Charity felt the vampire’s hands move on her.

Unaware of the danger she was in, she said apologetically, “I had a nightmare.”

For just a second, she thought she was still in the nightmare: his hands seemed about to grip her or hurt her. Or pull her to him and…?

But now she wanted him.

She took his hand and placed it gently on her breast, thrilled at her own daring, afraid because his hand felt heavy. She still expected that sex would be a bit nauseating and abusive, and so Peter, in his half vampire state, was close to what she expected.

But her welcome of him as a man awakened the husband, the Beloved in him and called him back without Charity ever realizing how much danger she had been in.

His hand on her breast became lighter, like a rock that had become a soft bird in a fairy tale. The mouth which had been drifting toward her neck kissed her cheek. Eyes closed, heart all aflutter, she turned her mouth to his and kissed him on the lips. The fingertips on her breast were doing amazing things. She felt like her heart was melting and at the same time her nipple crinkled almost painfully and her belly kindled into fire.

His illusion of being a husband at home with his wife filled her too. Not that she was taken over by it in any supernatural sense. Just that it was what she had always, always wanted.

“Peter,” she murmured against his lips, her breath coming in little gasps. With tears in her eyes, she wanted to say the words, “My husband,” but couldn’t. She felt something painful stir in her careful heart as she said, “Muh,” and her breath caught.

“Aww, baby,” he said lovingly, full of sympathy and compassion. He kissed her, one hand stroking her hair, the hand on her breast sliding down to stroke her side and then her gasping, dancing belly.

“Awww,” he said again, and she was so afraid he would call her “Jean” that she whispered, “Charity.”

She felt him stop, confused again. Her face blushed so full of blood that if he’d still been in vampire mind, she would have been irresistible. She as nearly as possible flung herself out of bed and ran to the bathroom. But instead, she whispered, “And our little Tommy,” not very coherently, but defiantly, willing the illusion with her in it.

“Charity,” he whispered. His hand moved again, slipping over to lightly cup her bottom.

She surged against him. “Peter, Peter, oh, Peter,” she gushed, while he pulled her closer, his hand moving with nighttime heaven under the hem of her nightgown, which was almost at the top of her thighs. His hand stroked her now-naked bottom.

Could it really be her hand which slid down his smooth stomach and reached for the penis which seemed to sing under her fingers? Was she really opening herself as he reached between her cheeks to her soaking vagina? Was she really thrilling like a perfectly tuned violin to the slippery slide of his fingers? His lips were full and soft against hers, his tongue explored her shy tongue and she let him fill her mouth.

She was so beside herself with excitement that she wouldn’t have been able to stand. His fingers brought her closer and closer to a magic cave of delight. Breathing in soft gasps, she made dancing motions with her legs and slid down a beautiful spiral of singing pleasure.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Then, daring, she took her two hands and slid his underwear down so that his naked penis pressed against her nightgown. Her fingertips danced playfully on it and Peter moaned with appreciation. “That’s so nice, honey, so nice.”

And then she said, “Let me just…” and she wriggled and slid out of her nightgown and tossed it onto the floor beside her. Totally naked! And sitting partway up to get totally naked, she just went ahead and continued the motion and got on top of him instead of waiting for him to get on top of her.

She still couldn’t quite look full into his face. She straddled his body, she ran her hands up under his shirt, she jolted as she nestled her vagina against his penis and felt it throb once against her, but it was almost like his face was still a blur.

Somewhere in the back of her mind was the unworthy thought, I could order him to leave the house and he’d have to go.

She didn’t voice it or even shape it into words, but it gave her the courage to do exactly what she wanted, to boldly wrap her left hand around his penis and rub it against her lips. That was all she’d intended to do but it felt so meltingly good and he moaned so appreciatively that almost before she knew what she’d done, she’d shifted her bottom and slid halfway down onto it.

A most un-Charity-like “Unnggghhhh!” flew from her mouth.

If Tommy had called out anything like “Aunt Chatty, you o-tay?” she would probably have stopped, mortified. But he slept soundly, and Peter murmured encouragingly, “Oh baby, baby, oh so good, darling,” and Charity, who had always been desperately responsible, didn’t even think about birth control or sexually transmitted diseases. She started to wheel her hips, beautiful even in her total lack of skill, feeling that penis turn inside of her, sweeping against all those soft walls, feeling it stretch her unaccustomed vagina achingly deliciously wide.

She slammed herself the rest of the way down, mashing her pubic hair against his, feeling how he penetrated deep, feeling herself utterly open and vulnerable, lifted her hips so he slid nearly out and then slammed down again with another, nearly piglike, grunt.

Gasping, mind totally free, she thrust hard again and again, feeling him fill her with every push, letting herself fuck like she’d never let herself do before. A delicious tightening gripped all the insides of her thighs – she was going to come, oh dear heavens what a powerful feeling! She couldn’t make herself slow down so that it would last longer, she wanted it now. Mashing herself against him, squeezing and rippling his penis inside of her, she felt the heavenly fire spread through her belly and into her vagina and center on the tiny button just above the opening and, sinking down and flinging her head back so that her long brown hair whipped through the air in a silken arc, she came, a powerful orgasm that was hers and hers alone.

She rode the wave even longer, sensing that as soon as it ended she would be Charity Claire again and would face dire consequences for her reckless act.

But she didn’t come down.

Just as her orgasm faded into ordinary hyperventilation she felt him build. Perhaps Sally Yan or Jesse Casselberger could have told her something of what to expect.

Peter’s face sprang into the dazzling rich colors of a Peter Lik photograph of some fabulous nature scene. He stared with amazed eyes, not at her but at something bigger, and when he came inside of her she felt like crystal fire had been lit. She didn’t come down, she slid through the valley and up toward a crest of more pleasure.

Charity’s eyes were as wide and amazed as his but they weren’t looking at each other. Did she hear the same scream of outraged anguish that Sally had heard so many times?

She cried, “Peter! Peter!” and took his face between her two hands. At her call, he looked at her, his eyes met hers. She had a strange impression that she had called him back from somewhere far away; he seemed to run towards her as though through a long green forest and then he was there, right there and she brought her face down to his, gazing full into the eyes of a vampire as he made love to her.

Sally could have told Charity how it might affect her. But Sally wasn’t Charity Claire.

He had the sweetest, the most affectionate brown eyes!

Charity rode on to new heights, not getting tired, not wanting to ever stop.

An idea danced on the edge of her awareness. Maybe she never had to go back to being Charity Claire.

She let herself dance on and on.