CHAPTER ONE

A Day at the Office

In the spring of 2021, the corporation, Coven International, Inc., signed a contract with the United Nations to provide worldwide services in rehabilitating ferals, the accepted term for lycans and vampires who hunted humans. The world referred to the rest of us as moderns. The company welcomed the project. To tell the truth, we’d have done it for nothing. This rogue minority stoked the flames of mistrust much of humanity displayed toward us since “the outing” some years before.

In May the triplets celebrated their twelfth birthday.

“This will be a wonderful opportunity for us,” said Sam, my wife and CEO of the corporation.

“There couldn’t be too many left. The covens in all of the developed parts of the world are gone,” I answered. “The remaining ones are way back up in jungles or mountains, all the fun places.”

Sam lit up the room with her bright arresting smile. “True, but the bigger the challenge, the more it’s worth to them. The Philippine government has a bad one. They’re ready to pay just about anything for our help. We’ll take their money.” A pair of ginger eyebrows crinkled up and down, like Groucho Marx.

We’d come a long way from the days when the practices of our wild brethren created the time honored images of ruthless hunters in society’s nightmares.

Company “help” consisted of providing members of our kind to track them down. Locating the feral covens posed the most challenge. Despite the proliferation of mechanical devices, our sense of smell remained the most reliable method. Once located, enough firepower could always be brought to bear. Either they came without incident, and submitted to company rehabilitation, or they died.

Sam stood erect, all five feet two inches of her inspecting the decaying Orlando downtown. Fiery red hair fell halfway to her waist vivid against the pastel green skirt suit she wore. She turned, regarding me from jade eyes too large for the oval tanned face cradling them. “Since this is our first contract would you mind going along?” she asked with a sweetness I could never refuse.

“Are you sure?” We hadn’t been apart since I returned after being lost in the Pyrenees Mountains for fifteen months. Everyone thought I died in a helicopter crash. For the first year, Sam became anxious over the smallest separations. I couldn’t go to the bathroom or run a quick errand. Even now, the nightmares surfaced on occasion. “I haven’t hunted since the Pyrenees. How much help could I be? And I’d be worried about you the whole time.”

Her mouth flashed two rows of perfect teeth. “I’ll be fine, Jim. Promise you won’t take any helicopter rides or try to be the hero. You’re there just to observe as a company representative.”

“No problem, but why me? What are you going to do for an Assistant Chief Counsel in training?” I liked to remind her, in addition to everyone else, of the law degree I was working on. To be honest, the idea of spending time apart from the tight bodied little package in total control of my heart held little appeal. Physical rather than psychological needs fuelled my motives. “Isn’t there someone else we could send?”

“Doctor Ortiz and Milton are occupied with other projects. Cynthia would be perfect for the job, but she’s on tour in Europe. Your boss Ramy is too old. Well, I know you’re older but not in vampire years.” She smirked. “You’re pretty hot for a hundred and forty-three.”

I returned her expression in-kind with a slow arch of eyebrow. “You aint so bad yourself for an old she wolf.” She looked no older than twenty-nine.

The “nooners” usually started this way. Our mutual arousal grew to fill the room. Outer clothing provided no barrier. Over the years the divan in the private sitting area adjacent to her office became replete with our mingled scents although none of the human guests or staff could smell them. Needless to say, we kept the area off limits to our kind.

I closed the heavy mahogany door to Sam’s office, installed for the sound-deadening qualities. Lycan she wolves could blow the roof off. I wasn’t much of a librarian about it either.

Once alone, we flew into each other’s arms. No matter how many times we made love, for me, a new experience emerged. We melted together like two caramels on a hotplate. I unzipped her skirt. Underneath I touched nothing but skin. She never needed foundation garments. Few of The Others did.

“Jim,” she squealed in a half-hearted protest. “I have afternoon appointments.” I savored the rich lycan personal scent of her, like cinnamon. Despite the irresolute protests, she tucked into my embrace.

“They’ll keep.” I slid the skirt over slim hips and down sculpted legs. I kissed each hip bone, knowing between them rested the source of my greatest earthly pleasure.

“All right, you asked for it.” She took charge like a captain stepping into the pilot house. Her small firm hands undid my belt. With a well-practiced snatching motion, she pulled trousers including underwear to my knees.

We stared at each other, naked from the waist down. She stood with legs apart. A thin line of hair, a few shades darker than the fiery mass above, ended at her intimate opening, from which the anticipatory arousal filled the air. In my case, more visual evidence augmented the scents, a brownish-maroon rod, hard as a broomstick, stuck straight in front.

“The divan?” I asked with a husky tone.

Her eyes cut to it then back to me. “No, I want to ride you standing up.”

Heaven help my lumbar.

She made short work of my shirt buttons, exposing nothing but lean chest. Her fingers trailed across the abs, leaving a hot trail. She shrugged out of her blouse. Delicious breasts, capped with erect rose-colored nipples captivated my wanton stare.

I braced my poor spine for the pleasurable abuse Sam would inflict in the process of climbing me like a monkey scaling a palm tree. I assisted by grasping her butt. Like warm clay, the flesh molded to my touch.

Able to bench press five hundred pounds made Sam a feather to lift, but the unbalanced weight of her played hell with hundred forty plus year old vampire vertebra. I separated her buttocks while she took my member in hand. I felt the excruciating pleasure of its tip making first contact with the entrance of her dark, wet chamber. My heart pounded away, as if from the end of my dick.

“The girls ache for you.” Sam’s words came in avid uneven breaths.

With a gentle hand, I stroked them.

Carrying Sam, I backed us into a space of open wall, augmenting the slow wet rotations on the hard anguished nipples with a stiff wet tongue.

“Oh Jim.” Sam purred, arching into my body. I moved away from her breasts to her mouth with lips parted in sensual invitation. We kissed. Dainty fingers stroked through thick, wavy dark brown hair women often remark they’d kill for. Our tongues wrestled inside Sam’s cheeks. Small fingers continued to ransack my hair. Somehow I lost balance, tumbling us to the plush carpet floor.

Rising into a crouch, Sam laughed, tossing her head back. In doing so, the nipple of a perfect delta-shaped breast floated in range. I all but inhaled it into my mouth. The hot cinnamon taste sent a shudder through me.

Sam examined me with her emerald eyes as I rolled on top. “Here? On the carpet?” she asked with surprise.

Easing between her legs, I viewed the image of she who would rule my life forever. We’d been together just over thirteen years. The hundred thirty I lived before the day I met her counted for nothing except to the degree they prepared me for her arrival into my life.

A wicked grin crossed my lips. “Afraid of rug burn?”

She responded with a quick movement unique to her, which trapped my hips in the grip of her legs. I passed the throbbing head of my burning erection into the wet sheath.

“Oh, it’s so big.” She trilled imitating a virgin being penetrated for the first time. It had been a role-play between us since almost the beginning. With each gyration of her hips, I felt myself being drawn further in, helpless before her wiles like a Mastodon with its feet caught in a prehistoric tar pit.

“I’ll give you an hour to stop,” I managed to squeeze out between labored breaths.

With a triumphant smirk, she massaged the sweat slick muscles of my back. The frenzy of our mutual grinding motion picked up speed. Sam’s breasts rose with every heaving lungful of air. My strained erection curved into the hot depths of her vagina. Sam shuddered, adjusting position to better accommodate my passion. I felt her contract then ease against my hardness. With a conscious force of will, I pulled back to prevent losing it too early.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

I used to pride myself on having the ability to control an orgasm for the benefit of a partner. With Sam, the rule went out the window, but not for lack of trying on my part. From the first time, her sensuality, with the abandon of a child going after free ice cream, overwhelmed twelve decades of cultivated discipline. She liked making me cum early because, she reminded, we then had an excuse to try again until we got it right. This time, though, we weren’t at home where all night lay ahead.

“It’s fine.” I lied, but the slower pace didn’t fool her. With every withdrawal she pressed her hips down, wanting to keep as much of me inside as possible. I surrendered, falling in pace with the tempo she set. Each stroke propelled my tortured shaft deeper into her inflamed cleft.

I began to think this nooner might’ve been a bad idea when she said, “Forget my pleasure. We’ll do this one for you.”

My old Navy buddy from my days working in the shipyards used to say, “Ride the bus, don’t step in front of it.”

Released from the pressure of tending to her climax, I redoubled my efforts.

Sam writhed beneath me. Our breathing came in quick gasps as if a large pump had sucked half the air from the room. A last thrust engulfed me in a shuddering orgasm. Seed gushed out in hot pulses. Her female core squeezed against my outpouring manhood.

“Oh Jim. I’m there.” Sam pressed herself against me in a series of convulsive grinding explosions. A chain of whole body spasms swept across her until the last one left her silent in my arms.

During one of them, her image shimmered to lycan form for a second. Except for intense orgasms, she never transformed. At least not since we stopped hunting humans. I still transformed for the children’s amusement.

After a minute she stirred, lifting a small face to me, all serene, and beaming. “You still got the goods, old Vampiro.”

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