STORY 3: Kissed by Midnight Part 1

Pleasure starts small—a whisper beneath the skin, a low pulse. It’s the warmth that spreads when someone’s gaze lingers too long, or the ache that grows when a voice dips into something soft, dangerous, promising.

STORY 3: Kissed by Midnight Part 1

Lydia had always kept to herself, tucked away in the shadows of her old Victorian manor. The place was her world—a massive library filled with books that whispered secrets from long ago. At two hundred and fifty years old, she was a vampire who hated the spotlight. Her skin was pale as moonlight, her eyes a deep red hidden behind big, round glasses. She wore long skirts and buttoned-up blouses, anything to avoid drawing eyes. Shy? Yeah, that was her. The thought of talking to strangers made her stomach twist, and the hunger for blood? She pushed that down deep, sipping from stored bags in the fridge.

Rain hammered the windows that Tuesday night. Lydia sat at her desk, sorting through a box of new books. One caught her eye: Spirits of the Wild: Bindings and Releases. The cover was cracked leather, smelling like dirt and old forests. She flipped it open, her fingers brushing over faded words in some ancient tongue.

"Just a peek," she told herself. Curiosity burned in her chest. She read the spell aloud, soft and quick, like testing a locked door.

The air changed. It got heavy, like before a storm. Candles on the shelves flickered wild, shadows dancing on the walls. A rumble started low, from the book itself. Lydia's hands shook as she slammed it shut.

"What did I do?"

But it was too late. The floor cracked open with a bang, mist pouring out like smoke from a fire. It smelled sharp—pine trees, wet earth, and something metallic, like blood.

From the rip stepped someone as tall as a giant. That's how huge he was, over seven feet tall, built like a wall of muscle and fur. His skin was tanned and rough, patches of dark hair sprouting on his chest and arms. Amber eyes glowed in the dim light, fangs peeking from his lips. Long, wild black hair fell to his shoulders. And he was bare—nothing on, his cock swinging thick and heavy between his legs, even soft it looked massive, veins running along it.

Who could this be? Don't tell me....

The name hit her mind like a slap: Ragnar. Centuries old, a werewolf spirit trapped by witch hunters back in the 1700s. He'd been raging in that void, chained to the pages. Now free, he stretched his arms, his claws glinting. He sniffed the air. His nose twitched.

"Vampire," he growled with a voice as rough as gravel. "You reek of fear and something sweet, untouched. You the one who pulled me out?"

Lydia stumbled back, knocking over a stack of books. They crashed around her feet. Her glasses slipped down her nose. Her heart pounded even though it shouldn't.

"I... I didn't mean it! It was just words from the book. Please, don't kill me." Her eyes flicked down, to his cock. It jerked a little under her stare, and heat rushed to her face. Vampires like her weren't supposed to feel this—a pull, like a magnet yanking her closer to this beast.

Ragnar threw his head back and laughed, the sound booming off the walls. It made her shiver. He took a step forward, his bare feet quiet on the thick rug. "Kill you? Nah, little fang-girl. You busted me out of that hellhole. For that, I'll watch your back. Any hunter, any bloodsucker rival who comes sniffing—I'll tear 'em to shreds." His eyes roamed her body, slow and hungry. They stopped on her chest, where her blouse strained over her full breasts, then lower, to her hips under the skirt.

"You have my word. But I need something back. Freedom ain't free. What I need isn't something you can't give me. Soul binding... Your soul keeps me solid here; mine guards you from the dark shit."

Soul binding? Lydia's brain spun. She'd read about it—deep stuff, where two essences mix until you can't tell them apart. It was very intimate, scary. "What does that... mean exactly?" Her voice came out small, but her body lied. Her nipples poked hard against her shirt, and a warm wetness grew between her legs, soaking her panties.

Ragnar's mouth twisted into a grin, showing those sharp fangs. "Means I get inside you, all the way. Magic kicks it off, then we make it real."

He reached out, one clawed finger under her chin, tilting her face up. The touch zapped her like electricity, his wild heat soaking into her cold skin. She gasped, her legs wobbling. Flashes hit her: him throwing her down in a moonlit woods, his thick cock shoving into her, her screams mixing with his howls. Want hit her hard, like fire in her blood.

She tried to pull away, but her hands grabbed his arm instead. "Wait—this is crazy. I'm not... I don't do this."

What if the binding trapped her? What if it changed her forever? Outside, thunder cracked, and she swore she heard footsteps in the hall—maybe nothing, but her paranoia spiked. The manor was old, full of creaks, but after summoning a spirit? Anything could be real.

Ragnar's eyes narrowed, sensing her doubt. "Crazy? You've been alone too long, vampire. I've watched you all this while, I see you hiding in books while the world hunts your kind. Accept the bind, or I fade back. But deep down,"

His claw traced her neck, light enough not to cut, but it made her pulse jump. "you want this. I smell it on you."

More images flooded: his tongue on her clit, fangs in her thigh while he fucked her raw.

Lydia bit her lip, tasting her own blood. The shyness screamed no, but the ache in her pussy screamed yes. "Okay, I agree. Just because I don't want to be hunted again. I want to walk around freely, go wherever I want to."' she whispered. " Bind us. But... be gentle?"

He chuckled dark. "Gentle? We'll see." His big hand pressed flat on her chest, right over where her heart used to beat. "Say it clear: I accept."

"I..." she looked into his mysterious blue eyes, trying to find anything there that might dissuade her but there was none. All the more reason she should accept. The witches and hunters have always been a pain in the ass for so long, she was tired of being afraid when she goes out. Tired of those damn crafty witches and stupid hunters. Vampires were supposed to be the predator, not the prey. Looking deeply into his eyes with determination this time, she said. "I accept."

The words barely left her mouth before magic exploded. Light burst from his palm, wrapping them in glowing threads like ropes. Lydia screamed as his power rushed in—fierce, animal wildness crashing into her calm. She felt his anger from the hunters and witches, his endless nights alone, and under it, a deep, burning lust. Her body bowed back, pussy clenching empty, juices dripping down her thighs. Ragnar groaned loud, his cock swelling hard, standing up straight. His nine inches of thick meat, curved up, its tip leaking clear fluid.

"Shit, you're squeezing my soul already. Feel my wolf? He wants to bury in your wet hole." The bind snapped shut, their souls locking as one. Lydia collapsed against him, breathing hard, her small hands on his rock-hard abs. She could taste his musk in her mouth, feel his cock throb like it was her own.

Pain stabbed through her head. All his memories hit her at once and they were overwhelming. She saw the witch hunters chaining him, their chants burning his fur. "Stop! It's too much!" She pushed at his chest, tears in her eyes. But the bond pulled her back, pleasure mixing with the hurt. Her clit pulsed, needy.

Ragnar held her tight. "Breathe, pet. It hurts first, then it feels good. Like my cock stretching you." He scooped her up easy, like she was a doll, and carried her to the big oak reading table. Books flew off as he laid her down, her skirt flipping up to show her soaked lace panties.

"What now?" she panted, but her hands yanked at her blouse buttons, popping them open. Her tits spilled out—full and round, pink nipples stiff in the cool air.

"Now we seal it right. I mark you deep." His claws sliced her blouse to rags, then hooked her skirt, tearing it off. She lay there in just panties and glasses, legs spread wide. He growled low, mouth latching on one nipple, sucking hard. Fangs scraped, drawing a thin red line across the pale skin. Blood beaded, and he licked it up, moaning.

Lydia's back arched off the table. "Ragnar! Your teeth—fuck, it stings so good!"

The bond turned every lick into fire straight to her core. She ground her hips up, panties rubbing her swollen clit. Outside, the rain pounded harder, wind rattling windows like angry fists. Was that a howl? Or just her imagination?

He switched tits, biting the other nipple while his hand shoved between her legs. Fingers ripped the lace away, exposing her smooth pussy—lips puffy, slick with want. "Look at this juicy slit. Begging for wolf cock already." Two thick fingers pushed in, stretching her tight walls. She was so wet they slid deep, no resistance.

"Oh god, yes! Finger-fuck me!" Lydia grabbed his hair, pulling him closer. He pumped hard, knuckles bumping her clit, curling inside to rub that spongy spot. Juices squelched loud, dripping onto the wood. The drama built—her mind flashed to her lonely nights, how no one ever touched her like this. "Why does it feel so... wrong and right?"

"Cause the bind's mixing us. Your shyness fights my beast, but it makes the cum hit harder." He added a third finger, twisting them, opening her up. His thumb mashed her clit, rough circles. Lydia bucked wild, tits jiggling. "I'm gonna—fuck, Ragnar, make me squirt!"

She exploded, pussy clamping down, clear fluid spraying his hand and wrist. "Cumming! Soaking your fingers!" Waves crashed through her, the bond sending his growl echoing in her skull.

He pulled out, sucking his fingers clean with a pop. "Taste like honey and blood. Sweet as fuck."

Then he grabbed her hair, guiding her off the table to her knees. His cock bobbed in her face, huge and veined, balls drawn tight. "Suck it, vampire. Thank me for the protection with that mouth."

Lydia's cheeks burned hot—shyness flaring. "I... I've never..."

But the bond urged her, his lust filling her thoughts. She gripped the base, hand barely around, and licked the tip, tasting salty precum.

"Mmm, it's so thick." She opened wide, taking the head in, tongue swirling the ridge.

Ragnar thrust slow, hand in her hair. "Deeper, pet. Choke on your spirit's dick."

She relaxed her jaw, sliding down half his length, throat working. Drool ran down her chin, mixing with tears from the stretch. Her free hand cupped his balls, rolling them gentle. The bond let her feel his pleasure—like hot pulses in her pussy.

"Good girl. Suck harder—milk me." He fucked her mouth steady, tip hitting the back of her throat. Lydia gagged but kept going, humming around him. Her other hand slipped between her legs, fingers plunging into her soaked hole, matching his rhythm.

Something spiked when a crash echoed from the front door. The wind? Or something worse? Lydia froze, cock still in her mouth, eyes wide. Ragnar sniffed the air. "Hunters. Old enemies, smelling my freedom." His eyes flashed dangerous. "Stay here. I'll handle 'em."