown eyes flecked with green, her copper-colored hair falling in her face. This one was special--even if he hadn’t seen the bubble of light she’d cast on the street, he could feel it now in her presence. He brought a hand to cup her face, stroking her lower lip with his thumb. “Lovely mortal. Candie, was it?”

She didn’t pull away from his touch, reading him with the same amount of attention he read her. “Candace. Yeah, I go by Candie. So what era are you from?”

“I was turned in 1825.”

“Turned to vampire?”

He nodded.

A tiny shudder ran through her, but she continued to regard him boldly. She reached out and touched his side burns, sending a tiny shock of pleasure through him. “Hence you still like the pork chops?”

He caught the little hand touching his face and turned it over, his gaze inexorably drawn to the blue vein at her wrist. She noticed and snatched it back, holding it against her chest as she eyed him, warily.

“I’m not going to drain you and I’m not going to turn you, but I do require your full cooperation.” He put a finger under her chin. “Can you give that to me, Candie?”

The boldness in her expression vanished and she swallowed. “Do I have any choice?” she asked hoarsely.
“No, my dear. You’ll live under my thumb until I have what I need from you.”

[spoiledbrat18]

More please

[oldernwiser]

If it were two females, I'd be in paradise. Still, do continue on. There is something irresistibly sexy about the vampire's cool confidence. So he wants her magic, does he.....hmmmm. Better I suppose than something as pedestrian as her blood.