Hey all -- This *was* going to be my submission to the Literotica Halloween contest, but it wound up being too lengthy for one story and anyway, I wasn't totally sure if vampires would qualify for a Halloween contest. The *upside* though is that I have a few chapters written already, so those can drop in quick succession.
The character here is an attorney, but I'm not and so of course there's no legal advice here either. I never thought I'd do a vampire story, but there's all kind of cuckold humiliation in here too, so knock yourselves out. Everyone is old than 18 years old and even though it's fantasy...let's hope it's filthy fucking hot fantasy.
***
Some days Clay still had to pinch himself when he woke up to prove it was all real.
He'd survived law school. He'd locked in a job afterward, something paying north of $140,000 up in the Manacle Mountains above Galena City. He'd married Oralia the day after his last law school final. And they'd found a house -- a gorgeous, Victorian thing -- on the shores of Lake Hecate, just on the outskirts of the town of the same name. Clay worked in town, came home at night, and, even before mid-September, he and Oralia had a whole honest-to-god life set up for themselves, the kind of thing he'd told himself he was working for while in the depths of law school, but still never really believed.
It got better though.
Two weeks ago, in mid-September, he'd found out he'd actually passed the bar. He was a lawyer, licensed to practice, an actual, real-life attorney at law. Clay Agapagos, esquire, he thought. It shouldn't have happened, but it did.
"I didn't doubt you for a second," Andrei had told him, and Clay thought maybe this was true. The guy *had* hired him at his tiny law firm, Evanescu & Associates, in Lake Hecate, even before Clay had passed the bar. And he had never seemed worried that Clay would fail the bar, and thus not be able to work for the firm.
Still, though, Clay had been surprised. He'd had a whole fantasy rehearsed in his head in which he failed the bar, Andrei fired him, he and Oralia had to sell the house in Lake Hecate and...
None of it mattered now, he thought, coming awake into the warm, orange place between sleep and wakefulness. It hadn't happened. He and Oralia had won the game. This really was their life now. And it was time they got around to enjoying it.
He took lazy stock of the bedroom as he eased into consciousness: the room was chilly -- they'd left the window open to the early-October evening the night before -- and it smelled like the pines that shielded their ancient house from the road leading to Lake Hecate. The bed -- an enormous thing that had come with the house -- was warm though, and Oralia was curled up next to him, chest still rising and falling in peaceful subconsciousness. He put a hand on her hip beneath the covers; she'd gone to bed wearing those fucking shorts again that looked absolutely perfect on her tight, runner's ass.
Truly drove him crazy. The memory of them could probably keep him alive for another century or two.
He brushed a lock of her golden hair from her shoulder and kissed her there, just above the dolphin tattoo beneath her shoulder blade. He relished the feel of her smooth skin beneath his lips. Then he got up and headed for the bathroom attached to the bedroom.
He loved the feel of their new bedroom in the mornings. He loved the play of the golden sunshine on the blond wood of the room and all the furniture here, the way the autumn-yellow aspen leaves just outside the window cast everything in shades of amber. He shivered on his way to the bathroom door -- the hardwood here didn't do much to tamp down the autumn chill -- but he didn't mind that either. He liked these crisp mornings, when it seemed as if you could reach out and snap the very air in front of you apart, and anyway, it made cuddling up with Oralia that much better.
On his way back from the bathroom he watched Oralia stir in bed, roll over to face him as he slipped back beneath the covers and into the warm space next to her.
She kissed him, close-lipped, on the lips.
"Good morning, babe," she whispered as he settled in next to her. "What time is it?"
"Just after seven," he said, and kissed her back, put a hand on her shoulder again, beneath her hair.
"Mmmm," she said, and yawned. "You got to get ready for work?"
Clay shrugged. "Andrei takes it pretty easy on Monday mornings. He told me I don't have to be in until 8:30 today."
Oralia blinked sleep from her eyes, cocked her head in that extremely cute way of hers. "Oh. Is that...like...most Mondays?"
Clay shrugged again. "I don't know. I think so. He's always there whenever I get in though; doesn't seem to matter how early I'm in. I feel bad, but he was kind of adamant about me coming in later this morning, so I can live with it."
"Mmmm, yeah?" Oralia asked, as she ran a hand across his bare chest and kissed him again, longer, slower. "Well. Gives you some time with me, doesn't it?"
Her hand traveled further down, across his stomach, and down further, into the waistband of his boxers. He felt it warm and inviting against his dick and balls then, and shivered a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill of the autumn morning.
She locked her lips with his, then rolled on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, her hand behind her still on his cock. He put his hands on her hips, ran them up and down her tight abdomen and over her thighs, still collegiate-sport strong.
Her tongue explored his mouth, his teeth, his tongue, and then she pulled away and kissed him on the lips, then his cheek and down into the hollow of his collarbone, whispering against his jawline in a way she knew he loved.
Clay closed his eyes and let himself enjoy it, felt the fireworks it sent across the surface of his mind and all the little fires it set across his nerve endings. She had her hair in his face and he loved that; he'd always thought there was something hot about her hair in his face, the smell of shampoo and sweat and skin mixed together.
For all that, though, today wasn't any different: his penis remained soft in her hand, even as she tried to stroke it behind and beneath her.
She kissed him on the jaw again, then sat back on his hips and took her hand away from his soft penis, and forced a closed-lipped smile.
"I'm sorry, Oralia," Clay said, eyes fastened on a knot in the wood of a floorboard near the bed. He could never look at her when this happened. "It's not...it's got nothing to do with --"
"Shhh," she said, and put a finger to his lips, then rolled off of him, and put her head on his chest. "I know. It's OK."
It wasn't OK though, and Clay knew it. It hadn't been OK since they'd come to Lake Hecate. They'd been old-fashioned -- or, rather, Oralia had been old-fashioned -- and really hadn't wanted to have sex much before they were actually married. They hadn't lived together when he was in law school in Galena City either. He'd been in long-term sexual relationships before, but she hadn't not really. Or not a loving one, at least.
They'd had a few solid weeks of really good sex right after their marriage, fucking on every day of the week that ended in a y, and just about any time in between. That had ended when they'd moved to Lake Hecate, and Clay's soft dick was directly responsible for all of it, he knew.
At first he'd thought it had been stress. They'd moved here in early August, right after he'd taken the bar, but before he knew how he'd done. Their whole life hinged on whether he'd passed, and now enough time had passed for him to admit he hadn't dealt with the pressure of that well. He'd torn through whiskey at a rate he wasn't proud of in those first few weeks here. Starting a new job -- even for someone as laid back as Andrei Evanescu -- hadn't helped either.
So much of that stress had melted away though. He'd passed the bar. The job had worked out fine. The house was a fucking dream. He hadn't had a drink in weeks.
So why couldn't he get hard? He'd always found Oralia incredibly hot; waiting for marriage with her had been torturous, nothing short of a mythical act of fortitude, he thought. Shouldn't they be fucking like rabbits now that they were actually married and everything had worked out?
It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense at all.
He scowled, fixed his eyes on the bedroom ceiling with the shadow of the aspen branches swayed in a slight morning breeze. Oralia still had her eyes closed, head on his chest, hair splayed out across his torso.
He forced himself to breathe deep and relax.
She had, after all, told him it was fine.
***
It wasn't fine, Oralia thought. It wasn't fine at all. Something was very wrong.
She made her way back from the kitchen, hot mug of coffee in hand, to her office in a small side room off the old Victorian's living room. Once upon a time, the realtor had told them when they looked at the house, this had been a drawing room, which, as far as Oralia could tell, was just a fancy word for a parlor. Even though the house also apparently had a parlor too.
Regardless, she'd turned it into her office: three massive monitors and keyboards and mice; a fancy gaming chair Clay had bought her with his first paycheck from Andrei, and a few of her favorite paintings on the walls -- dark, Dutch Masters things.
No more would Oralia Agapagos (it still felt strange, in all the best ways, to use Clay's last name with hers) have to run her graphic design business out of extra space in a laundry room, feet against a running dryer in the winter months to keep her toes warm. Nope. This was the real deal.
And still, something was wrong.
She set the coffee down on the desk next to one of the monitors and sighed, watched the golden aspen leaves dance in the breeze outside her window. The office (or, perhaps, "drawing room") door gave onto a balcony overlooking the dark waters of Lake Hecate down the mountainside far below. On better mornings, she might have sipped her coffee on one of the chairs out there, looked at all that black, unmoving water and geared herself up for whatever she had on the docket for the day.
This wasn't one of the better mornings though. Something really was wrong.
Again she thought back to the look on Clay's face when he gave up, realized he wasn't going to be able to get hard for her. And again she did her best to not feel as if she'd been stabbed in the gut, but it was an uphill battle.
Everything had been fine in that department before they'd moved here. For the first time in her life, Oralia enjoyed sex. It felt good, it felt intimate, it just felt *right,* which -- at 31 years old -- was something she'd given up on. It just wasn't for her for whatever reason.
Or at least, that had seemed like it was in the past for the first few weeks after the wedding.
Now she almost wished those first few weeks -- their little stay-cation honeymoon -- hadn't happened at all. It all just seemed like a cruel, mocking memory at this point: Oralia gets three weeks of actual good sex with the man she loves only to find herself navigating a lifetime of impotence and dealing with his emotional fallout from his perceived failings.
And they had tried things. The doctors told Clay there was nothing wrong with him physically. They'd tried a few pills and medication and sometimes it helped, but sometimes it didn't. She knew Clay had been stressed -- especially before he found out if he'd passed the bar -- but it didn't make sense anymore.
She closed her eyes and pressed the warm coffee mug to her cheek for some sort of comfort.
He still loved her, she knew. He still thought she was beautiful. He'd *said* that.
He'd *told* her that. And he wouldn't lie to her.
But sometimes she had to wonder.
