("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2005. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- A Cold Night in London by Otto Erotic (address withheld) *** A young woman thinks she's being followed by a stranger. (MF, rp, intr, v, drugs, sn) *** Indira Fawkes had had a hard life. The only thing she knew about her parents was that one had been white and the other had been of Indian decent. She had been found in a dustbin a few hours after she was born on November 5, Guy Fawkes Day. Through someone's idea of sick irony, she was given the surname Fawkes. When she arrived at an orphanage in Manchester, she was given a traditional Indian name, Indira. At the orphanage in Manchester, Indira grew into an attractive young woman, but after several years, she couldn't deal with the strict rules of the orphanage any longer. Shortly after her fifteenth birthday, Indira ran away to London. In a matter of days, the pretty young girl found herself homeless and starving on the streets of London Soon, Indira started giving handjobs. One of her clients soon convinced her to please him orally. For several months, Indira scraped out an existence by swallowing the semen of strangers in London alleys. Then, on one fateful night, one of her clients overpowered her, forced her to his squalid loft and raped her. Before she came to London, Indira had been a virgin, but her trick's violation was just the beginning. After he had pulled out and sprayed his hot seed across her stomach, he injected her with heroin. From that moment on, Indira was enslaved. Like so many women walking city streets around the world, Indira sold her body to men so she could buy more heroin. For the better part of four years, Indira's life was nothing but sex and drugs. Then, one night everything changed. Indira had been riding on the Underground for three days. She was still thinking about last Friday night. She had gone to see her dealer and arrived just in time to see him stabbed to death by a group of irate Welshmen. While her dealer was dying, Indira gathered up the money and supplies he had dropped and fled to his apartment. She spent the night shooting up over and over again. After that night, she had sworn never to do heroine again. Indira looked in the window of the train and saw her own reflection. She had been beautiful when she left Manchester, but now after four years of drugs and whoring herself to strangers, she looked like a shell of what she once was... and she knew, deep down, that this would never change. She hadn't done heroin in several days, but there had been very little withdrawal. Part of her wondered why, another part knew. As she was riding on the Victoria Line, she looked around the train car. It was well after midnight and the car only had one other passenger. At the other end of the car, Indira saw a pale man in a long brown coat. He had long stringy hair, which hung down over his eyes. Despite this, Indira could see that the man was staring directly at her. His icy gaze never wavered. Indira got up and changed her seat just to see if his eyes stayed on her. They did. When they reached Brixton, Indira got off the train and headed for the stairs. She looked back, expecting the see the man following her, but he wasn't. As she headed for the street, she wondered why he hadn't gotten off. Brixton was the last stop on the line, after all. She reached the street and headed east toward the apartment of her dead dealer. She knew it would be at least a week before the landlord or any of his old customers came looking for him. She had holed up in the apartment, searching for money or anything she could sell. She had found £50,000 in cash and drugs which she intended to fund her escape from London. She was hoping to try to get to France or Germany by the end of the week. As she walked, a creeping sensation fell over Indira... as though she was being followed. She looked back and saw a shadowy figure standing across the street and about two blocks back. For a moment, she thought it was the man from the train, but she soon realized that it couldn't have been. She walked another block and then looked again. The figure was gone. Indira quickened her pace slightly and finally reached the apartment building she was squatting in. She hurried up the stairs and toward the last apartment on the right. Just as she started to turn the knob, two ice-cold hands wrapped themselves around her. One clamped across her mouth and the other reached across her torso, pinning her arms to her body. In a series of movements that happened faster than thought, the door was opened and Indira was thrown inside onto the blood and semen-stained mattress which lay in the center of the main room. She turned and saw the pale man from the train looming over her. "Hello, pretty." he hissed, a faint Irish accent in his voice. "Who are you?" Indira managed to ask. He moved quickly toward her and grasped her around the neck, silencing her. "Don't worry about that... you'll know everything soon enough." He pushed her down onto the mattress and flipped her over. Indira knew what was coming... it had happened to her hundreds of times. The man gripped the waist of Indira's torn jeans and ripped them from her body in one powerful movement. In a matter of moments, he had torn every stitch of clothing from Indira's smooth brown flesh. "Very nice." the man hissed. He spread Indira's thighs apart and opened the front of his pants. Indira gripped the corner of the mattress, bracing herself. While she had had hundreds of men inside her, the rapists were always the most brutal and this man was no exception. He thrust his rod into her without further warning. For Indira, the was no pain, but also no pleasure. She stayed as still as she could as the man pumped his powerful member inside her. After several minutes of rough humping, Indira could tell that the man was getting close. Like hundreds before him, the man emptied his loins into Indira's womb. She was surprised when his seed felt cold inside her. While he was still inside her, the man pulled Indira up off the mattress and licked her neck. Before she could respond, he drove two gleaming fangs into her jugular vein and began sucking forcefully on her neck. The man swallowed her blood and immediately knew that something was wrong. He pulled away from her neck and jumped away from her, his cold, vampiric member sliding out of Indira's pussy. Pain was shooting through his body, unlike anything he had experienced since he'd been turned. He grabbed his chest. "What's happening to me?" Indira turned toward him, covering the puncture wounds on her neck. "You haven't been a vampire for long, have you?" The vampire's vision was staring to blur as the pain grew worse. Indira slowly rose to her feet, the vampire's cold seed oozing out of her brown vagina. "Didn't anyone ever tell you never to drink from the undead?" "What?!" he shrieked, panic filling his voice. "Zombie blood is fatal to vampires." The vampire fell back onto the floor and died a very quick and excruciatingly painful death. Indira looked at the dead vampire lying on the floor near a pile of used syringes and ampoules. "Amazing..." Indira mused, "he died in the same place I did." She knelt down and took the long brown coat from the vampire. After a quick search of the pockets, she found nearly £1,000 and most importantly, a ticket for the Chunnel for the next morning. The time had finally come, Indira had a chance to get out of England. THE END ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 35