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  o    Kristen's collection                                         o
  o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

 
  This is the Super Hero Archive. These stories were sent to me by
  friends. I did not write these stories. 

  Many have no author name attached. If you are the author of the
  enclosed work please let me know and I’ll remedy the situation.

  This story, and all the stories in this archive are meant to be
  free. They where sent freely and should remain public domain.

Supergirl
Blood Prey

     I really hated moving to a new city,
even when everything was going just right --
and things were. I found the perfect job
right away, and I found a good place to stay.
What I hate about moving are all the fucking
details.
     Details like dragging the carcass of a
black panther down the streets of Metropolis
at 2 in the morning without being seen.
     Capturing the animal from the Riverside
Zoo was surprisingly easy. The Zoo's security
was lax. Perhaps the management never
expected that someone might want to steal one
of their animals. Certainly, they could not
have anticipated the use I had for this
panther.
     I dragged the animal about 300 yards,
across a major highway, to a wall overlooking
the river. I fastened it's tail securely to a
large rock and pushed the dead monster into a
pocket of slow moving current. The water was
about thirty feet deep, and after a few
seconds, the large black body seemed to
dissolve into it, gone for good.
     Gone except for a handful of black fur
that I saved in a plastic sandwich bag.
     One last detail. I had to make it look
like the panther was not stolen but had
escaped. No problem.  A truck driver, tired
and a little tipsy so late at night, drives
off the road, flips end over end down a hill,
and crashes into the panther's cage. The
driver assumed killed by the crash.

                             ***

     I didn't want to seem nervous, so I
waited a few hours, and then, during my break
time at work, I sat down at one of the tables
and picked up this morning's Daily Planet,
and started reading:

                 THE PANTHER STRIKES AGAIN!
    
         Police  have  confirmed  that  Sarah
    Riddel  of  South Metropolis  was  killed
    Tuesday  at 12:40 am by a panther,  which
    had  escaped  from  Riverside  Zoo  three
    nights   before,  and  which  had  killed
    Kristine Raja that same night.
          Police  are  consulting  with   Zoo
    personnel  and  wildlife  experts  in  an
    effort  to  trap the animal, but  so  far
    are baffled by the animal's behavior.

     And that was all the paper said about
last night's killing. It didn't mention how
the body was mutilated and disemboweled, or
how the rain seemingly washed away Sarah's
blood. It didn't note the black panther hairs
in Sarah's hand, or the strangely calm
expression on her face. I crumpled the paper
and cursed in disappointment.
     "I feel the same way . . . Jim, right?
It's really a shame. Very pretty girl."
sighed Lieutenant O'Neil as he sat down
beside me, shaking his head.
     "You knew her?" I asked, surprised and
fascinated. It was a bad idea to appear too
curious about my victims. The less I knew,
the better, yet I needed to know, anyway.
Sarah and I had shared an intimate moment,
and she had sacrificed her life and her blood
for me. That sacrifice meant nothing if I
didn't know what she had given up.
     But more importantly, I had messed up
big last night. I had broken two cardinal
rules: Never hunt in desperation or with a
pattern. O'Neil was an officer investigating
the killings, and I wanted to know what he
knew.
     O'Neil shook his head. "Never met her,
but I was on the scene last night , shortly
after she died. Horrible sight. Dogs got at
the corpse after the panther did, so
determining the cause of death was a bitch,
especially with the TV vultures poking their
mikes in our faces, and with the newspapers
desperately fishing for something to print in
the morning edition."
     I rolled my eyes and shivered, "And here
I thought I was moving into a safe
neighborhood, where crime and murder were
just things in its past."
     O'Neil stared at me quizzically, and I
knew immediately I had made a mistake. He
said: "Well, technically, Jim, these aren't
murders, but I know what you mean. Killing is
killing, whether it's an animal or a man, but
there is one big difference."
     "What's that?" I asked, looking beyond
him to the woman who was approaching our
table.
     "When we catch the monster, we won't be
reading him his fucking rights We won't be
tripping on our own feet, worrying about it's
procedure. . We won't be taking it alive, so
some hot shot attorney can turn the killer
into a victim. Not this time." O'Neil pointed
a finger at me and said cold as ice: "We find
him, we kill him, just the way it oughta be."
     "Amen," I replied, trying to rush the
conversation to a conclusion. As interested
as I was in the details of the O'Neil's
investigation, I was even more interested in
what the woman now standing over him had to
say . . .

     I couldn't believe my luck when I got
this job as a bouncer for a strip bar called
the Kindling Klub, on Washington Crossing.
     Two years ago, the place was called the
Naked Passion, which was notorious for the
fights that would break out weekly. Then a
police station moved across the street,
beginning a crack-down on crime in the area.
Shortly thereafter, Supergirl claimed
Washington Crossing as her main area of
operations. Property values skyrocketed, and
the crime rate plummeted
     The Naked Passion had to change with the
times, so they adopted a more tasteful name,
and prettied up  their exterior. Once they
catered to blue collar workers, but today
their customers were executives and even
cops, who would check in as soon as they
punched out at the station. In facts, cops
became such a large part of their business
that they opened a donut shop in the same
building.
     Despite the heavy police presence, the
Kindling Klub still needed bouncers, mainly
because even cops can get rowdy when they
drink, and they may have the crazy urge to
frisk one of the dancers. Bouncers have to
treat cops differently than other unrulies,
though. Cops carry guns, and they stick up
for each other. They aren't easily
intimidated. So the club hired bouncers based
on their social skills rather than their
muscle mass. The best way to keep the peace
in this environment was to make friends with
the ranking officers, so they might help you
when one of street cops gets out of line.
     But, more importantly, these casual
friendships with high ranking police officers
also let me in on confidential information
about on-going police investigations,
including the "panther attacks." I knew that
maybe one day, a swimmer would discover the
carcass of the panther. Maybe one day the
cops would find one of my fingerprints at the
scene, or would be suspicious at the lack of
blood in the victim's body. When that
happened, I'd be the first to know.
     But keeping tabs on the cops was just a
bonus. Watching the strippers was why I took
the job in the first place. Actually, just
one stripper in particular.

     For decades now, vampires like me have
been thriving in the underground world of
Gotham City and my hometown of Bludhaven. We
fit right in with all the twisted lifestyles,
and murder was so common in those parts that
no one noticed or cared about cause of death.
Feeding was so easy that one night, when I
was starving for a blood fix, and I didn't
give a fuck what people thought,  I just
grabbed a woman on a crowded street, charmed
her with a cold stare, had my fill of her. I
laid her body out on the side of the street
in front of hundreds of potential witnesses.
Citizens from high and low walked on by,
seeing only the path ahead of them. One child
stopped to stare, before he was swept up by
his mother and whisked away.
     Perhaps because of such willful
ignorance, the vampire population was growing
too fast in Bludhaven and Gotham. Recently
the police started taking the "vampire cult"
murders seriously. Soon they will realize
that we aren't a cult at all but a species of
predators. Something was gonna give soon.
Something was gonna wake the cities from
their slumber and unite them against their
common enemy. A war against the vampires was
imminent. I figured I'd better get out sooner
than later.
     Every vampire licked their fangs when
they thought of Metropolis, with more fresh
bodies than Gotham and Bludhaven combined,
yet with no competition from any other
vampires. There was a reason for this. Law
and order ruled in Metropolis, and we
couldn't live the lifestyle we were used to,
there. We had to be careful and calculating,
because just one suspicious looking killing
would send the public into a panic. The cops
would be posted on every corner.
     But the cops were merely a nuisance. We
could handle them. We could take their
bullets, and we could toss them like rag
dolls. Ten cops were no match for one
vampire.
     What we couldn't handle were those
damned Kryptonians.

     She called herself Linda Lee. I asked
her the first day if it was her real name.
Strippers often used stage names, and Linda
Lee had that ring to it. The name rolled off
the tongue. It sounded sweet, like "candy".
It sounded musical, like part of a rhyme. It
sounded innocent, like she didn't even
understand the concept of evil or pain.
     She smiled mischievously and nodded,
like a child playing a pretend game, not
really lying but totally possessed by her
role. There was something about her I didn't
understand. Just being near her made my skin
tingle, like tiny bursts of sunlight on my
skin. That's when I first got the idea.
That's when I first knew that, no matter how
unwise, I had to have her.
     Of course, I knew who she really was. I
suspected, anyway. That's why I got this job
in the first place. My last victim in
Bludhaven spilled the beans to me, trying to
bargain for his life. He claimed to be a
friend of the Catwoman, and that he had
inside information on Supergirl. I figured he
was just feeding me a story to save himself,
but his story checked out.
     Still, I wanted to make sure before I
committed too much effort into my plan. I
found the idea that Supergirl was secretly a
stripper after-hours suspicious; it didn't
fit the usual superhero profile. Even more
suspicious was that Linda Lee had a
reputation for putting on extreme shows,
calling attention to herself. So before
accepting the job offered to me at the
Kindling Klub, I stopped by to check this
girl-of-steel out.  I wanted to know her very
well.
     "Really? Your real name?" I asked her,
not accepting her answer. "I'm thinking it's
really Linda Jones or Linda Zaleski, but not
Linda Lee. It's such a beautiful name, it has
to be fake."
     We were both sitting at the bar, and
Linda was waiting to be called onto the
stage. She was barely dressed in her work
clothes  (matching red g-string and bra). She
was politely trying to avoid talking with me,
as she sipped on a diet cola. I was probably
the 100th person to hit on her this week, and
the 99th to try that line about her name. But
I must have put a different spin on it, or
maybe she just liked the sound of my voice,
or maybe she was just naturally friendly.
     She blushed and turned slightly towards
me, almost yelling to be heard over the music
playing in the background. "You really like
it? I always thought my name was kind of
childish."
     "Oh, definitely not!" I replied,
involuntarily glancing down at her breasts
before meeting her eyes. "Linda Lee. I think
it's a delicious name."
     "Delicious?" she laughed. "How can a
name be delicious."
     "When I say your name," I replied,
inching nearer to her, "my mouth starts to
water."
     Linda's smile dropped slightly, as she
looked into my eyes. We sat completely still
for several seconds, when she forced herself
to look away. The air around her seemed to
warm up, and as her whole body flushed with
blood.
     "See?" I said, licking my lips and
smiling a toothy grin. "Just thinking of your
name makes me hungry."
     "OK, Mr. Hungry Man," Linda said, trying
to break the mood slightly by playing along.
"What are you hungry for? What kind of food
would I have to be to satisfy you."
     I stared at her deeply and considered my
reply. Linda still smiled playfully, but I
know there was one food in particular she had
in mind, one thing I could say to replace her
humor with passion. "A peach. Something wet
and soft with red in the middle."
     Linda shifted on her seat and she could
barely look at me when she asked, "How wet?"
     "When I bite into you, I want to feel
your juices dripping down my cheeks."
     Linda sipped on her drink, but all that
was left was ice. The song playing over the
loudspeakers was almost over. Linda put her
drink down on the table, and stared in my
eyes. She touched my knee lightly with her
hand. "When?"
     Now it was my turn to feel
uncomfortable. But I smiled and said, "Well,
I feel pretty hungry right now."
     My voice was a little too loud, now that
the song was over.
     The DJ broke the silence, saying, "Up
next, on center stage,  the Kindling Klub's
own little superstar, Linda Lee, will light
your fire!"
     Then the music started again -- a rather
playful song, by Sheryl Crow I think. I could
tell by Linda's smile that it was a song she
hand picked.
     "Have you ever seen me dance?" She
asked.
     I shook my head.
     She looked disappointed. "Common," She
said, almost dragging me off my seat in her
excitement.
     She led me to a bouncer and whispered
something in his ear. He flashed a strange
look in my direction, and for a second, I
thought she was turning on me and having me
thrown out of the club.
     But while Linda was preparing herself to
climb onto center stage, the bouncer led me
around the stage to the far corner. The bench
seats were full, but he got everyone to move
down and make room for me. "Lucky bastard,"
he muttered, as he walked away. I wondered
what he meant, because I didn't have a very
good view from here.
     While I had heard rumors that Linda Lee
put on extreme shows, I wasn't expecting much
out of the ordinary. How extreme could she
be?
     Most women take their time stripping,
starting with three or four items of
clothing, tossing one every couple of minutes
until they are naked. Then they will give
everyone a nice view of their pussy and
present their gartered leg for a gratuity.
They never show much real excitement.
     As I waited anxiously for Linda to begin
her dance, I listened to the song she chose.
It sounded very dangerous and exciting:
     Linda entered the stage with only her
g-string and her tiny bra, which was merely a
souvenir in the audience before she shined
her first smile. I barely had time to admire
her perfect tits when she literally tore off
her g-string, flashing a glimpse of her
hairless pussy, an image that lingered in my
mind.
     Then she leaped into dance, moving so
fast she was almost a blur, except for brief
moments when she seemed to pause in mid-air,
a fleeting image of raw, erotic beauty, and
then a blur again. She danced like that for
several minutes, her feet never seeming to
touch the ground, until she gracefully came
in for a landing far away from me, on the
other side of the stage.
     Someone seemed to have caught her eye. A
man she picked out of the crowd. She slow
danced towards him. But then another man
caught her eye, and she changed direction.
Now she was crawling along the edge of the
stage on hands and knees from one man to
another, looking them over, one by one. Never
did she look ahead to where I was sitting. If
she kept crawling along the edge, I'd be the
last man she'd meet. But somehow I knew that
she was thinking about me.
     Now she was halfway around, and she was
getting more and more flirtatious. She
touched one man's cheek. She touched another
man's leg. She was crawling so near to the
edge that several times it looked as though
she'd fall over into the lap of some lucky
man.  It was all part of her act.
     But her passion wasn't an act at all.
Her face was red with heat. Her eyes were
determined, almost predatory.  When she was
still three men away, she finally looked
ahead at me and didn't pause in her approach.
      She leaned over the edge to kiss me,
and I stretched forward to accept my gift.
But she turned away suddenly, purposefully
brushing her body against my outstretched
lips as she passed, filling the air with her
aroma, and then pausing when her ass was
literally touching my cheek,  and her pussy
only inches away.
     She was in dire need of attention. Her
pussy was swollen and drenched in her own
juices. Trails ran down her thighs, and
reached to the stage itself.
     I froze, unable to move, burning from
the heat and entranced by the view,. . .
     Which somehow got even better when Linda
raised her leg high in the air, stretching
her pussy lips slightly, and starting a new
flow of nectar.
     "You asked for something wet and soft
and red in the middle," she prompted, resting
her leg on my shoulder. "If you are still
hungry ... "
     . ..  she rolled over and put her other
leg on my other shoulder. . .
     ". . . then come and get it."
     Her eyes were half open, almost pleading
with me, while she squeezed her breasts with
her hands, leaving her pussy for me to do
with as I willed.
     Part of me held back, wondering what the
audience was thinking, or what the
consequences might be with the club's
management. But I knew I'd never get another
invitation like this.
     And I may never want a woman again as
much as I wanted Linda right then.
     I stroked Linda's legs with my hands as
I pretended to be uncertain, then I kissed
her knees and her thighs, never taking my
eyes off of her pussy.
     Linda moaned, tortured by my light,
peripheral kisses and teasing glances. She
edged her pussy even closer.
     I kissed her inner thighs, as my hair
fell on her pussy, tickling it like a
feather. I grabbed her ass tightly with both
hands.
     "Hey!" she finally complained,  "You
said you were . . . OH!"
     I pushed her forward, as I dove into her
pussy. I thought she came right then when the
gush of her juices filled my mouth and
splattered on my cheeks.
     I almost came myself just from tasting
her. If I had any doubts that Linda was
Supergirl, they ended right there. How could
any other woman could taste that good? Or
smell that good?  Or need to be fucked so
bad?
     I don't know how long I was up there on
the stage, between her legs, devouring her. I
could have drank her forever, but even
Supergirl herself had her limits. When her
juices stopped flowing, I craved her all the
more. I sucked on her pussy walls and her
clit, and fucked her with my fingers, until
her whole body shook and her chest heaved as
she screamed.
     Then her firm ass softened in my hands.
Her skin seemed to change texture slightly.
She was lying still, totally satisfied . . .
and weak.
     It was then that I noticed: My dick was
hard as a rock. Something that should never
happen to me. My whole body was tingling.
     I felt a new hunger building inside me.
     I climbed up her body, kissing her along
the way. I paused at her breasts to suck on
her nipples. They were very soft and
sensitive.
     I sucked hard just below her nipple, and
saw the rush of blood to the injured area.
     My heart raced, and my desire for her
turned into a kind of dark lust. Her weakness
raised a feral hunger in me. As her strength
faded, my strength grew, and my muscles
tensed. My teeth were growing . . .
     . . .as was the terror of what I might
do.
     I rolled off of Linda and lay flat on my
back.
     Linda rolled on top of me and smiled
sweetly. "Thank you," she said. "That was
really wonderful."
     I refused to meet her eyes.
     "Oh, I'm sorry. I keep thinking about my
own pleasure.  Here, let me return the
favor," she whispered in my ear, exposing her
neck, as her hand stroked my chest, en route
to my pants.
     I composed myself and slid out from
under Linda, never meeting her eyes. "Thanks,
but I'm sorry but I have to go now. *Right*
now."

     I let an hour pass, just hiding in the
shadows. I couldn't wait any longer.
     I crossed paths with Sarah Riddel on
empty streets of Metropolis at about three in
the morning. It was drizzling and cold, and
she was huddled tight in her wet jacket. She
kept a wary eye on me as we neared each
other.
     "What's a pretty young lady doing,
walking the streets all alone?" I asked.
     She relaxed a bit. Maybe she liked the
sound of my voice, and she was eager for a
reason to relax. Maybe she saw my spiffy new
bouncer uniform, and thought I was an officer
of the law.
     In any case, she made a mistake.
     When I first smelled her aroma, it was
like the smell of food to a starving man. Or
a starving animal. She could see my hunger,
but she couldn't run. She was lost in my
eyes. Death is painless for a vampire's prey.
She simply succumbed to my will and gave up
the essence of her life.
     For a moment, the taste of her blood on
my tongue and the rush of her blood through
my veins was all I could feel. It was like
her soul was filling my body. I drank until
here wasn't enough blood left in her to stain
my new uniform.
     Now she lay limp on the sidewalk, and I
hesitated.
     I tore into her skin with my fingernails
-- nails that were sharp as a panther's
claws. What little blood there was left in
her spilled out onto the street, quickly
spreading into the puddle of water on which
she lied.  I cringed, not liking what I was
doing. I never had a problem with the taking
of my prey; it was something I needed to do.
But it was common decency for a vampire to
leave the prey's body intact -- at least
allowing her some dignity in her death,
since, after all, she gave up her life for
me. But panthers had no such morals, and so I
must not either.

     "Amen," I said to O'Neil, about 15 hours
later.
     Linda stood behind him. She was dressed
in a lustrous blue silk blouse with a
matching skirt, which fell like waves on the
ocean over her body, hiding much of her
figure, but accentuating the smooth contour
of her hips, and making her erect nipples
impossible to ignore.
     She put a hand on O'Neil's shoulder.
When he turned to face her, his face lit up.
He had a hard-on for Linda, and just being
near her for a few moments was enough to make
his day. "Oh, hi there, my little Honey Dew!"
he said, with his eyes drifting south to her
breasts.
     She smiled. "You guys talking about that
panther attack again?"
     "Yeah, its a terrible thing," O'Neil
said, shaking his head, "but don't you worry,
we'll catch that monster, and you can feel
safe again real soon."
     "I'm sure you will," Linda replied, then
glanced at me. "Will you excuse me officer,
but I'd like to talk with Jim for a moment."
     O'Neil promptly gave up his seat to her,
but flashed a look at me when Linda wasn't
looking, as if to say, "lucky fucking
bastard." I smiled and waved goodbye to him.
     Now it was just Linda and me sitting
alone at the large table. She took a sip on
her cola, then just stared at me, saying
nothing. She tried smiling, to show me she
wasn't angry, but she did want an explanation
for my rude exit from the stage last night.
     I tried to think about what to say.
Maybe it was best to tell her off, to tell
her that last night was a big mistake.  "I'm
sorry, Linda, something just came over me
last night. I didn't mean to make a scene.
Something just . . . wasn't right."
     She took my hand in hers. "That's OK. I
understand. It was all a big mistake."
     "Mistake?--" I asked. The word stung
when I was on the receiving end. "How can you
call it a mistake."
     "Oh, no!" she rushed to correct herself.
"I mean, I don't regret it at all. Thank you
so much. No one has every made me come so
hard on stage before. You have a wonderful
tongue."
     I smiled, feeling about as embarrassed
as a school boy who just got kissed for the
first time. Embarrassed and surprised.
     What the hell was happening to me?
Vampires weren't supposed to feel this way.
Was she using one of her super-powers on me?
Or did I just underestimate her all too human
powers?
     Linda continued with regret, "I just
wish that I could have done the same for you,
but now it's too late."
     "What do you mean?"
     "I just found out a few minutes ago that
you were working here. I never would have
been so intimate with you if I had known we'd
be working together. So we can't . . ." she
began, taking a deep breath, " we can't do .
. . you know . . . anymore."
     "Is that what the boss said?" I asked.
     "No, it's not that. I just don't think
it's a very good idea," she said, while
stirring her drink with the straw, then
glancing up briefly to see my reaction. "It
can get complicated. With strangers, it's
different. They don't have any expectations,
and they just leave the bar with nice
memories."
     "I don't have any expectations," I said
flatly.
     "I'm glad," she said, not looking glad
at all, then sipping again on her cola.
     That's when I realized that Linda wasn't
being totally honest, maybe not even with
herself. She was not the kind of woman who
avoided complications or emotional
connections. If anything, she sought them
out. I decided to remind her of that.
     "Do you mind if I ask you a personal
question?"
     Linda hesitated, then smiled, "Only if
you don't mind when I don't answer it."
     "Why do you work here? I know they don't
pay you enough to do what you did with me
last night."
     Linda nodded. "They don't pay me
*anything* for that. In fact, it gets
deducted from my pay, so that I can't be
accused of selling sex."
     "Exactly. So why do it?"
     Linda smiled and shrugged. "It's good
advertising. Men follow me around, hoping
they'll be chosen next."
     I glared at her suspiciously. "Nope,
don't buy it. It's too extreme to be just a
gimmick. Besides, you get off on it way too
much."
     "OK, if you must know, it really turns
me on!" Linda confessed, smiling, but
refusing to meet my eyes. Then she opened up
completely. "I guess you could call me a
nymphomaniac."
     "Did you ever hear the one about the
blonde nympho .."
     "Shut up!" Linda hit my shoulder gently
with her fist, then continued. "I'm serious.
This job is a kind of therapy for me."
     "Really?" I asked, amazed. "A doctor
recommended you do this?"
     "No, my counselor told me to try
celibacy," Linda laughed as if it was a joke.
"She said that I was just looking for
approval and love. Maybe she was right about
that, but it's not the whole story.  You see
. . . well, I don't want to get into the
details, but I'm different from other women
sexually. My body goes crazy sometimes, and I
just can't get sex out of my mind. I've tried
to control myself, but I can't, and I made a
lot of mistakes trying. It doesn't matter
what I'm thinking or how I'm feeling --
somehow something will turn me on. Whenever I
had sex, it wasn't enough, and when I
masturbated, I felt depressed and lonely. I
guess I just always believed that sex should
be shared. I always thought that sex and
making love were the same thing. And I know
it's silly, but I feel like I'm making love
when I'm up there, on the stage. I feel like
I'm being loved, with all those men gazing
longingly at me when I come."
     "People say that you come during every
show," I commented, amazed.
     "Almost, six or seven shows every
night," Linda smiled wickedly. "I told you I
was a nympho. But I don't ask men up on the
stage very often. Not every day, anyway --
only when they really turn me on, when they
make my pussy ache."
     "So I make your pussy ache, huh?"
     Linda shifted in her seat, barely hiding
a smile. "You did last night."
     "But not now?"
     She hesitated. "No, not now."
     "Really?" I asked, reaching under the
table, stroking her with my open hand from
her hip to her knee, then sliding back up on
the inside of her leg. Her skin was like
fire.
     "Stop it," she whispered, but then she
licked her lips. She closed her eyes, sliding
her ass forward on the bench seat, and
opening her legs slightly.
     I fondled her thigh through her silk
skirt, stroking in tiny circles, while
inching the hem towards her hips, bunching up
her skirt in between, like whitecaps falling
over each other, where the ocean met the
shore, and then turning to steam on the hot
beach.
     Linda moaned and leaned into me, when my
hand finally dipped into her Bermuda
Triangle.
     She was as wet now as I remembered her
from last night, and her juices nearly
exploded forth at my touch.
     "We shouldn't be doing this," Linda
argued, as she rested her head on my
shoulder.
     I kissed and nuzzled her hair, which
smelled almost as exciting as her perfume.
That's when I saw the touch of fresh blonde
hairs mixed with the brunette. I had thought
she was wearing a wig, but apparently she had
dyed her hair brown. I don't know why, but
that turned me on even more.
     "Maybe that's why you like it so much
*because* we shouldn't be doing it, " I said,
blowing in her ear, and sliding a finger
inside her.
     "I'm getting too wet," Linda complained.
"It's gonna stain my skirt."
     "Well, we can't have that. Let me see
what I can do," I said, sliding down under
the table.
     "Wait!" Linda said, moving as if to rise
from her seat, but she stopped. She was so
wet now, a trail of her juices would run down
her leg if she stood.  Instead she lifted her
skirt, to protect it, bunching it behind her
back. Her juices now ran down onto the hard
wood seat.
     I bumped my head against the table, as I
crawled between her legs. I began by kissing
her thighs, teasing her like I had last
night, but Linda would have none of that. She
grabbed my head and pulled me straight into
her pussy. I couldn't resist if I had wanted
to.  I licked all around her bare triangle,
but that was like licking the cream off a
melting ice-cream cone -- I would never keep
up. I had to go to the source. When I slid my
tongue into her pussy, she squirted, like
when eating a grapefruit with a spoon.  Linda
tried to put her legs on my shoulders, but
there just wasn't enough room under the
table.
     I reached up her blouse with one hand,
gently squeezing her breast, but Linda
suddenly pushed my hand down. I tried to
speak, but she silenced me by pushing my face
deep into her pussy.
     "Hi!" she said, loud enough to cover my
muffled objections.
     "So . . ." said an unfamiliar voice, as
a woman sat down on the other side of the
table.
     "What happened?" said a second, huskier
voice, as another woman sat beside her. Her
knee bumped into my elbow, but she quickly
repositioned her legs, not suspecting a
thing.
     I kneeled perfectly still, with my face
covered in Linda's honey, and my hand
squeezing her ass.
     Linda's voice was shaky. "I told him
just what you said I should tell him."
     "And . . .?" asked the first woman.
     "How did he respond?" demanded the husky
voice.
     Linda replied. "He said that he had no
expectations."
     Linda squirmed slightly, when I tickled
her pussy lips with my tongue.
     "That's all?" asked the husky voice. "Do
you think he got the message? It's bad enough
that you fuck the customers, stealing them
all for yourself, but we can't have the help
buzzing around you like flies, too, ignoring
their jobs."
     "I think he got the message," Linda
said, maintaining remarkable self-control as
I pushed two fingers deep inside her, and I
blew softly on her clit.
     The other woman spoke up, speaking more
softly. "We're sorry to give you the third
degree, Linda.  It's just that these horny
creeps aren't much use to us when all they
can think of is sucking that hyper cunt of
yours."
     "I know what you mean," Linda could
barely say. Then suddenly she giggled and
cried out, when I pulled her ass under the
table, sucking hard on her pussy lips, and
thrusting a slippery finger up her asshole.
Her muscles squeezed so tight around my
finger, I thought it was broken for a moment.
     Suddenly there was a lot of commotion
above, as the two strippers finally
understood what was going on under their
noses.
     "Oh, great, Linda," said one.
     "You're so fucking hopeless," said the
other.
     And then they were gone, leaving a trail
of curses and stomping feet behind them.
     I pulled Linda the rest of the way under
the table. Her head hit the seat hard on the
way down, but it didn't knock the mischievous
smile from her mouth.
     She reached for my belt, and undid the
buckle, but I kissed her hard on the lips
before she could grab the zipper. She put her
arms around my waist and kissed me back,
probing my mouth with her tongue, taking my
breath away.
     And before I knew it, she was suddenly
on top of me, her breasts spilling out from
the blouse, her pussy spreading it's juice on
my leg, as she climbed down my body, just one
thought on her mind. She smiled up at me, as
she reached into my pants, pulling out my
rock hard dick . . .
     . . . releasing the monster within me. I
could control the monster's hunger for blood,
but I couldn't control it's hunger for Linda.
I didn't know what the monster might do.
     I struggled to free myself, but she had
my legs pinned. She lowered her mouth to my
dick. I tried to push her off, but I don't
think she even noticed. She didn't budge. I
was never in this position before, the weaker
party, so I panicked. I flailed at her head,
until at last she pulled away. As soon as I
was free, I crawled out from under the table
and hurried to the men's room.
     For the second time in as many days, I
left Linda alone, confused and frustrated.
But at least she was alive.

     And at least Linda could do something
about her frustration. She didn't waste any
time worrying about what happened or
adjusting her clothes or regaining her
composure. She climbed up on one of the side
stages, in one of the secluded corners of the
club, and she started performing.
     The boss, who always had his third eye
on her, fetched me out of the restroom.
"Linda's in one of those moods again," he
said, shaking his head. "You'd better keep a
close eye on that bitch. She's always
flirting with disaster."
     Tina, the woman on center stage, looked
genuinely pissed as half her audience and one
spotlight migrated across the club for
Linda's impromptu performance.
     I followed, too, and stood at the end of
the stage, watching Linda. She glanced at me,
but then she looked away. She stared off into
space, as she satisfied her own pleasures.
     She wasn't really dancing, and she
wasn't really stripping. She was just getting
herself off. She laid down on the stage,
spread her legs, and plowed the skirt into
her pussy with her fingertips. She glanced at
me again, to make sure I was still watching,
to make sure I knew what I was missing, and
then she closed her eyes, as her sweet juice
soaked into the folds of her skirt.
     I couldn't stand still, as I watched the
stain grow, so I grabbed the back of a chair
for support.  What the hell was she doing to
me? She awakened every passion in my body. I
wanted to devour her completely. My
fingernails dug deep into the chair. I felt
the wood crumbling in my hands.
     I was doing something to her, too. Linda
was so weak now that she could barely stay on
her feet, much less dance. She stumbled
around, looking drunk, and until finally she
spoke into the crowd of police officers,
saying, "I'm a bad girl. Come and arrest me."
     O'Neil's face lit up like a bulb, as he
and an officer named Savage, pushed past me
onto the stage, hurrying like children to be
part of a favorite game: cops and robbers,
with a naughty twist.
     Savage pulled out his billy club.
     "Turn and lean against the pole!" O'Neil
yelled, reaching for his gun.
     Linda grabbed the pole at the edge of
the stage with both hands, where Savage
immediately handcuffed her.
     "Spread your legs. . ." O'Neil said, but
he was already frisking her from behind
before she could oblige. He reached around
her to feel her breasts. As he was about to
squeeze, Linda bent forward,  pressing her
ass against the bump in his pants, pushing
him back.  O'Neil's hands slid down her
blouse to her skirt, where he examined her
ass in a very unprofessional manner. "My,
what do we have here?" he asked, as his hand
slithered under the hem of her skirt.
     Linda gasped. The handcuffs scraped
against the pole, as Linda leaned over even
further, and her hands nearly touched the
ground.
     O'Neil tore her skirt away, and upon
seeing her pink, needing cunt, crying out for
help, he rushed to her aid. He dropped the
gun, and pulled out his concealed weapon.
     Savage put his club under Linda's chin,
forcing her to look up.
     But Linda looked passed him. Our eyes
locked. She looked so weak, she could barely
keep from falling, yet she mocked me. She was
determined to make me regret not taking her.
     Savage put his club to Linda's lips, but
Linda turned her face away. Then she looked
up at him and licked her lips.  "Aren't you a
little old to be playing with toys?"
     Savage dropped the club. He reached for
his zipper with one hand and grabbed Linda by
the hair with his other, making her cry out
in surprise, and exposing her full neck to my
view.
     I knew what was coming next, and I
couldn't watch.  I couldn't think clearly
anymore, and I was afraid that I would do
something stupid. My body was changing,
transforming. My dick grew with my passion.
My teeth grew with my fury. I was terrified
that I would charge up on stage, in front of
a dozen cops, and take Linda right then and
there.
     So instead I did the next worst thing .
. .

     "I'm sorry boss, but I have to leave for
a while."  I didn't give him a chance to
respond as I hurried out of the Kindling
Klub.
     I ran down the streets of Metropolis,
trying to cool off, but I couldn't stop
thinking of Linda. Her sweet lips, her sweet
eyes, her sweet breasts, her sweet pussy.
     Her sweet blood.
     And her unholy passion. She had a
lusting as strong and uncontrollable and
needing as mine. She needed to be taken as
much as I needed to take.
     And I hated her! I hated her because she
was forbidden. I hated her because I needed
her. She was my perfect complement, and my
perfect contradiction. I hated her because I
was starting to love her, and my love could
only bring about her death.

                            * * *

                     NATURAL BORN KILLER
     Metropolis (AP) - Just hours after
earning her PHD in para-psychology at MU,
Pamela David of Leesburg died at 12:14 AM
Thursday, the third victim of a panther which
had escaped from the Riverside Zoo early
Sunday morning, and the second victim in 24
hours.
     MPD Lieutenant Brian O'Neil described
the scene as: "The worst thing I've ever
seen."
     Naturalist Erik Gundelfinger, noting the
extent of mutilation, suggested that the
panther, which at first killed for food, "is
now killing with an almost human brutality."
     Supergirl arrived at the scene shortly
after the police. She offered her deepest
sympathies to Pamela David's family, and
promised to use all of her powers to assist
in the capture of the panther.

     I hesitated before approaching the
table, the same table Linda and I were making
love at (and under) last night. Linda was now
sitting there alone with her face stuck in
this morning's Daily Planet. I knew that I
should just forget about her. I should just
walk away, just quit this job, which was
supposed to be the perfect cover for the
first vampire in Metropolis. It might have
been, if only I had kept my wits about me.
     But I hadn't been thinking right since I
first met Linda just two short days ago. I
couldn't stay away from her. I would always
come back. I was hooked.
     Linda lowered the newspaper and looked
up at me. I had forgotten about her
super-vision -- she was probably watching me
all along, looking right through the paper.
Watching me with fire in her eyes.
     "I don't know what to say, Linda," I
said while sitting down beside her. "I'm so
sorry about last night."
     "That's OK," she replied, her voice
severe, while looking again at the newspaper.
"You were right; making love was a bad idea.
We should keep our relationship totally
professional. No more fucking, no more being
fucked. I can't take being hurt all the
time."
     "Please don't talk like that," I said,
shivering from her icy response. She was as
cold as the living dead. It didn't suit her.
"I really didn't want to hurt you."
     "Oh?" Linda shouted, dropping the paper.
Her calm exploded, pain pulling one way,
anger the other. "So how did you think I'd
feel when you just left me there? Do you
think I like being used? . . ."
     Then she added softly, "Do you think
that's what I deserve?"
     I shook my head. "Oh, no, the problem is
with me, not you. It's all my fault. Being
with you was like . . . like being in Heaven.
I am the one who doesn't deserve you."
     "Is that why you left? Is that why you
hit me on the head and ridiculed me in front
of everyone?"
     I shook my head again, and started
blurting out the truth. "I  . . . was trying
to keep you safe."
     Linda was startled by my reply. Her eyes
darted with a chaotic movement of emotions.
She touched her throat in a defensive
gesture, as though sensing something about
me.  "Safe from what?"
     "Safe from me. You see . . . I have a
disease," I explained, juggling truth with
lies. "A disease that might kill you."
     Linda took my hand, as her turbulent
emotions anchored on concern. "Do you have
AIDS?"
     "Something like that. But it's even more
dangerous.  I didn't want to take a chance on
hurting you."
     Linda reached out and embraced me before
I could say another word.
     I wanted to hold her, but my hands
paused in mid-air, inches from her back. I
was afraid of losing control again. I was
afraid to breathe in her scent, to feel her
warm skin against mine, to hear her
breathing.
     But my need for her was greater than my
fear. I held her tight, like a drowning man
to a life preserver, clinging to her,
clinging to myself, not wanting anything to
change.
     Linda whispered softly in my ear,
saying, "I'm sorry I was so mad. I'm so sorry
I teased you so cruelly last night. Please
don't leave me. Please don't ever die." She
lightly stroked my back, and I felt her tears
against my cheek, burning like holy water.
Her kisses on my neck felt like paradise.
Her love filled me, putting me at peace.
     And then it struck me how strange this
was. After only two days, I had fallen head
over heels for Linda, feeling emotions that
no vampire should be able to feel. And during
those same two days, Linda was clinging to me
like we were the closest of intimates --
something she never did with any of her other
customers or co-workers.
     At first, I had thought she had a kind
of super sex appeal, something so powerful it
made her irresistible to any man. But that
wasn't it. Her powers may have enhanced her
appeal, and she put on a hell of a show, yet
most of her lusting fans kept their wits
about them.
     Then I had thought Linda was attracted
to me because of my winning personality -- an
important skill for anyone who hunts people
for a living.  I have paralyzed many victims
simply by staring into their eyes; they
offered up their bodies to me, but they never
opened up their hearts or their souls, as
Linda was doing.
     There was some kind of magic happening
between us. We fit together in a kind of
perfect symmetry, like yin and yang. An
energy flowed between us when we touched,
like an electric circuit. She was positive. I
was negative. Perfect chemistry.
     "Excuse me, Jim," said a voice,
countering the magic, chiseling away at the
bond. "I need to have a word with Linda."
     Damn you, O'Neil, I thought. You had
your fun with her last night, now leave her
alone!
     I tried to ignore him, but Linda
loosened her hold on me.
     "What is it?" she asked. O'Neil stared
at me. He clearly expected me to leave, but
Linda held my hand securely, and said. "It's
OK, I want him here with me."
     O'Neil shook his head solemnly, looking
nothing like a man whose sexual fantasies
just came true last night. He had always
greeted Linda with a wide smile and a hard
on, but right now he was as serious as a Jew
in Auschwitz. What was going on?
     "I just have a few more questions," he
said, sitting down and producing a pen and a
notepad. "When you last talked with Pamela
David, did she mention meeting any new men?"
     Linda shook her head. "She is not
interested in men. . . wasn't, I mean. She
was a lesbian."
     "Even lesbians meet men," O'Neil pushed.
"Are you saying that she never talked about
men, period?"
     Linda looked as baffled as I was. "Why
are you asking me about this? She was killed
by a panther, not a man . . . right?"
     O'Neil shrugged. "I'm not so sure
anymore. Now I think she may have been
murdered."
     "Ouch!" Linda cried out, as she pulled
her hands from my tightening grip.
     "Sorry," I said, stroking her hand
lightly. "Are you OK?"
     Linda wasn't really hurt, but she stared
at me in confusion and amazement that anyone
could squeeze her hand so tight.
     But she didn't know how upset I felt
right then. She didn't know how the world
seemed to be collapsing around me, especially
in the past minute. Suddenly, my cover was
shot, and I didn't have an alibi for last
night -- an alibi for the murder of one of
Linda's close friends. And worst of all, I
was falling in love. I was falling in love
with someone, who, if she knew the real me,
would hate me.
     O'Neil raised an eyebrow, wondering what
had happened, but then he pressed on without
a comment. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to add
to your burden. I know you and Ms David were
very close."
     Linda pressed into me for support, and
despite the whirlwind of emotions I was
feeling, I put my arm around her
protectively. I wanted to cover her ears, to
protect her from hearing the whole truth.
     "Why do you think Pam was murdered?"
Linda finally asked.
     "Several things," O'Neil began counting
with his fingers. "First, all of the victims
were attractive young women; there aren't
many attractive women who walk the streets
alone at three in the morning, so the killer
must have been seeking them out. Second,
according to the ME, the victim died while
standing upright, and all of the scratches
occurred postmortem -- both inconsistent with
an animal attack. And finally, we found a few
human hairs in her hand."
     I really had fucked everything up good.
Before I came to Metropolis, I had made a
mental list of do's & don'ts. In only four
day's I had broken almost every rule on the
list. Now there was only one rule left: Never
blow your cover.
     "But what about the panther hairs?" I
asked, figuring that I should be curious, as
if casually discussing a current event.
"Didn't the scientists say that they found
panther hairs at the scenes?"
     O'Neil nodded. "We think the killer is
somehow connected to the panther. Maybe he
kidnapped it. Maybe he killed it. Maybe the
killer works for the zoo. We haven't given it
a lot of thought until the autopsy report.
Now we're gonna take a second look at the
victims and possible suspects in light of
this new information."
     I nodded. They'll probably think again
about the lack of blood in the victim's
bodies, and they'll note the strange calm on
their faces -- two signatures of a vampire
attack.
     "Do you have any suspects?" Linda asked,
sitting up straight and alert. I saw a glint
of vengence in her eyes.
     "Nothing yet, and I'm afraid that almost
everyone will have a solid alibi. They  could
say they were asleep at midnight, like most
working folk." Then O'Neil smiled. "Most folk
besides cops, strippers and bouncers,
anyway."
     I didn't like the direction this
conversation was taking. It was only a matter
of time before he asked where I was last
night. So I tried to lighten the mood up a
bit. "Hey, I resent being called a bouncer.
I'm a security guard."
     O'Neil shot back, "Yeah, we call you
guys the Pussy Police at the station."
     "How about the Cunt Cops," Linda said,
then suddenly she hid her face in
embarrassment.
     We both stared at her for a moment, too
surprised to laugh.
     "Anyway," O'Neil began, sounding serious
again. "We'll be out in force tonight,
looking for suspects and young ladies who are
foolish enough to walk home alone. If the
creep is out there, we'll see him."
     O'Neil seemed determined to talk about
suspects. I had to try something more
provocative to get him off the subject. "Why
hasn't Supergirl done anything about this?
Where are the superheroes when you need
them?"
     Linda and O'Neil glanced at each other,
which struck me as odd, and then Linda said,
"She was probably sleeping, like everyone
else."
     "Really? I didn't think they needed to
sleep. I would have thought all that extra
energy would keep them awake at night."
     I could see the confusion in Linda's
eyes, as she tried to defend her alter ego.
"We . . . They need to sleep just like anyone
else.  Besides . . .you haven't read Clark
Kent's article in the paper a few weeks
back?"
     I shook my head. "I just read the
headlines."
     "Well," Linda began, deep in thought,
either remembering the article or talking
from experience, "you know that Kryptonians
get their power from the sun, right? Well,
they lose most of their energy at night, when
the sun goes down. I mean, they still have a
lot of power, they can still fly and all
that, but they are much weaker and being
without sunlight wipes them out until they
simply have to sleep."
     My jaw dropped, as the proverbial light
bulb flashed on in my head. Suddenly, my
intense attraction to Linda and even the
physical chemistry we had together -- it all
made sense. Sunlight! That was the connection
between Linda and me. That's why my skin
burned and why she ached whenever we were
near each other. She radiated with life born
from sunlight, while I fed from her life and
drew my strength from the darkness. She
suffered from too much life, too much love,
too much emotion. I suffered from apathy and
hunger and death. We were perfect for each
other.
     Or maybe we would be each other's
destruction.
     "So the best time for a criminal to
strike is at night," commented O'Neil.
Apparently a light was going off in his head,
too, but it was leading him in the wrong
direction. "I wonder if our killer planned it
this way. Maybe writing that article wasn't
such a good idea. Leave it to a reporter to
mess everything up for crime fighters."
     "What if Superman or Supergirl slept
earlier in the evening?" I asked Linda. "Did
the article say anything about that? Maybe
they could sleep between sunset and midnight,
and be ready to fight at midnight."
     Linda shook her head. "I don't think the
article talked about that . . . but I guess
they lose energy whether they sleep or not,
and they are really tired until the sun comes
up again."
     O'Neil frowned at Linda.  "She's gonna
have a tough time keeping that promise she
made last night to Pamela's parents. How can
she use all of her powers to help capture
this creep when she's half asleep? "
     Linda shrugged.  "I'm sure she'll do her
best."

     Linda danced for one show that night,
but she wasn't into it at all, and she asked
the boss for the rest of the night off.
     The boss was a real prick, but he knew
that Linda had just lost a close friend last
night, so he let her go. It wasn't like he
was gonna fire his biggest star, anyway.
     Firing me was a different story. After
the stunt I pulled last night -- walking out
in the middle of a show with no explanation -
-  the boss told me I could pick up my first
and only check in eight days.
     But I hung around, watching Linda
perform for that one show, and she ignored
the whole audience, dancing only for me. She
went through all the motions, teasing me, and
then opening her pussy wide, inviting me in.
She wanted for me to climb up on stage with
her and send her to nirvana, like I did that
first night. But the wettest woman alive was
only wet around the eyes. So I climbed up on
stage, covered her with my jacket, and led
her into the back room, where we talked for
hours, until the bar closed.
     But Linda didn't want to stop talking,
or the sadness would come back, so we started
walking together on the deserted streets of
Metropolis.
     "I want to talk until dawn," Linda said
with a skip and a smile. She swung her purse
in the air, as though suddenly she didn't
have a care in the world. She was still
naked, wearing only my jacket. She wasn't
even wearing shoes.
     "Well, what should we talk about?" I
asked.
     "How about we talk about you?"
     I shook my head, "Nothing much to say
about me. How about we talk about you?"
     "If I tell you about me, will you tell
me about you?" she asked.
     I shrugged. "Maybe."
     Linda frowned, but she wanted to talk,
not argue. "So where should I start?"
     "How do you know Pamela David?"
     Linda shook her head vehemently, "No
unhappy stuff."
     "How about happy memories about her?
Maybe something you'd want to remember her
by."
     "Why do you want to know about her?"
Linda asked.
     I shrugged. I always liked to hear about
the lives that were sacrificed for me, but I
couldn't tell Linda that.
     Linda smiled with a tear in her eye.
"Pamela showed me how to dance.  We used to
dance for each other."
     "Really?"
     "That was how we'd make love. We'd dance
for hours, and we'd play role playing games.
S&M. Until we were so hot and tired we just
collapsed in bed together. Most of the stuff
I do on stage for the Kindling Klub I did
with her first."
     "So what happened? Why did you stop
seeing each other."
     Linda shook her head and took my hand.
She didn't answer for about a minute. "I
loved her, but loving her was not enough. She
couldn't satisfy me, and she refused to share
me with anyone. I tried my best to be
faithful, but I couldn't be faithful in my
fantasies, and she always knew exactly how I
was feeling. And when I finally . cheated,
she knew that, too."
     I squeezed her hand gently. "I'm sorry,
I shouldn't be asking questions like that."
     Linda smiled. "Let's talk about
something more fun."
     "Like what?"
     "Like why did you get a job in a strip
club? You already know why I work there."
     I nodded. "Because you are one fantastic
fucking machine."
     Linda gave me a gentle shove that almost
lifted me off my feet. "Shut up!"
     "I meant it as a compliment. You are
also wetter than a watermelon. But I don't
understand why you invite men on stage with
you. Some people say that it makes you
dirty."
     Linda raised her nose in the air. "I'll
have you know I wash myself completely after
every performance. All my customers get
fresh, grade A pussy."
     I smiled. "But what about getting
pregnant?"
     "Only one man can do that to me, and he
won't, so there's nothing to worry about,"
Linda said mysteriously, and then she patted
my crotch. "Besides, I can't get pregnant if
a man won't even take it out of his pants."
     "But I told you, I have a disease.
Aren't you worried about diseases?"
     Linda shook her head confidently.
"Nothing to worry about. I can't catch
diseases. Doctor said so."
     **Alright, Linda, you might as well just
come out and say that you're Supergirl if
you'll make comments like that.**
     She stopped me, looked me in the eyes,
and whispered her confession, "You know, you
really don't need to worry about me.  You see
. . . I want to tell you . . ."
     "Tell me what?" I asked.
     She changed her mind and smiled
suddenly. "I'm getting wet again. Wanna see?"
She lifted the jacket a few inches, allowing
me a quick peek. Then she kissed me quickly
on the lips, and we continued walking.
     When we arrived at the Riverside Park, a
clock on a nearby church chimed three times.
We sat down on a bench and relaxed for a
while.
     I looked up into the night sky, above
the lights of Metropolis, and the sky was
velvet black. I looked for the moon, to see
it reflecting back the sunlight even at
nighttime. But the moon was gone.
     Then Linda yawned and rested her head on
my shoulder. "That's where the panther
escaped from," she said, indicating the zoo a
short walk from the park.
     I nodded. "Is that why you wanted to
walk here? To see where the panther came
from?"
     She shrugged. " I guess I just wanted to
understand what happened to Pam, what she
went through, but this doesn't help. I mean,
the panther didn't even do it. I guess I'll
never really know."
     "I guess not. You can never really
understand what anyone goes through unless
you walk in their shoes."
     "That sounds like something O'Neil
always says," Linda said, suddenly standing
up. "Common, lets go."
     "Go? Go where? What does O'Neil always
say."
     "He says that you have to go to the
crime scene to understand the crime. You have
to walk in their footsteps, and see what they
saw."
     I stopped dead in my tracks. "I don't
know about this Linda. This sounds . . .
dangerous. And you aren't exactly dressed . .
. at all."
     Linda ducked under my arm and urged me
forward with a smile and a yawn. "Well,
you'll be there to protect me if we run into
trouble, right?"
     "But it's four miles away," I whined.
     "Please!" she whined back. And off we
went.
     When we had walked only two miles, Linda
could barely keep her eyes open. And her
fragile happiness was beginning to show
cracks.
     "Are you sure you want to do this
tonight? Maybe I should just take you home so
you can get some sleep."
     Linda shook her head, smiling weakly.
The playfulness in her walk was gone now.
"No, I'm sorry. Let's keep talking a while.
We're almost there, anyway."
     "Why are you so curious about how Pam
died?"
     "I just am. It just doesn't seem real to
me, that she's gone. It's hard to face it.
And maybe I can learn something that will
help catch this bastard!" she said with a
sudden venom that stung me.
     But as the minutes passed, the weight of
her sorrow and exhaustion was too heavy,
crushing out her anger and sapping her
strength. She held on to my arm for both
emotional and physical support.
     We turned a corner and stopped in our
tracks at the end of an alley. The alley
where Pam died. The alley where I had taken
the life of her friend.
     "Oh . . ." Linda cried, shivering,
afraid to go on.
     I consoled her, telling her everything
was OK.
     She summoned an ounce of strength, maybe
feeding off the few rays of starlight. "I'm
sorry, I'm OK. I'm just . . . really tired.
Come on."
     I followed her down the alley, into the
shadows -- away from the artificial lights of
Metropolis and into the true darkness of
night. I followed her into a place that was
all too familiar. A place where last night I
met a woman about Linda's height, and as full
of life and passion and pain, and who
coincidentally wore the same perfume. Calyx,
I think.  Linda and I saw the traces of a
chalk outline on the broken pavement, and
sensed the fetor of rotting blood.
     Linda's eyes were wide with horror, as
the reality of Pam's death hit her all at
once. She literally flew about thirty feet
down the alley before crashing into a
trashcan and landing on her ass at the bottom
steps of a fire escape.
     When she looked up, I was standing above
her, just a dark silhouette.
     "I'm sorry Jim, I didn't think it would
hurt this bad," Linda cried. "Pam couldn't
forgive me. . . And now she never will."
     Linda was sprawled out. Her jacket was
laying open, exposing her body to the night.
Her purse was hanging upside down from the
fire escape railing, with her red cape
falling out to the ground. And just under her
lip was a tiny cut. A drop of blood, rolling
down her chin . . .
     "Why are you looking at me like that?"
she asked, but part of her knew.  She could
see it in my eyes. She could feel the
emptiness, hypnotizing her, erasing her pain,
comforting her, just like hundreds of women
before her. It was a vampire's power. It was
our gift.
     But she could also see something human,
something that she brought out in me. She
could see my desire for her, not just for her
blood and her life but for who she was.
     "Take me far away from here," Linda
pleaded, as she inched her ass up the steps
of the fire escape, her pussy blooming in my
face, glistening under the streetlights. I
climbed up the steps after her, until she
laid still at the first landing, her legs
hanging over the edge. "Please take away all
this pain."
     I kneeled between her legs. She buried
her fingers in my hair, as I spread her pussy
and slid my tongue deep inside her. "Oh!" she
cried out, and her chest thrust forward, when
my growing teeth glanced against her clit. I
squeezed her ass with both hands, my claws
digging into her skin, breaking the barrier.
Linda's powers were all but gone, now. I
could almost taste her blood through the
fragile skin of her pussy, as fragile as a
rose petal.
     But Linda pulled on my hair, urging me
up her body, until we were face to face. The
cut on her lip was now streaking blood down
her cheek.
     "Please don't stop this time," Linda
begged, as she undid the button on my jeans,
and she kissed me full on the mouth.
     My whole body convulsed when I tasted
the blood on her lips and tongue. It burned
like fire, yet it soothed a pain I didn't
even know I had. I knew I couldn't stop this
time. I needed her too bad. I needed to
possess her.
     I kissed her hard on the lips, searching
her mouth with my tongue, while Linda
searched my jeans with her hand, until she
freed my dick.
     I plunged inside her, crashing with her
cervix. She would have cried out if I hadn't
stolen her breath. I thrust again, but she
was ready this time, and when I came in
again, her hips rose to meet me.
     We tried to kiss, but our lips kept
missing, and we needed to breathe, so we
continued the dance cheek to cheek.
     Then our bodies locked together for just
a moment. The vast distance between us . . .
between a woman who loves, a child of the sun
. . . and a man . . . no, less than a man,
who was born of darkness, and who thought he
could not experience love. That distance was
bridged.
     Linda threw her head back as I came hard
inside her, filling her with my emptiness,
exploding all her pain into oblivion. . .
      . . . while I attacked her throat like
a wild animal tearing down it's prey. Her
blood flooded my mouth, stinging like a tonic
and sending wave after wave of pleasure to my
brain. I closed my eyes and for a moment that
lasted somewhere between a second and an
hour,  I felt like I was in paradise.

     I thought I heard a crack of thunder. I
thought I saw a flash of light. But I must
have imagined it. There wasn't a cloud in the
sky.
     And then I was back on Earth, standing
over Linda's body on a web of steel wires and
bars.
     I tasted her bitter sweet life on my
tongue. I caught one last glimpse of her eyes
before they closed.  I could hear her heart
pumping furiously, yet there was so little
blood left in her to pump. And then it just
stopped. Was her soul was already gone,
swallowed up in the night? Where was she now?
In Heaven?
     I choked on her blood and cried out
loud.  I reached down to the ground and
grabbed her cape. I covered her face. Yes,
she must be in Heaven, or else I could never
forgive myself.
     Hell could not keep her. She would be
like a flower growing on barren soil, just as
she gave love to my barren soul. But if Hell
has claimed her, then I must rush to her
side.  Oh, my love, I would follow you
anywhere!
     I felt a slight burning on my skin, and
I looked up into the sky. There was a halo
over the horizon. Dawn was about to break. I
would not hide in the shadows this time, or
behind walls. I would face the light.
     And I will see you again soon, my dear
Linda . . .


The End 
