Mankillers: Serena part 1 of 3
By Martin Kane mksequela@yahoo.co.uk
A story about lesbian vampires


Author's Note:

These tales were originally written for the mankiller.blogspot website hosted
by Dusty Bottums and are based on the characters featured there (themselves
often based on a variety of Superheroine sources.) Though the site is sadly no
longer up, Dusty's work can still be found in his own Diana the Valkyrie
library shelf, and his artworks (including those featuring Serena, Scarlett,
Titaness and Baroness) at the deviantart.com website.

Please also note that this story contains graphic material, including scenes
of violence which may not appeal to all.

************************************************************************

Making Friends Part 1

The story I'm about to tell you is called "Making Friends". Considering that
it's about Serena, who is, as I'm sure you're already aware, a vampire, you
can probably guess the meaning of that title without needing any more
information than that. So I'll save time by confirming for you straight away
that this story does indeed concern itself with those friends a vampire quite
literally makes. It is perhaps a little misleading to call it a story about
Serena however, seeing as the main protagonist is in fact not Serena but one
of her 'made' friends in particular. However, not wanting to disappoint, I'll
begin with a scene featuring our eponymous anti-heroine.

One more thing I just want to mention, for the record: she was my friend long
before Serena ever even met her. Though myself, I never knew her in the sense
that Serena did - the biblical sense as they say. But we'll get to that.

* * *

The bar was called "The Watering Hole", for reasons I probably don't need to
go into. The mistake they made was to send a man to stake it out and not a
woman. Surely a moment's thought would suggest a woman would be a far better
choice. A woman could have actually gone into the bar. She could have found a
quiet corner from which to observe while she sat sipping a drink, quiet and
unnoticed.

Maybe it was deliberate. It may have been their intention to send someone so
obvious and conspicuous. Perhaps it was in fact a carefully considered double
bluff. If that was the case then it was a bluff she called them on.

But whatever their reasons may have been, it was a man they sent. If you could
call him that. Barely more than a boy in truth, certainly no more than twenty.
Wet behind the ears and wholly unprepared for what awaited him.

He was sat in a car, opposite the brightly lit stairway that led down into the
jovial basement bar. Parked in shadow, he was doubtless confident that his
presence had gone unnoticed and that he was able to safely scrutinize the
various comings and goings of the women in the bar.

The first thing he knew about Serena was when a fist smashed through the side
window, showering one side of his face in pebbles of broken glass. A shiny
black glove grabbed him about the throat. It felt like a steel claw was within
it, her hand closing so tight that he could not breathe.

Gasping in shock and panic, he dug his fingers into the iron grip, trying to
ease the vice-like pressure at his neck. He could make no purchase however,
the hand that held him was as cruel and hard as a machine.

Then he was jerked through the window. First his face was smacked into the
remainder of the glass. Shattered fragments sprayed outwards in safe squares
but the impact itself was close to lethal, such was the savagery with which he
connected.

With a vicious yank he was heaved right out of the car, his whole body dragged
roughly through the window. He fell clear once his legs were pulled free; she
still held him aloft, the sudden weight of his body against the hand clasped
at his throat sending painful shockwaves down his spine. His toes barely
skimmed the ground, his weight being supported by her frightening strength
rather than by his own two legs. His face was bloody, nose crushed and eyes
streaming, and he could barely breathe through the harsh grip she had him by.

Glancing around, the assailant checked that there were no witnesses to this
minor fracas. She saw a shadowy alcove between two buildings and she half
carried, half drag, and completely manhandled him out of sight and into the
alleyway.

When she stopped, he caught his first proper view of his attacker, though the
light here was dim. The brightest light-source was the bar's sign across the
road.

Her silhouette was broad and fearsome. It was a woman certainly, that
hourglass figure, despite the blatant musculature, was unmistakably feminine.

The face was the epitome of figurine beauty, despite the cruel malevolence it
currently expressed. All presumption of classical appearance ended there.
Hair, a shoulder length mess of black and purple, a pretty punk princess.
Black PVC leggings clung to bulging legs, a purple bustier clung to her tight,
muscle-bound belly, her astonishingly large, round breasts busting out the top
of the shiny black cups. Gloves completed the outfit - long, shiny, black,
stretching right up the length of her equally well-muscled arms. She was, on
the whole, a gorgeous goth icon of solidly built, curvaceously muscled beauty.

None of this made an impression upon the man however, no matter how staggering
the sight. She was still holding him off the ground, his squirming form
dangling from her hand, trapped like an insect on a pin. He was so pained and
so scared by his predicament the he didn't even have time to wonder at the
tremendous strength this woman must possess to be able to carry him so, and
with such apparent ease. The arm holding him aloft was rigid with muscles -
the taut coils of sinewy brawn awesome to behold. But despite the rippling
tension, she appeared to be expending very little effort.

Serena smiled. Despite her remarkable beauty, the expression was a chilling
one, even with her fangs retracted. It was a smile of sadistic glee. It was a
smile that perhaps a cat would make if it ever cared to express its emotions.

"Do you want to live?" she asked. Her voice, though dark and sultry, was awash
with sadistic contempt. "If you make so much as a sound, I'll crush you like a
bug."

The threat was utterly redundant; her hand, still about his throat,
constricted his airways so completely that he couldn't have made a noise if he
wanted to.

Here she finally released her victim, tossing him contemptuously to the
ground. The man had enough time to gasp for a much needed breath, clutching at
his savaged throat, before she kicked him.

It was a full-bodied and superbly muscular kick - Serena swinging the
considerable weight of her immensely powerful leg to propel the man spinning
twenty feet further down the alley.

He landed hard and heavy. Though severely bruised and winded, the man
scrambled into action regardless, recognising this as potentially his only
chance to escape his captor. Pushing shakily to his feet he took off down the
alleyway, hoping blindly that there was a way through and out at the back of
it.

But she was already on him - already there behind him.

She moved so fast, he hadn't even seen her pounce. But as soon as he'd started
up and away, a claw-like grip had closed instantly on his shoulder, jerking
him backwards. She stopped him short and immediately struck again. A punch
like a bolt-gun slammed into his side, just below the ribs, and he went down
hard. There would be no getting up again this time.

Flared thighs bulged, muscles tight and massive, making the PVC jeans creak in
protest. She lowered herself gracefully, grasping hold of him again and she
manipulated him in between her legs. Positioning him so his waist was between
her thighs, she squeezed her muscles, trapping him, but stopping short of
doing him any further damage. For the moment, at least.

He was suspended there, looking up at his captor. The pain was extraordinary,
but that was because of the previous punch to his gut, which had ruptured his
insides, rather than the vice-like hold she currently pinned him with. For the
moment she hung back from closing the trap and crushing him, though it was
quite apparent that should she wish to, she could break him in half with the
tremendous muscles of her thighs.

"Do you want to die?" she asked him, her voice cold with sadistic cruelty.

"No!" he gasped, his voice a quivering sob of desperate fear and pain.

"Do you want me to close my thighs? Break you in half?"

"No. Please, God, no!"

"You're with them? You're staking out the bar? You're looking for vampires?"

"Yes!" he admitted, too traumatised to even think about lying or bluffing her.

"Why here? Why this bar?"

"I don't know. I'm just a junior, they don't tell me anything."

Serena squeezed. It was the barest twitch of her muscles, but enough to send
shockwaves up his spine, enough to make his already torn innards spasm with
pain.

"I don't know!" he insisted, his voice desperate. "They just said there's been
vampire activity here in the past and they want to keep an eye on it."

Serena reached down, took the frightened man's head in her hands. The cool
plastic gloves stroking against his trembling face. It was almost tender.
Until the cruel grip became savage, the incredible strength of those hands
becoming apparent as she tightened them about his head. One thumb moved
against his eye, forced between the lids and pressed down on the soft globe,
just stopping there - waiting there - the threat all too clear.

"That's all I know!" he pleaded desperately. "Please, I'll tell you anything."

"I won't just put your eye out," she told him, her voice icily cold now. The
cruel pleasure in it had completely evaporated, leaving only cold and
calculated fury. "I'll plunge my thumb into the socket down to the knuckle.
Then I'll pull it sideways, ripping your fucking skull apart."

He was sobbing with fear, gasping and pleading with her not to hurt him.

"What's special about this place? What do they want with this bar?" she
demanded, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I swear, I don't know. It's just routine, they stake out dozens of places
like this. It's a known haunt for vampires, that's all. That's all I know!"

The vampire regarded him, still and silent, for endless seconds.

Eventually she took her thumb off of his eyeball, though she continued to grip
his head.

When she spoke again her voice was softer - wistful, almost.

"I suppose that could be true," she allowed. "This bar has significance to me
and it's a place I frequent from time to time. I probably shouldn't visit the
same place so often, but we too are creatures of habit." Her voice then became
corrupted with bitterness as she added. "Just like you humans."

The hands still holding his head moved. One gloved palm found its way across
his mouth, covering it completely as if it was a breathing mask, though with
her grip so tight, not a drop of breath could squeeze through.

"I met a friend here once," the vampire told him, her voice full of sadness
and regret. "She was murdered. A stake driven through her heart."

He realised then that this was not a situation he would get through alive. And
he was right.

Serena closed her thighs and broke him in half.

It was a meticulously slow act as she eased her legs together.

Something squishy tore within him, a messy rupture, his hips and his lower
ribs snapped in sequence. Then, as her thighs closed together his spine was
crushed. The hand over his mouth remained fast, holding the scream inside him.

With spiteful excess she ground her thighs together. When she opened her legs
the bottom half of his body fell away, messily severed from the top.
Incredibly he was still alive, though in his death throes. His torso squirmed
in agony, still held aloft by her grip on his head. She lifted the mangled
victim up and plunged her fangs into his throat, taking a single draft of his
blood.

There can't have been much left inside him, so much had leaked out along with
his innards as she'd pulled him apart, but what was left she drew out,
stealing the last of his life.

As she pulled her blood slavered face away, reeling with exultant joy at the
crazed hit of the feed, she braced the man's head against his shoulder and
twisted, snapping his neck with a deeply resonant crunch. There was hardly any
need to break his neck, his death was already upon him, or mere moments away
at least. But it was true that she was indeed a creature of habit and this is
how she always liked to kill a man after feeding. And besides, there was
pleasure in the act itself.

* * *

Here I should point something out, as you may well be wondering how I can be
narrating this given that I wasn't present to witness what happened. The only
two who were there being Serena and her victim, and he won't be telling anyone
anything, unless it's via a medium.

Though there is by necessity a little speculation on my part, a touch of
creative licence as they say, and maybe the presumption of an occasional
artistic flourish too, the story is, on the whole, as true as I can possibly
make it. Events that I did not witness directly, such as the scene above, I
have attempted to recreate as accurately as I can, as per that which was
related to me.

Although I must admit to adopting writing techniques that are more familiar to
fiction than reportage. I do this because I am in effect trying to tell a
story and therefore I require the full colour palate from which to paint in
the details. I'm not a journalist and I have to use a writing style that I'm
comfortable with. I'm used to relating events to others in the form of a
story, whether they're childhood memories or last night's soap opera. It's
just the way I think and the way I talk. And it's the way I write.

And if I felt it necessary to justify myself, (which I don't,) there is
another consideration you should take on board. The above scene for example,
of events dictated as they were related to me directly by Serena. I can only
possibly be as reliable and accurate in my narration as was the original
source. Which is somewhat questionable in itself. I know Serena wouldn't lie,
as such, but to say it's possible that she may perhaps embroider the truth a
little, if only for her own amusement, would be to understate it. Thusly, how
accurate she is on any particular occasion depends largely on her level of
boredom, sobriety, the number of people she's talking to at the time and how
many of them she's trying to either impress and/or sleep with.

But all that said and done, all justifications and apologies laid out as far
as I'm going to bother, the story itself has begun. You may wonder how the
above scene relates to the story as a whole, but I promise you that it does
and all will become clear as the tale unfolds.

As beginnings go, this is good enough for a starting point and I promise you,
it is all relevant. My part in the whole thing will become apparent, as indeed
will Lindsey's. It is after all her that this story is about, and we haven't
even met her yet.

* * *

Beth and Lindsey met when Lindsey moved into the flat. It was a pleasant
little town-centre place above a row of shops but off of the main thoroughfare
so not too noisy. Beth's previous tenant had decided to go off travelling for
a year and so Beth had begun the tedious rigmarole of placing ads and
interviewing the various weirdoes and strangers who responded.

Originally she had been planning to invite her boyfriend to move in with her.
They had broken up shortly beforehand however, putting paid to that idea. It
had been a reasonably amicable split all things considered and the only
resentment that she felt towards him was for the two years of her life she'd
completely wasted on the worthless little shit.

She was beginning to despair of ever finding a new flatmate however and was
resigning herself to the fact that she was just going to have to tighten her
belt. She'd be able to afford the bills without subsidy but it would be tight.
And she'd have to get used to living alone. She honestly wondered which would
be harder.

But then another young, twenty-something, single professional had answered her
ad, enquiring if the room was still free. Beth invited her around to view the
flat. They'd hit it off straight away. Beth offered her the room then and
there. She regretted the impulsiveness as soon as she'd done so, realising
just a moment too late that it probably sounded a little too desperate. But it
was too late to play it cool.

"To tell you the truth..." Lindsey began, and she seemed about to trawl out
the familiar line about having other places to see and blah blah, but then
appeared to swallow it. Instead she smiled, "OK, yeah, that'd be great. Thank
you."

It was a friendly and honest moment between them, and one that promised good
things ahead.

Beth liked the look of Lindsey the first moment she saw her. She was a
striking woman, very tall and broad, her long black hair flowing wild and
free. The effect was impressive to behold, she thought, very Amazonian. And
Beth quickly discovered how appropriate that word was to describe the woman.

When Lindsey slid her jacket off it was immediately obvious that she worked
out - there was a degree of solid muscle there. Her arms and shoulders were
built with a healthy strength, though she hadn't the bulky mass of a
bodybuilder. She looked incredibly strong though, totally lean and kick-ass.
Like a female boxer perhaps, or a movie actress who's bulked herself up to
play the role of a superheroine. The kind of woman that her ex boyfriend would
sneer about, stating that she must be a lesbo. Pause for irony.

But despite the slightly intimidating physique there was a quiet calm about
the woman, the Zen-like ease of one at total peace with her environment. She
was friendly, laid back, smart, softly spoken and utterly fearless. Beth
couldn't have asked for a better flatmate. On the day that Lindsey moved in,
she knocked on Beth's bedroom door just as Beth was getting changed.

"Oh sorry, I'll come back," Lindsey said retreating.

Beth was fastening her dress. "It's OK, come in. I'm going out with some
friends tonight, just trying to find something to wear." She held her arms out
and presented herself. "What do you think?"

Lindsey seemed a little taken aback. "Wow!"

"Good wow?" Beth asked, honestly not sure about her choice. "It's very
glamorous," Lindsey remarked.

Beth met her eyes, searching for honesty. She smiled wryly. "You mean it shows
too much cleavage?"

"I didn't say that," she said quickly. She did not say however was that the
dress didn't show too much cleavage. "I suppose it's just about how
comfortable you are with how much you're showing."

"I think this is a bit too exhibitionist for me," Beth admitted.

"It depends how much you want to flaunt."

Beth had been a little dubious about wearing the dress anyway. She'd found it
at the back of her wardrobe. "I must have been seventeen when I got this," she
said, reminiscing. She'd dusted it off and squeezed herself into it, almost
fitting. "I've put on a little weight since then, especially in the chest."
Then, more to herself she added, "which was hardly lacking in the first
place." The dress had been daring when she was a teen. Now it was bordering on
indecent.

Second thoughts won out and she decided she wasn't feeling enough of an
extrovert right at the moment. What's more, she didn't want people to think
that she was just desperate to attract a mate.

"On the pull?" Lindsey asked, as if on cue.

"No!" Beth said, probably just a little bit too quickly. She realised this and
amended. "Not as such. I'm really not interested at the moment. I'm not
looking for someone. It's just..."

Beth shrugged but Lindsey just smiled, nodding understanding.

"But it would be nice to know that you still could, if you wanted to."

Beth grinned, sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess that's it."

"Well trust me, you go out dressed like that and you'll be able to pull any
bloke you point them at!"

And as far as Beth was concerned, that decided it. She decided she was going
to wear something that was less slutty. (But not too less slutty.)

"Sorry, did you want something?"

"Huh? Oh yeah," Lindsey said, remembering why she was here in the first place.
"Didn't you say there was a gym somewhere close by? I wanted to go check it
out."

"Tell you what, seeing as it looks like I'm going to need a new outfit for
tonight, do you want to come with? We'll hit the shops and we can see the gym
en route."

Lindsey smiled. "Sounds like a plan."

They had quickly become firm friends, forming a sisterly bond. In truth, Beth
was slightly in awe of her new friend. Lindsey turned out to be more than
merely a fitness fanatic, but quite remarkably strong.

On one occasion, maybe a month or so after Lindsey had moved in, Beth had
heard odd noises coming from her flatmate's room. She'd gone to investigate
and then stood at the open doorway, watching in wonder at the sight within.

Lindsey had chained up a large punchbag on a metal framework and was currently
laying into it with savage fury.

Beth leaned against the wall, watching the performance in silent awe.
Lindsey's body moved with smooth precision as, with ceaseless energy, she
pummelled the heavy bag, laying into it with skill and power. Had the bag been
a live opponent, Beth had little doubt that such a beating would quickly
render it a dead one.

It was the first time she had properly seen her flat-mate's muscles, the first
time she'd seem them pumped up and in action. The sight was remarkable.

Lindsey was wearing a black sports bra, black shorts, and her body was
gleaming with a healthy sheen of sweat and exercise. Her body in motion was a
wonder to behold. A sleek and lean machine, muscles working in perfect
synchronicity, creating a sight that was beautiful and graceful, and yet
brimming with lethal potency. Watching the woman move, Beth was left in no
doubt that should she be required to, Lindsey could take down the typical man
and, probably quite easily too.

"Oh my God!"

Breathlessly, Lindsey turned towards her audience. She grinned sheepishly.
"How long have you been there?" she asked.

Beth ignored the question. "I mean, I knew you were fit..." she stammered.
"But this?"

"Good wow or bad wow?" she asked hopefully. The phrase had become a kind of
private joke between them.

"Oh, impressed. Definitely impressed!"

Lindsey made a gesture to her scantily clad body. "Well, this is what fitness
fanaticism looks like, to a lesser or greater extent."

"Nice bra. And I thought lady boxers had no breasts."

"I don't," Lindsey insisted, tapping her muscular chest with a boxing glove.

"Not true!" Beth insisted. "Fair to middling, I'd say. And besides size isn't
everything. Trust me, you wouldn't be quite such and avid jogger if you had my
boobs."

"That is definitely true!"

"But I love that look," Beth insisted. "Lean, muscle-babe, sports-bra clad,
slim but rippling muscles. And your fucking abs! Jesus, I would kill for abs
like that."

Lindsey tightened them, flexing her stomach muscles to make them harden into
neatly arranged cobblestones. It looked as though anyone punching that belly
hard enough would shatter their knuckles rather than injure her.

"It's a really nice balance of masculine power and feminine beauty. Totally
fucking lean, those, tight, sweet little biceps. You're like the perfect
Wonder Woman. I don't imagine you have any problems picking up girls in those
hip dyke bars you like to trawl."

"Wonder Woman?" Lindsey asked, grinning, "That's cool. I like to think I'd
make a good Wonder Woman."

She turned back to the punchbag, pulling the gloves off. "Do you want a go?"
she offered.

At first Beth shuddered away shyly, feeling foolish and embarrassed. But with
a little gentle prompting from Lindsey she consented to try.

When she slid the gloves on, they were warm and slick from Lindsey's
exertions, but still felt surprisingly good clad about her hands. They alone
seemed to imbue her with some of Lindsey's strength and power, making her feel
strong and potent.

And it did feel good to punish the bag. Just to unleash into it, summon up all
the rage and frustration that bottled up during the daily grind and purge all
that negative energy.

"Wow, this must be incredibly therapeutic after a long day at work,"

Beth said. "I can really see myself channelling all my anger and angst into
this thing. I just imagine it's my supervisor's face."

She gave the bag another resounding thud, sinking her fist into it with all
her might.

Grinning sheepishly, she gave the gloves back to Lindsey, already a little
breathless after her short turn.

"Anytime you want to let off some steam, help yourself," Lindsey offered,
putting the gloves back on.

Then she took another turn, throwing punches of awesome power and devastation.
It made Beth suddenly feel very weak and vulnerable by comparison.

"You're awfully good at that," she remarked. "Ever done it in real life?"

Lindsey stopped then, halting mid-punch, the atmosphere soured.

"I'm sorry," Beth said quickly. "That was just a joke. At least, it was meant
to be a joke. Not funny, I take it."

"Not funny," Lindsey agreed, her voice suddenly a lot weaker than her rippling
physique would have deemed possible.

"Was it a fight?"

Lindsey seemed to speak but nothing came out.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"That's OK," Lindsey said, finding her voice again.

"You don't have to tell me."

"No, I don't mind telling you." But the lightness had gone from her tone, and
as she began to relate the story to her flatmate, it became apparent why.

"Yeah, I've hit a guy before. It was in a carpark at night. I was alone and he
came up to me and started hassling me. Saying stuff."

"Stuff?"

"You know. Sex stuff. Ugly, aggressive stuff. I don't know if he was drunk, or
drugged or just really worked up. But he was angry and there's no reasoning
with someone like that. I had to get away. I tried to turn and walk away, back
the way I'd come, even though my car was further down. I just wanted to
escape.

"He came after me and grabbed at me. So I punched him. And I hit him hard. I
was turning towards him as I struck so I managed to get a real swing on it and
it connected perfectly. Textbook. I felt his jaw shatter, felt the teeth
breaking. Blood and spittle spattered. I swear, if I was any stronger or if he
was any smaller, then he would have gone down then and there."

"What happened," Beth asked, her voice cautious. There was a dark end to this
tale, that much was all too apparent.

"He was not happy. It's like something blew in his head - some pressure
gasket. I swear it was like his rage just exploded and he went completely
mental. I wasn't just fighting to escape anymore, I was fighting for my life.
If he could have, I don't doubt for a second that this guy would have killed
me.

"He came at me swinging wildly, bellowing like a bull. I caught his arm as he
punched and spun my weight around into it, laying my shoulder against his
elbow. It snapped with this sickening crunch, the forearm folding right
around. Then I kicked out at his knee, right on the joint. His kneecap smashed
and his whole leg buckled in on itself. This time he did go down.

"Now I know that I could have escaped here. In fact, I should have done, I
suppose. That would have been the sane thing to do, let alone the right thing
to do. But this guy had shaken me up badly, and I guess that something just
blew inside my head too. So instead of running for help or running to my car,
I stayed, and I finished what I'd started."

There was an ominous pause. Beth couldn't be sure if the story was over.
Lindsey certainly didn't appear to have anything more to say. She was mutely
staring at the bag, her face blank of all emotion.

"What did you do to him?" Beth prompted gently. In part it was genuine, if
somewhat morbid curiosity. But more than that, she felt the telling was at
least helping Lindsey. It was poison that needed to be sucked out - a wound
that needed cleansing.

"When he went down, he'd landed on his busted arm. He'd screamed in pain and
rolled onto his back. I just walked up to him, lent down. I carefully turned
his good arm so that the back of his elbow faced upwards and I planted my foot
squarely across it. And then I yanked his forearm up with all my might."

Beth gasped at the revelation but hid her shock from Lindsey, not wanting to
discourage her from speaking now that she'd come so far.

"The bone broke in my hands like a twig. I remember being shocked at how
fragile and brittle his body was. Considering that moments ago I was in fear
for my life, and suddenly I was confronted with this contradiction - this epic
weakness. It was a weird feeling. Frightening in itself, and yet still utterly
intoxicating.

"He was screaming in pain by now, howling like a beast. And still no one had
come. I couldn't help thinking that if he'd had his way, then right at this
moment, I would be the one screaming - screaming for help that didn't come.

"I knelt down at his feet. I could see the damage I'd done to his leg and I
was glad. I felt justified. I felt such a rage that no one and nothing could
have stopped me. I lifted his good leg up. He didn't struggle, he was too far
gone. I braced it against my shoulder and wrapped my arms around his knee. Our
eyes met then and he saw what I was about to do. He actually screamed. And
that was before I even started squeezing.

"For a few seconds there was nothing - just his animal screech of agony. And
then a slow motion crunch as the joint gave way and his leg folded the wrong
way. The sound of it seemed to quake - as though the vibrations of his
breaking bones shuddered right through me.

"After that I turned him over onto his belly. I took his head in my hands and
I slammed it against the concrete floor. Just once. A quick, sharp blow. I
didn't use my full strength, I didn't want to knock him out. What I wanted was
to wake him up, shake him back to this reality, to the here and now.

"His nose crunched against the hard ground and I think another couple of teeth
smashed too. He was sobbing and pleading with me, saying he was sorry, begging
me to stop. Given the damage I'd done to his face he was fairly inarticulate
but he was sobbing so hard, so hysterically frightened, that I don't think
he'd have been any more coherent if I hadn't.

"I told him that I was leaving now. I told him to stay down until I was gone.
That he was to stare at the ground. Don't look up, don't turn your head a
fucking inch or I'll fucking kill you.

"And I stood up and he stayed in position, staring straight down at the
ground, his shattered nose pressed flat against the concrete.

"But I didn't walk away like I said I would. I strode up and stamped on the
back of his skull with all my might."

There was a long silence as this final admission hung in the air between them.

"I've never told anybody that," Lindsey said, her voice quiet and contained.
"I don't know why I suddenly got all catholic on you."

"Feel better for telling it?" Beth asked, and she couldn't help noticing that
her own voice was a little tremulous.

Lindsey shrugged and Beth guessed her friend was desperate to know what impact
this shocking confession had had.

"Well, I've been told I'm a good listener. I guess you knew you could be
honest with me because you knew I wouldn't judge you. Because I wouldn't be
horrified by you telling me that."

"You're not?" Lindsey asked, and there was genuine need in that simple
question.

"I'm not gonna start talking about morality or justifiable violence. To me,
it's enough to say that he wanted to hurt you about as badly as anyone can
hurt you. He had absolutely no regard for you, or what he was about to do to
you and the pain and ruin it would bring upon you.

"I'm not a fascist and technically I believe x, y, and z about criminal
justice and society culpability whatever and I'm firmly against the death
penalty. All that's fine as theory goes. But I hear about something like this
and emotions kick into the equation and I'm happy enough to let anger cloud
all that other philosophising.

"He was an evil little cunt. I don't just think he should have been killed, I
think he should have been tortured and killed. And the most gladdening thing
about this story is the fact that you made him suffer before he died. I'm not
even going to pretend that you can call it right, but I do know that right and
wrong are seriously grey areas. And I know it makes me glad. I'm glad he got
hurt and not you. I know it's not necessarily right. But I'm glad he's dead."

"So am I," Lindsey said.

"You want to know the truth?" Beth asked, and the familiar wry tinge in her
tone was back now. "I'm in awe of you."

Lindsey couldn't keep the grin from teasing the corners of her mouth when Beth
said this. "Awe?"

"Damn straight. Forget about right or wrong for just a second. You beat a man
to death with your bare hands! How many women do you think are capable of
that?"

"More than you realise," Lindsey said with a laugh.

"You spend too much time in gyms. Surely not all the women you meet look like
comicbook superheroines."

"I guess there's not too many," Lindsey conceded.

"I was wrong when I called you Wonder Woman," Beth told her.

Lindsey's face dropped, comically. She looked down at her gleaming,
muscle-bound body, a hurt and disappointed expression on her face. "Why not?"
she whined. "Is it the chest?"

Beth grinned. "You're Bat Woman. Or whoever the female equivalent of Batman
is. Wonder Woman is wholesome and goody-goody. The American Way and all that.
Whereas Batman is dark and brooding and dangerous and sexy. Some sleek,
shadowy, agent of vengeance."

"Like Xena?" Lindsey suggested, hopefully.

"Yeah, just like Xena. Some gorgeous gay Amazon."

"Fucking A!" Lindsey exclaimed, flexing her bicep. Her muscles were still
pumped and the peak was round and hard - a sharp and shockingly large bump
smoothly rising and dropping again on the otherwise tight but slender arm. For
a woman who claimed to fall short of bodybuilding, the pose was impressive to
say the least.

"And how did you know Xena's gay? I thought that interpretation was just put
about by the gay community."

"How did I know?" Beth laughed. "I've watched it!"

Idly, Beth wondered what her ex boyfriend would have made of Lindsey. He'd
seriously disliked her previous flatmate, despite her pleasing appearance. She
had been an overtly feminine woman with a confident and arch personality; she
was coquettish and playful with a wicked sense of mischief. Voluptuous, she
had curves that matched Beth's in generous and shapely volume, and was far
less discreet about displaying them in all their immodest glory. But despite
all this, her boyfriend had always disliked and slightly feared her. He always
complained that she was picking on him, undermining him at every opportunity.
Though their trading of insults had a playful banter to it, he disliked the
effortless manner in which she was repeatedly outwitting him. He complained of
her criticising him and her attempts to continually unman him.

At the time Beth had told him not to be so oversensitive but he'd always felt
she was getting at him. And to be honest, she was. It was only in retrospect
that Beth finally admitted that she had a point, too.

If he'd still been on the scene and discovered that Beth's new flatmate was a
muscle-bound, kick-boxing lesbian, then he'd seriously freak out. That thought
made her smile and she almost regretted that he wasn't still around, just so
that she could see how uncomfortable her new friend made him.

Beth had first discovered that Lindsey was gay about two weeks in. They were
chatting idly over a bottle of white wine and it had come up in natural
conversation.

"Does that bother you?" Lindsey asked, a touch defensively.

Beth was only taken aback a moment, and that was more by the sudden change in
tone than by Lindsey's confession itself. Until then the conversation had been
light and careless and it was only Lindsey's slight air of anxiety that
undermined that now.

"No, it doesn't bother me," Beth assured her. Then asked, her voice curious
and conversational, "but today, why did you say that guy was cute?"

"At the coffeeshop? I thought you meant the waitress. And she was fucking
lush!"

Beth laughed. "Seriously."

"Well, he was cute. I could see that. You asked me what I thought of him and
so I told you."

Beth shrugged, accepting this.

Lindsey continued, more honestly. "I was going to tell you then, actually. But
there was that gang of lads on the next table. It wasn't the right place to
have the conversation."

Beth nodded. "Yeah, I guess. You could have told me, you know."

"I just did. And anyway that guy was already with someone."

"Yeah. But if I'd known you were gay I would've suggested we try and split
them up."

"Na, I was too busy being distracted by that waitress."

Beth rolled her eyes in a parody of a 'typical man' expression.

"It really doesn't bother you?"

"Not in the slightest," Beth assured her with complete honesty.

"I promise, no funny business," Lindsey said, in a jokey reassurance.
"Honestly, you don't have to worry, you're not my type."

There was a certain archness to the way in which she said this that piqued
Beth's notice. It was subtle, but there was definitely something there.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Huh? Well, just that. You're not the kind of girl I go for. Don't get me
wrong, I mean, you're attractive - very attractive - I'm not blind."

"I'm just not your type?" Beth said, pondering.

"Exactly."

"So... who is your type then?"

Lindsey blushed, ever so slightly. It was the barest pinkening of her flesh,
but Beth noticed it. She laughed. "Tell me!" she implored, genuinely curious
now.

"You'll think I'm weird," Lindsey warned, though it was just a tease now, her
tone drawing this out, playing with Beth's sudden desire to know.

"So what?" Beth asked. "What's wrong with weird?"

"OK, I'll show you then." And Lindsey went to retrieve her laptop from the
table, where she'd been working on it earlier.

Beth giggled, held her hands up defensively. "What, you're gonna show me your
porn?"

"It's not porn," Lindsey told her, indignantly. Then grinned sheepishly and
amended. "Technically, at least."

She opened the laptop and it immediately sprang to life, eager to please. Half
a dozen applications popped up, already open, and a Suzanne Vega track kicked
back into life.

Lindsey silenced the music and brought up a folder of video files, clicking on
the first one, a file titled simply 'Macey'.

On screen there appeared a brunette, presumably Macey, very pretty and looking
very slim in a well-toned kind of way. She was stood in a park, picturesque
greenery spread behind her. Her raven hair long and straight, flowing free
over athletic shoulders. Dressed in a floral bikini top, her breasts were
small but pleasant. It was her belly that really caught Beth's initial
attention though, not merely flat but actually muscled, looking like an
Olympic sprinter's abs, an actual eight-pack that rippled as she breathed.
They were even more sharply defined than Lindsey's impressive washboard.

The clip had been overdubbed with dire music replacing the original sound, but
the woman was apparently talking to the cameraman. She suddenly laughed at
something that was said, lighting up that incredibly cute face. She was
perhaps a touch jowly but still adorably pretty. She turned, moving her
smoothly athletic shoulder towards the camera, keeping her head forward so she
was looking coquettishly into the lens, pouting with sultry appeal.

With her exotic looks and lush, pitch locks flowing rich and full, it was
already an alluring pose. Her perfect skin tanned and toned, not an ounce of
fat to be discerned anywhere on that slender, athletic physique.

And then she brought her arm up and flexed it, changing the rules of the game
with a startling and astonishing rear peak.

"No way!" Beth gasped, opened mouthed, literally jaw hung open in shock and
awe.

The bulge of the woman's bicep looked like a hillock bursting suddenly and
unexpectedly from the flat planes of her smooth flesh. The slopes of its peak
reached steeply from the arm, prominent and astonishing in its size and shape.

"That is fucking unbelievable," Beth exclaimed.

"Pretty cool, huh?"

"And I thought you had muscles."

"Believe me, compared to some of these women, I'm nothing."

The woman in the clip was moving her arm, repeatedly pumping that bicep into
the full wonder of its phenomenal and mountainous peak, and then down again. A
slow and seductive dance of graceful motion and mind- boggling strength.

The camera slowly zoomed in on the bicep, unquestionably drawn towards it, as
though hypnotised - just as captivated as the viewer. The bulging muscle moved
as though it were breathing, as though a living creature itself, full of raw,
animal power.

The woman grinned coquettishly and dropped the arm, her gaze switching from
camera to cameraman, alight with elfin glee as though asking him "well, what
do you think about that then?"

Beth stared mutely as the clip faded to black.

"Wanna see another one?" Lindsey asked her.

"Hell yeah!"

It was the same woman. Beth noticed that her breasts were smaller in this
clip, her chest flattened out with muscle. She looked to have expanded out a
little and the muscles beneath her skin looked harder and tighter.

There was sound this time and she heard the woman's voice, a strong Canadian
accent, as she joked with the cameraman.

She went to flex but was halted by some inaudible comment. In response, she
pulled her luscious black hair back behind her staggering shoulders so as to
give the audience an unencumbered view of her majestic peaks. She pumped her
biceps with a knowing satisfaction. She was evidentially proud of them, and
she had an awful lot to be proud of. She knew the startling effect this posing
had on people and appeared to enjoy the shock and wonder she was able to
induce by flexing her muscles.

"Oh my God, they're even bigger!"

"She was in incredible shape here," Lindsey told her.

They watched the whole clip. Lindsey a little apprehensive and blushing once
more, and Beth exclaiming the odd stunned obscenity as Macey proceeded to show
off the tremendous degree to which a figure contestant can develop her biceps.

"This is what you find sexy?" Beth asked.

"Pretty freaky, huh?"

"Hey, each to their own. But, I mean, this woman is..." And then she stumbled,
struggling to find adequate words. "She is so beautiful facially, so dark and
good looking. And then she's got this perfect slender, toned, stunning bikini
body, and then she suddenly flexes those muscles!"

"Are you impressed? Or just disgusted?

"Impressed. Awed. Shocked. I'm not disgusted, not at all. Flabbergasted,
maybe. You hear the words female bodybuilder... I dunno, you just don't expect
someone like her. I honestly never realised that a woman could look like that.
I mean, she's so beautiful and so feminine, she looks like a beauty
contestant, and yet she has this incredible muscularity too."

"She's a figure star," Lindsey told her.

"Well that is quite a figure!"

"Though she's kinda renowned for that peak."

"I'm not surprised. Christ, she must need planning permission to flex those
things!"

Lindsey laughed. "Yeah they're certainly impressive."

"Have you ever had a girlfriend like that?"

"I go for muscular women and yeah, I've had plenty of girlfriends who were
bodybuilders, but none were quite like Macey. But then, you've got to
appreciate that I happen to think she is, bar none, the most beautiful woman
in the world. Without exception. It's kind of hard for anyone to compare.
Unfortunately she's already happily married."

"Lucky guy! Is he a bodybuilder too?"

Lindsey shrugged. "You know, I have no idea. I presume so."

On her laptop she closed the window and Beth saw the picture Lindsey had as
her desktop wallpaper. It was a thirty-something woman looking young and
pretty, a knowing smile sat wry and playful on her lips. She was on a beach,
one hand behind her head, all the better to show off the tremendous bicep
muscle she was flexing tight beside her ear, the peak so massive it
practically filled the small triangle of sky that her arm framed.

She was a cheerleader type, long blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Cheerleader
type outfit too, a colourful vest-top that showed off her shoulders and arms
and was tight enough to see the shape of her sports- bra beneath. Another well
tanned body, all too appropriate given the beach settings.

"I take it you have a particular thing for biceps," Beth remarked dryly,
beginning to regain her cool finally, after being totally blown away by the
women Lindsey had shown her.

"Yeah," she admitted with a sigh. "You think I hit the gym because I'm a
health nut? Nothing that worthy. I just go for the eye-candy."

"Best place to meet muscle-women?"

"Just about the only place. You know, statistically I'm screwed."

"How's that?"

Lindsey sighed again, rueful. "Statistically, there's only a small proportion
of the population that's gay."

"Only relatively small," Beth insisted. "There's still quite a few out there."

"Yeah, but I have a thing for muscular women. Statistically there's only a
small proportion of the female population who bodybuild. Apply both those
facts and what you've got is an amount of women who are both gay and
bodybuilders being far fewer than, say, suitable heterosexual guys, who you're
shopping for. I mean, despite all that choice it's still hard to find a
suitable guy. Think about what it's like for me." Beth thought about this a
moment. "I guess that does kinda suck," she conceded.

* * *

Beth quickly discovered that Lindsey wasn't the kind of woman who believed
being single and being alone meant the same thing. Being between long-term
relationships was not an adequate reason for abstinence. And she certainly
seemed to have no problem finding people to express that belief with. What's
more, despite complaining about the problem of finding gay female bodybuilders
to share fun and affection with, she never seemed to have any difficulty doing
so. But whatever her professed tastes, not all her girlfriends were
muscle-bound wonder women, although there was a significant proportion who
were.

Beth had wandered into the kitchen on one particular bright morning to
discover Lindsey breakfasting with an absolute giant of a woman.

Even without being tall there was the presumption of size. This broad,
large-bodied mammoth of brute physicality. The vast, wide chest, tremendous
shoulders, her massively thick arms and gigantic thighs that bulged
staggeringly beneath the robe, while she sat, crossed legged at the kitchen
table.

Beth was awestruck. Just the sheer size of this woman overwhelmed her. She
thought back to being a little girl and watching strongman competitions on
television, with goliath sized men who were capable of lifting cars and
tossing huge rocks across the length of fields. She'd always wished there
would be a women's heat, a tomboy's desire for equality, but never saw one.

"Forgive my flatmate," Lindsey had sighed. "She's never actually seen a
bodybuilder up close before."

Beth smiled sheepishly, "sorry, was I staring?"

With an indulgent sigh, the mighty woman had rolled back the sleeve of the
dressing gown. She needn't have done so in fact, the tremendous bicep that
swelled into life when she flexed would have been quite apparent even in the
billowiest of sleeves.

"Do you think she minded?" Beth asked later, talking to Lindsey about the
impressive woman. "I mean, she probably gets fed up with people treating her
like a freak or asking her to flex all the time."

Lindsey smiled, "The angle that you happened to be leaning at gave her a
fairly uncompromised view right down your top," she said. "Given the way she
was staring, I really don't think she much minded what you were doing."

"Guess I can't complain about her peeking," Beth said, "given that I was
groping her arm at the time."

"Trust me, the view you were presenting, she would have looked even if she
wasn't gay."

"Well you certainly proved one thing. You weren't exaggerating about liking
muscle women. She really was amazing. If that's your thing then you must have
been in heaven!"

Lindsey grinned lasciviously. "Trust me. You have no idea!"

Although the many partners Lindsey brought home did vary considerably in size,
physicality, ethnicity, age, intelligence, beauty, bra-size and all other
important criteria upon which to categorize women, they all shared one
distinct feature. They were all women.

Lindsey had told Beth she'd been gay for longer than she knew what the word
meant and had little doubt that she'd been born like it. Like her lust for
muscles, it was just hard-wired in.

Which is what made it all the more shocking when Beth discovered her flatmate
in bed with a man.

It was morning. Beth knocked on Lindsey's bedroom door. She took the
inarticulate grunt to be an invitation to enter and opened the door. She saw
Lindsey still half-asleep, sprawled on the bed and looking dishevelled.
Nothing unusual in that, she was not a morning person at all. Neither was Beth
in all honesty, but she could at least feign functionality if she cared to,
even when she was just acting on a semi- somnambulant autopilot. The sight of
a man asleep beside her flatmate however, gave her a very sharp jolt of
sobriety.

As was her habit, she fell back upon sarcasm to deal with surprise or shock.
And so it was with a droll and laidback faux calm that she remarked, "If I
knew you had company I'd have made breakfast too." She put the cup of tea on
the nightstand and retreated. "Is he OK? Is he unconscious or just asleep?
Christ woman, what did you do to him?"

Lindsey peeled her face from the pillow and opened a sleepy eye, shielding it
from the light, she immediately saw straight through her flatmate's cool
exterior. She followed her shocked gaze to the man next to her. She winced as
though in pain and fell face forward back into the pillow. Beth left the room
without further comment, closing the door behind her with meticulous care and
quiet.

The truth was, this was just the latest and greatest in a series of things
that had caused Beth to become greatly worried about Lindsey. She had been
acting odd for a few weeks. Over the months the two women had been living
together they had become firm friends - or so Beth had believed. But of late,
Lindsey had become suddenly distant. She hadn't been exactly hostile, just
snappy, moody and altogether more callous. It was a jarring change and an
upsetting one, considering how close they had originally been.

Lindsey had also taken to staying out all night, sleeping all day. Nothing
excessively odd about that, she had always been a party-goer. She was fun
loving and believed in squeezing the most out of life. Just as she enjoyed
working hard and sought the most she could from her body, she liked to play
hard too.

But this was something else. And the behavioural oddity was just a part of it.
Beth had been increasingly worried about the physical changes her friend
appeared to be going through too.

About a week previous to this Beth had finally noticed how her friend's body
had altered. It had been yet another morning where Lindsey had surfaced
looking wearied and dishevelled.

Dressed only in a thick cotton nightshirt Beth had passed her in the hallway.

"Oh my God," Beth exclaimed, quite awed. "You have got to tell me where you
got that bra!"

Lindsey merely looked confused for a moment, startled by the sudden
exclamation.

"I'm not wearing one," she murmured dismissively.

Beth raised an eyebrow. "I hate you!" she gasped in mock jealousy.

Curiously Lindsey seemed to downplay the matter, probably too hung-over to
care in any great detail. But Beth couldn't be so dismissive about the sight.

"If pumping iron does that to your chest, I'm going to have to seriously
consider it."

Lindsey's chest had always been smaller than Beth's, her low body-fat no doubt
preventing her breasts from developing to their full potential. But they had
suddenly blossomed into something outstanding, seemingly overnight. And the
remarkable tight and toned body that they sat on ensured that they were held
high and resplendent, no chance of even the slightest concession to gravity.

"I stole a couple of your bras," Lindsey admitted. "Mine don't fit anymore."

"So what's happening, is this a growth spurt or what?" Beth was hardly well
versed in the intricacies of bodybuilding or the workaday specifics of
sculpting a physique. She kind of understood about off- season and on-season,
and that rapid weight-gain and loss could be a part of all that. She had also
discovered the massive significance that diet played in it all. Though she
supposed that was obvious, if you only stopped to think about it for a minute.

But what was happening to Lindsey seemed too extreme, too massive a change, to
be simply waved away as part of the normal bodybuilding process.

"If you think that's odd," Lindsey said, "that's nothing!" And without warning
she swung her arms around for a staggering double-biceps flex. The top she
wore was large with short sleeves. Normally they would have flapped loosely
around her arms but now they were almost filled. One cotton hem slipped down
the mountainous slope to fully reveal the awesome peak.

"They're grown by two inches in two weeks," Lindsey told her, holding the pose
while Beth just stared in open-mouthed shock.

Fourteen inch biceps are startling enough on a woman. On a woman as slender as
Lindsey however, the effect was astonishing. Muscles that had previously been
merely hard-toned, gentle peaks had suddenly become huge and round, sprouting
up from her arms like tennis balls.

She dropped the pose, which finally released Beth from the entrancing spell
they seemed to weave over her.

"That's amazing!" Beth gushed, her normal cool shattered. "What's all this in
aid of? Are you thinking about competing or something? Why the sudden push?"

"It's not deliberate," Lindsey told her. "Nor expected. It just started
happening. My body's changing all by itself."

Beth's voice became serious, partly she was picking up on Lindsey's ominous
tones, but also because something worrying had just occurred to her.

"Lindsey, are you using steroids?"

"No!" she said, indignantly. And her incredulity at the question was enough to
reassure Beth that the answer was an honest one.

Lindsey was watching Beth's scrutiny, as though only realising herself just
how extreme a transformation her body had gone through. Playfully she twisted
her torso, swinging it from side to side, making Beth's eyes follow as though
she were watching a tennis match.

"Hypnotic, aren't they!"

"Sorry, I don't mean to stare," Beth giggled.

"Go ahead, stare. Trust me, if you looked like this, I'd be staring at you.
And in my case it wouldn't just be innocent curiosity either."

"I wasn't ogling you!"

Lindsey grinned, "I know, I'm just teasing."

She cupped her awesome breasts as though weighing them in her hands. "There's
this woman I met a couple of weeks ago," she said. "She had a chest like this.
And arms like these." And at this she twitched the biceps, as though the
tremendous size of her new breasts required the extra muscle to support them.
It wasn't the case though, the flimsy soft cotton offered no support
whatsoever and were she naked, those extraordinary breasts would stand just as
firm and proud.

"Quite a woman."

"Yeah," Lindsey murmured, far away. "Yeah she was."

"You say met? You mean... met?"

"You know. Met. I met her, she met me."

"You 'met' each others brains out."

And a faint smile played across Lindsey's lips then. There was lust in the
reminiscence too, whatever other emotions might have been sparked. Though it
was apparent that Lindsey had serious concerns on her mind.

"What's that got to do with your boobs and muscles expansion?"

Lindsey shrugged. As though shaking herself back to the here and now she
dismissed her chain of thought, ending the conversation abruptly.

"Probably not important, just thinking aloud. I'm not going to work, I'm going
back to bed. I feel like shit. If I'm not up by six o'clock this evening, can
you give me a shout?"

"Sure, if I'm back."

But Beth had been delayed that day, had not gotten back to the flat until
after dark. And when she did get back, Lindsey had already left, and didn't
return until the early hours of the morning.

Beth didn't know what all this meant, only that it disturbed her. There was
something happening to her friend, something dark and frightening. And now
this? A man?

She waited in the kitchen, waited for her friend to surface, drinking endless
cups of coffee until, finally, she stirred. When Lindsey eventually got her
act together enough to stagger into the kitchen Beth had decided she would
remain calm and supportive but ensure that she was firm and authoritative. It
was now indisputable that something very peculiar was happening to Lindsey.

Though somewhat surprisingly, Lindsey actually looked a lot healthier than she
had in weeks. Her hair, her body, her skin, gleaming with youth and vitality,
as if she'd stumbled off of a commercial for beauty products, rather than only
just forced herself to get up.

She was still dour and depressed however.

"I thought you were into girls," Beth said. She kept her voice dead pan but
the weight of the words was undiminished.

"I am."

"There's a man in your bed."

"Yeah," she admitted.

"Don't know what you did to him but I've got to say, he looked pretty
drained." Which was true. The man had looked so deeply asleep he could almost
have been dead. "Is that one of the benefits of being a muscle woman? The
ability to fuck a man into a coma?"

There was a coldness in her voice that Beth only became aware of as she heard
herself speak. She instantly regretted it. This wasn't the way to go about
dealing with the matter.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, contritely, "I didn't mean that. I'm just
shocked, that's all."

"Woman sleeps with man. Shock. Horror!" Lindsey declared as though dictating a
tabloid headline.

"Not woman. Gay woman."

"When I told you I'd committed a murder you were less shocked than you are
now!"

"It's shocking because it isn't like you! I'm worried. These past few weeks
your behaviour has been so strange."

"What do you know what's like me and what isn't," Lindsey demanded. "Since
when were you the authority on how I behave? What I choose to do with my life,
and who I choose to do it to, is my business, not yours."

"Don't be angry," Beth pleaded, upset by Lindsey's defensive aggression. It
too was utterly unlike her.

"I'm not angry." But the voice she said this in was so vicious as to
practically be a hiss. She seemed to recognise the contradiction and she
sighed, letting go a little. "I'm not angry," she repeated, and this time it
seemed true.

"Your body's doing all these strange things," Beth said, the concern in her
voice all too apparent. "Your behaviour is odd, to say the least. And now
this?"

Lindsey didn't answer, now more confused than angry. She shrugged, looking
helpless, unable to find a reply.

"I'm worried about you," Beth insisted. "You haven't been yourself."

A snort of bitter laughter at that. "You ain't kidding!"

"Something strange has been happening, hasn't it?"

"It's hard to explain,"

"Why don't you try? Please, just let me help you."

"You can't help. No one can."

"OK, so tell me anyway and I'll be all sympathetic and make cooing noises. At
least I'll know and then you won't have to deal with it alone."

"Believe me, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Tell me anyway," Beth insisted. "Tell me a story I won't believe."

* * *

There's a lesbian bar I go to from time to time. It's a great pick-up joint. I
mean, if you're after a quiet drink without being hassled then go somewhere
else. If you're looking to find someone for a quick and easy night of
uncomplicated fucking, it's the place to go.

I was dressed in my tightest jeans, a crop-top to show off my belly. Lacking
your breasts I use what assets I do have. Some women go for the athletic look.
Trust me on this.

It's easy for you when you want to score. You just prise your boobs into
something ridiculously low cut. And I've seen you do it, so don't give me that
innocent look, Missy. When you're out on the pull, you doll yourself up like a
slut in heat. That's not a criticism, believe me. I may have a preference for
bodybuilders but that doesn't mean I'm blind to the appeal of non-muscular
women too. And just because I don't think of you in that way, it doesn't mean
I'm blind to the fact that you, my sweet, are a particularly luscious piece of
sexual candy.

And don't get me wrong here, I like being the athletic pin-up. I work hard for
my muscles, I'm proud of them and I love it when other women are turned on by
them. What's more, I know what it's like to lust after muscular women. Believe
me.

This was before my breasts had their recent growth spurt, you understand. I'm
certainly not complaining, I do like them now. I mean, I've been preying for a
visit from the breast fairy since I was thirteen and I've always been kinda
miffed that she missed me out. Until now that is. Yeah, she made up for lost
time. And then some. But it is still kinda weird. I guess it's just that I
need a little time, I haven't had a chance to get my head around them yet. I
mean, you've looked like Jessica Rabbit since you were fifteen. You've had all
these years to get used to them, what they look like and how they feel. But
I'm not used to looking down and wondering where my feet are. And they get in
the way when I'm doing press-ups.

But anyway, I'm sitting at the bar, lounging back and scoping the talent. I've
had the come-on from a couple of women, and they were both pretty hot in their
own particular ways, but on this occasion, what I was really lusting for was
serious muscle. It's not like every woman I date has to be a championship
bodybuilder. That's not the only quality I find sexy. And even if it was, I
can easily be turned on by a woman who's skinny as a rake or as fat as a
hippo, if she appeals to me in other ways too, the lust soon stirs itself
easily enough. Maybe I'm just oversexed, but there aren't many women I've met
who I wouldn't fuck.

But on this night, I ached for a bodybuilder. I yearned for it. I wanted to
feel muscles beneath my hands. Wanted a strong body to embrace me. I wanted
biceps so big I can't get my hands around them. I wanted to fuck a hard core
muscle woman.

Suddenly, standing besides me there's this woman. I'm not looking her way -
it's more like I can feel her presence - this aura of fantastic sexual allure.

When I turn to look at her, I don't know whether it was a hush fallen across
the whole bar or whether it was just in my head. Either explanation was just
as plausible.

Some gorgeous goth goddess. Shiny black PVC stretched so tight around her body
I can see every detail. She had muscles beyond that of any woman I've ever
seen in my life. I swear her biceps were so big they made cannonballs look
small and flimsy. And her tits! I haven't seen anything like it since the
Linsey Dawn McKenzie DVD I used to masturbate to.

"I've been looking for you," she told me.

"You don't even know me?"

"Didn't stop me from recognising you, what you are, what you want!"

"Well, this is a gay bar!" I told her.

She smiled. "That's not what I meant. And you know it."

It was weird, like she could see into my soul. And rather than feeling exposed
and vulnerable, it felt empowering. There was something animalistic about it
all. As if I could present myself to this woman, wholly and unabashed, without
fear of judgement or rejection.

"Come with me," she said. And I went, helpless to do anything but obey her.

There was heat like I've never known. My lust was a living creature inside my
chest, burning to be freed. And what might it do should I release it? I was
about to find out.

I needed her, there and then. I couldn't bear to wait. I swear I would have
done it there in the street, in front of the bar.

And she was thinking the same thing, that same savage need.

"I'm driving a van," she told me. "Parked close."

"How close?" I asked her, and my voice was utterly desperate.

"Close!"

* * *

I should just explain something here. When a vampire drinks from you, it feels
like the most intense orgasm you've ever had. Try to imagine every cell in
your whole body going into spasm simultaneously. That feeling as you climax,
imagine it amplified and stretched out, distilled and condensed. Imagine the
best sex you've ever had and think about just the most intense moments of it.
Imagine those brief instances of peak perfection clipped out like frames of
cinema film.

Imagine all of them edited together in one long continuous savage full on
orgasmic sensation. Now imagine that stream condensed into a single second of
hyper-intense sexual bliss. And now imagine that second duplicated again and
again, as an ongoing repeat-loop orgasm, only blown up into Imax proportions.

OK, I could keep going with this metaphor indefinitely and still it would
barely do justice to what I'm trying to convey. There is no way to define the
kind of pleasure a vampire can give you.

Understand that this is a very different experience to when a vampire feeds.
Even though I suppose technically it is still a vampire sucking blood out of
someone. But this isn't the vicious assault of a feeding frenzy that I'm
talking about - not the stealing of blood that a vampire does to drain a
victim. This is an act of such passion and such intimacy. It's a mutual
offering and receiving of life-force. And it feels like nothing else on Earth.

When a vampire feeds it's completely different. It's rape. It's the theft of
life itself. The pleasure is strictly one-sided and a pleasure only of the
darkest and most bestial kind. It's a pleasure combined with fury and violence
and sadism.

It's not even the quantity of blood that makes for that difference, though a
feeding does tend to leave the victim completely exsanguinated. It's about the
intent and the desires of the vampire that determines whether the act is a
violent assault or mutual ecstasy.

Not to mention the fact that that type of callous feeding - the savage
draining of someone's blood - invariably results in the victim's immediate
death.

The point is that I can easily believe that Lindsey didn't understand what was
happening. It's no surprise to me that what she recalls of that night is just
sex. Incredible, uninhibited, exceptional sex, perhaps, but nevertheless, just
sex. It was only after the fact that she realised what else had gone on while
they were fucking with such rampant abandon. As if the brain smoothes over
certain parts that it can't quite make proper sense of. It's only after the
fact that the images and memory fragments begin to piece together, reinforced
by the discovery, confirming those things that her mind had previously
discounted as pure fantasy.

Serena is very smooth. She is the ultimate seductress. Lindsey's description
of her body is quite correct - she's bodybuilt to a degree that would
intimidate a male champion - but her sex appeal isn't limited to her
staggering development. Nor is it necessary to be a muscle fetishist to find
her unspeakably desirable.

Whether you're male or female, gay or straight, you'll be turned on by Serena.
I don't know why, I can't define the quality she possesses or explain the
phenomenon, but it's not possible to deny her universal appeal. Even if you
are someone who, in all other circumstances would be disgusted and repelled by
a female bodybuilder, Serena will be the exception.

I'm a straight woman and yet I fell in unmitigated lust the first moment I saw
her. Looking at that shocking body I felt like I would melt into a puddle of
hot goo. Until that moment I'd never even thought about lesbianism; I knew
that it held no attraction for me. Then, as I lay eyes upon her, my belly gave
a quiver and my legs began to tremble.

There is something oddly fascinating about her. You can't stop staring at her.
Again, it's not the muscles that I'm talking about, though of course the
muscles are in themselves uniquely fascinating, it's impossible to look at the
harmonious, rippling mass without being awed by it. But there's something else
too.

I can't describe it. The only way I can think to put it is that you look at
her and you imagine that if she were to kiss you deeply, you'd probably
explode into spontaneous orgasm. (Not in fact literally true I would
eventually discover, although I think it was actually a pretty close thing!)

I'm heterosexual and I maintain that claim without doubt or apology. I've
never even looked twice at a woman, no matter how sexy she is. However,
without a shadow of a doubt, the best sex I've ever had in my life was not
with a man, but with Serena.

Lindsey on the other hand is undoubtedly gay. And what's more, she desires
muscle-bound women beyond anything else in the universe. That is her personal
joy and nothing is more alluring for her. I can only imagine the kind of
erotic bliss she discovered with Serena.

And Lindsey doesn't actually recall much of the specifics from the encounter,
despite it being, in her own words, the most unbelievably extraordinary carnal
adventure she could even envision, let alone experience. She remembers exotic,
erotic, ongoing coupling - she remembers climaxing repeatedly and to a degree
so extreme that she actually wondered if it was doing her physical damage to
repeatedly orgasm with such savage intensity.

There is one other thing she remembers, though only vaguely through the fog of
that unreal night. She remembers the last thing Serena said before they
parted, one last piece of personal advice. She told her to be wary of
daylight.

* * *

"You're not a vampire!" Beth stated categorically. Truth was, she didn't know
whether she was supposed to laugh or cry. She had no emotional response
prepared for this particular situation. She thought Lindsey must be mad. But
Lindsey didn't seem to be mad. She was a little distraught, perhaps, or maybe
in a kind of subdued shock, but not mad.

Beth wondered then if perhaps it was not she who was mad. First she had
honestly believed she had witnessed her friend going through a literally
physical metamorphosis over a period of weeks. And now, she'd ascribed to her
inexplicable behaviour this explanation...?

"I was bitten by a vampire and now I've become one myself."

No, Lindsey really did just say that. Beth couldn't pass it off as a
breakdown. She had to acknowledge that this was the reality she was
experiencing, it was as real and solid as anything else she had ever
experienced, and ducking into psychosis was not an option.

"I thought vampires were a myth."

"So did I," Lindsey sighed. "Apparently not."

"Are you sure?"

"Well it took me a few weeks of burgeoning insanity to even begin to get my
head around the possibility, but I think that last night kinda clinched it!"

There was a saucepan lying on the kitchen worktop next to where Lindsey was
leaning.

"For a start, I have superhuman strength," she declared, picking the pan up.

She folded the sides in, bending and buckling the heavy metal as though it was
tinfoil. She kept folding the metal over, crushing it tighter and tighter. She
was at the base now, screwing the whole thing into a ball, compacting it ever
smaller. Wrapping her hands about the mangled thing, she squeezed it tight.
The plastic handle was the only part left intact, jutting up between her
hands, trembling each time she applied the pressure.

Satisfied, she held the pan by the undamaged handle. The ball of metal at its
end had been crushed to the size of a fat tomato.

Beth raised her eyebrows. The show of strength was impressive, it was true,
but hardly conclusive in her eyes.

When she spoke, there was a slight condescension to her tone, as though
addressing a child. "Lindsey, you've got biceps the size of grapefruits," she
said. "I once saw a woman on TV roll a car right over onto its roof. I put it
down to the fact that she had big muscles. I didn't see it as proof that she
was superhuman." Then she added, "And that saucepan cost me twenty quid."

Lindsey proffered the destroyed pan, pulling an apologetic face. "Sorry."

Beth shrugged. "It's OK. Actually I'd happily pay that much money just to
watch you do it again."

Lindsey was glancing around the room.

"That wasn't an invitation," Beth added quickly, suddenly fearing for the rest
of her cookware and cutlery.

But Lindsey headed instead to the kitchen window. With utmost care, standing
to one side of the window, she twisted the blind reel, opening the slatted
blinds to let in thin stripes of daylight.

"I've not tried this properly," she warned, her voice hesitant. "I've
developed an aversion. A bit like a rabid dog's fear of water, I suppose. Just
being this close is enough to make me seriously fucking anxious. I think it's
a kind of hard-wired phobia. A part of the package."

She was stalling, and she knew it.

Beth was in two minds here. Partly she didn't believe what Lindsey had told
her, at least, didn't believe Lindsey was a vampire, no matter how sincere she
was being, and she honestly wanted to see what would happen, for surely this
would prove definitively whether or not it was true. But she could also see
the genuine fear and discomfort this was causing Lindsey and she wanted to
stop her.

Silently - breathlessly - Beth sat and watched as her friend warily moved her
hand up and into the shards of sunlight.

The consequence was subdued in comparison to the dramatic sizzle and burn
suggested by movies. But the exposed flesh did noticeably begin to first
redden and then smoke. Lindsey's face was a grimace of pain. Despite the
absence of an extreme response, it was clear this was still a savage torture.

"Stop!" Beth gasped, seeing well enough the distress and harm Lindsey was
doing herself. Suddenly proof of vampirism became far less important.

Squealing with pain Lindsey withdrew her hand and cradled it against her
chest, pressing her other hand over the wound. "That was stupid!" she hissed.

Beth rushed up and closed the blind again. Tenderly she pulled Lindsey's hand
away to expose the damage. The strips of tender flesh were clearly
discernable, burnt raw, far in excess of the most severe sunburn.

"Jesus! Well, at least it doesn't look too bad."

"Really, because it hurt like fuck!"

"I believe you," Beth insisted. Whether it was true or not, she didn't want
Lindsey to cause herself further harm.

"There is something else I can show you," Lindsey said. She smiled. "In fact,
I probably should have started with this and saved myself the pain."

She pulled out a kitchen chair, hard-backed, aluminium framed, and sat down.
She straightened herself, closed her eyes and began long steady breathing. It
was a sort of meditation. She appeared to be concentrating on something
specific, trying to wrestle with images in her head and achieve some
particular state of being. But she was new to this and apparently having
trouble maintaining focus.

Beth watched this performance, genuinely curious. She didn't know what Lindsey
was doing and was keen to see how this would go towards proving her claim.

The shirt Lindsey was wearing had once been baggy but that was before her
recent expansion. Now her mammoth bosom filled the loose cotton to capacity as
though should she yawn, a solid enough stretch would split the seams and tear
the shirt open.

Beth noticed with a sudden flush of embarrassment that Lindsey's nipples were
hardening, jutting against the flimsy cotton with such excited insistence that
it looked as though they would pierce through. Lindsey eyes flicked open at
that moment and Beth blushed even deeper to be caught in the act of peeking.
But her friend was hardly concerned, her mind completely preoccupied by
whatever state of consciousness she was so intent on achieving.

She bucked a little, her body swaying. Then she opened her mouth, looking a
little like a snake just before it distends its jaw. And then, slowly but
irrefutably, her incisors extended, growing into what were undeniably vampire
fangs.

And the final piece dropped into place. Beth realised something that should
have been obvious. So obvious in fact that the only reason the blatant truth
hadn't struck her until now was because in the back of her head she had been
denying it, hiding the fact from herself. Now, with Lindsey's incisors
extended to sharp, animal fangs, that final revelation came rushing into her.

"So, the guy in your bed...?" Beth said, hesitantly.

"Is dead, yes."

"You drank his blood?"

"Sucked him dry."

"Because you're a vampire?"

"Because I'm a vampire."

Beth sat back down, head spinning, wondering how she was going to go about
trying to deal with this.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, and headed for the fridge for the vodka.

Contrary to her first impulse, Beth did not get blindingly drunk. Mainly
because Lindsey couldn't drink with her, being unable to ingest anything
except blood, and Beth didn't like to drink alone.

Lindsey had taken a few deep breaths and her fangs had retracted. (Her nipples
took a little longer to settle but she seemed happy enough to ignore their
insistent jut.) She sat watching Beth down a large glass of neat vodka,
choking a little. It didn't stop her from refilling the glass.

"So, is the mirror thing true?"

"Yes."

"Well, I can believe that. You have been looking a bit rough this last couple
of weeks.

That got a laugh at least.

"Fuck you, bitch."

"What about garlic?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen any. Any kind of food makes me sick if I try to
eat it."

"Silver?"

"Not a problem.

"Shit."

"What?"

"I was hoping I could have that Yama chain necklace."

"Keep your thieving mitts out of my jewellery box."

"Just a thought."

"Anyway, isn't silver to do with werewolves, not vampires?"

"I dunno it's not like there's an entry in the zoological encyclopaedia."

"I take it you can't turn into a bat."

"Not that I've noticed, no."

"Sunlight works!"

"Yes. And I have no desire to test that again."

"Can you influence other people?"

"I dunno. Serena seemed to have a kind of hypnotic seduction power. But that
might just have been because she's the hottest and most unfeasibly sexy woman
I've ever laid eyes on."

"Crucifixes?"

"No idea, haven't seen one."

"Bibles?"

"Ditto."

"OK. Erm. What other vampire myths are there?"

"Dunno. There is a lot I don't know and probably much more that I haven't even
realised I don't know."

"Well," Beth stated finally, businesslike. "First things first. What do we do
about the body?" And she saw that it was her use of the word 'we' that touched
her friend more than anything else.

* * *

Serena quickly realised that stakeouts were intensely boring, although her
vampire senses did make her ideal for the task. If she focused her attention
she could make out every detail on the street, all the comings and goings of
random pedestrians and traffic. And it wasn't like it needed her full
attention either. She'd done this several times now and was becoming well
practiced in monitoring the mundane non- activity of an uneventful street
without even paying much attention to it. She knew she wouldn't miss anything,
despite being in the closed and sealed off back of the van, with neither
window nor even peephole to look through.

She was sat in the back, the van specially modified to ensure daylight could
not intrude upon her. It was her vampire senses that stretched out - a kind of
awareness that snaked out like tendrils of consciousness - lower level
impulses that could tell what was happening about her even through the solid
metal enclosure of the van and beyond, out into the streets.

But inattention was not the problem here. Boredom was. She'd done several of
these stakeouts now and was quickly learning that doing nothing for hours on
end was a chore in itself.

Despite the fact she was embedded in pitch blackness Serena closed her eyes.
She let her mind drift. Though one part of her consciousness stayed focused on
the task at hand (as relentlessly monotonous as it was) she was able to let
her mind float hither and thither, and so her thoughts drifted. Invariably,
left unfettered, her imaginings were erotic in nature. They focused into
pleasant memories of Susan, the last woman she'd made love to.

Susan was a young and slight woman. She had an intense lust for bodybuilders
and Serena had required no seduction techniques to arouse her sexual heat. The
girl had been insatiably carnal, a passionate intensity that was surprising
given her initial sweetness and apparent innocence.

Serena remembered the delight the young woman had taken in Serena's
exceptional body. She'd admitted that, despite her lifelong love of muscles,
she'd never before met, let alone made love to a bodybuilder. It was an
experience she'd rejoiced in, celebrating the fantasy fulfilled.

"And how do I match up to the fantasy?" Serena had asked afterwards as she
flexed playfully.

Breathlessly, the girl had moaned in stupefied, sexual exclamation.

"You've surpassed it," she insisted, smiling luridly. "Beyond my wildest
dreams."

The reminiscence was sweet but brief, Serena's mind wandering on to other
delights and conquests. There were many to choose between - all revered - all
precious.

Her mind could coalesce memories with a sharpness and clarity that to others
would be indistinguishable from immediate experience. So vivid and precise was
her recollection, that the stimulation to her senses through memory alone was
just as sharp as those sensations had been when she originally experienced
them. Such was the benefit of a vampiric mental clarity.

And, given her current task, it was inevitable that eventually her thoughts
wandered to the athletically muscular woman she had picked up at The Watering
Hole. Lindsey had been stunning, a raven haired, hard bodied, beauty. She too
had a lust for bodybuilders and had looked upon Serena with naked hunger. But
Serena had seen in her more than just a casual fuck. Behind those ravenous
eyes she saw darkness. A cold brutality that was truly dangerous. The kind of
blackness that could corrupt and destroy a soul. It was where killers came
from.

But, that said, when utilised for good, it could be a positive boon. It could
be a strength like no other. It turned ordinary human beings into exceptional
ones. However sinister, it was where heroes came from too. Not that Serena had
any misapprehension that her thoughts were honourable. Far from it. She'd been
looking for this particular type of woman, one with just the right kind of
potential that this woman had. The sex had been incredible. Serena was skilled
as a lover, a knowledge of the human body that enabled her to render any being
completely helpless with ecstasy. And Lindsey was hardly unpractised herself,
as she proceeded to demonstrate with unabashed aplomb.

Serena had taken it a step further then, taking the woman's blood, drinking
gently from her throat. This was a comparatively rare act. Despite the
tremendous pleasure of it. The simple truth was that the intensity of the
experience was such that most people were unprepared for it - would be
irrevocably altered by it.

Despite the mutual bliss obtained from taking blood, it was something best
saved for special occasions. (And when she was simply hungry, she just found
herself a victim to feed off, draining them completely dry, offering them no
pleasure whatsoever.)

On this occasion however, it had been a natural progression. Lindsey was
already driven practically senseless by the carnal excesses they had engaged
in. Her mind working on a purely instinctual and sensual level, concerned only
with immediate pleasure. It was only right that they go that one stage
further.

For such a well muscled and undoubtedly powerful woman, Lindsey had taken
uncommon relish at being rendered so weak and helpless in the arms of another.
Serena's domination of her had fulfilled her utterly and she had given herself
to the vampire with complete and rapturous abandon.

Any doubts that Serena may have entertained as to whether or not Lindsey was
the right one were quickly dismissed. She was sure and no other searching was
necessary. And so it was she offered the woman the choice.

Already suspecting the answer, Serena had asked the woman the question that
would determine the rest of her life.

Between kisses and exhausted gasps, the drained woman was barely able to move,
let alone answer. It was as much through physical exertion as blood-loss.

Serena was lying back, half-propped in a semi-sitting position in the darkness
of the van. Lindsey was lying on her, her back to her, the vampire's arms
gently caressing her trembling body. The wound at her throat still trickled a
little and Serena licked at it, relishing the sweet and savage flavour.

Somewhere, breathlessly, she had answered, not even consciously aware of what
deal was being made. It was her instincts - carnal and sensual - that were
currently in charge and she followed them regardless of where they might lead.

Serena had asked, "Do you want to be strong?" She did. "Good. I can make you
strong."

There was a tiny cut in the vain at the vampire's elbow. As she brought her
arm around, embracing the girl, the swollen mass of her bicep poked against
the girl's face. Lindsey nestled into that warm crook, rubbing her cheek
against the muscle as she latched on and began to drink.

But despite the intensity and sweetness of her various memories, it wasn't
enough to drive away Serena's boredom. Masturbation could only occupy so much
of her time. She sensed a man walking past the van. That was what she needed,
she thought to herself, a little break, a distraction, a plaything. She needed
something real to occupy herself with. A snack.

The man walked along the quiet street, strolling innocently on his way,
thinking nothing was amiss. His first thought as the grip tightened about his
chest, was that this must be a heart attack, and certainly there was no other
obvious explanation. He reeled in panic, gasping for breath, but none would
come. It was as though an iron band had wrapped about his torso.

And then he realised his arms were trapped, as if they too were caught in the
invisible wrap, pinned to his sides. Giant ghost fingers seemed to be holding
his torso in an unseen fist, a grip that was no less substantial for being
invisible.

He had no coherent thoughts about the phenomenon, too tangled in shock and
panic, but it did at least fall into the realms of the possible. How else
would the senses describe such an attack? It's not as if he'd ever suffered a
heart attack before with which to compare it. What followed next however,
could not be explained rationally.

The invisible hand that had grabbed him, then began dragging him backwards
down the street, his heels trailing. He was supported not by his legs but by
the impossibly harsh grip about his chest as it slammed him mercilessly into
the back of the large transit van he just walked past.

Winded, the man felt himself bodily lifted into the air, could almost make out
the specific bands of pressure, like giant fingers tightening, as he was
heaved off of the ground, feet kicking wildly, still pinned against the back
of the van.

One of the back doors opened and the man was pulled roughly into the van, the
invisible grip around him finally released as he crashed unceremoniously into
the vehicle. The fingers dissolved like tendrils of smoke. One moment they
were utterly solid, crushing him to death, and the next, they were no more
substantial than the air itself. Seemingly under its own volition, the door
slammed shut again, plunging the frightened and gasping man into utter
darkness.

Inside the van it was completely black, not a single drop of daylight
permitted within. He grabbed blindly at the door, trying desperately to open
it in the dark, but couldn't even find a handle.

In the brief moment the door had been open, as he'd been tugged callously
inside, the back of the van had appeared to be empty. But he'd only been able
to see a few feet inside. What else there might be lurking in wait, hidden
deep within the shadows, he had no way of knowing. Although, as it happened,
he didn't have to wait very long to find out. He might have been released by
the ghostly hand, but he was still trapped in the back of the van. And
something was inside with him.

"Mousy," cooed a woman's voice. Her tone was so rich and suggestive that in
any other circumstances it would have been utterly erotic. However, right here
and now, he couldn't shake the horrible suspicion that if he was the mousy,
then she was undoubtedly the cat.

As if to prove this very thought, the woman pounced on him. Suddenly,
something very large and very strong was on top of him. Muscular limbs pinned
him to the metal floor, thighs like tree-trunks squashing his hips down.

Fists flying, he beat wildly at his assailant striking her torso a rain of
panicky blows. They landed on her breasts and belly but may as well have been
pounding the ground for all the effect they had. Her body was as solid as an
oak tree and to her, his blows were no more substantial than a child throwing
a temper tantrum.

Hands closed about his upper arms and tightened with merciless excess,
squeezing until he thought the meat would rupture and the bones within
crumple. He was forced back down against the floor of the van, the woman close
above him. Despite his struggling, she effortlessly pressed him down, pinning
his arms and shoulders with ridiculous ease.

He could feel her breath hot on his face. The odour of the woman, not the
perfume she wore but the very scent of her body, was rich and heavy in his
nostrils. She smelled of savagery and lust.

Her hair was loose and fell forward, tickling his face. Her breasts were just
above his chest and they brushed him ever so slightly, the heat coming off her
body radiating down into him.

"Are you scared yet, mousy?" she cooed. "Is your little heart beating fast?
Pumping that rich, adrenalized blood hard and sharp through your veins?"

She lowered her body further still, crushing her truly substantial breasts
down against him with such ferocity he thought she was trying to assault him
with them. And it was true that should she increase the pressure his ribcage
would certainly cave in beneath them.

But she was lowering herself to kiss him, pressing her voluptuous lips hard
against his, taking it by force. Her iron grip hadn't relented in the
slightest as she kissed him but now she finally released him. Her arms moved
behind his neck, closing him in a surprisingly tender embrace.

Despite their release, he could still barely move his arms, her vice- like
grip about them had been so tight he genuinely wondered if they'd ever work
properly again. Numbly he tried to push her away but it was to no avail. She
didn't even seem to notice his effort, so ineffective was it against one so
immeasurably stronger than he.

As one of her arms slowly tightened behind his neck, he felt the biceps muscle
swell against the side of his throat. He could feel the tremendous size and
hardness of it as she caressed him with amorous mischief.

She began to kiss him again, her whole body pressing against his with
increasing passion and desire. He couldn't believe what was happening to him.
He was about to be raped by a female bodybuilder. He struggled with all his
might but the woman atop him was indisputably his physical superior.

Her kiss moved to his throat, and as her fangs sank into him, the man's
struggles finally ceased.

* * *

Beth had a friend with a van which they borrowed. It was non-descript enough,
she figured, so was satisfied with taping fake number plates across the real
ones. They were only card but the subterfuge held up to all but close scrutiny
and the journey to and fro would be short.

The rear of the shop parade above which they lived had an access way that was
used mainly for stock during the day but there was also space for residents'
parking. At night the area was deathly quiet.

The only danger was being seen by one of the neighbours but curtains were
closed and besides, they wouldn't look too suspicious even if they were
carrying a body down to the van in the dead of night. Who'd honestly believe
that's what they were actually seeing? Only the kind of person who wouldn't be
believed if they were to relate what they'd witnessed.

When Beth got back to the flat Lindsey had wrapped her victim in black plastic
bin-bags and taped him up tight. "You ready?" she asked. Lindsey nodded and
picked the bundle up. She did this with one arm, tossing him lightly over her
shoulder as though he weighed no more than a sports bag.

Beth watched this careless feat of strength, executed with such ease.

"That is actually pretty cool," she said. Whether this utter disregard for the
genuine seriousness of the situation was merely a disassociation symptom of
shock on her part or actual apathy she couldn't be entirely sure. Either way,
it didn't change the fact that she was genuinely impressed.

Lindsey grinned, proud despite herself. She swung her arm up and flexed,
making the bicep swell up. Even in the loose black sweater she wore for
discretion's sake, the mighty peak was discernable, a huge mountainous bulge
that actually stretched the tight knit, threatening to rip apart the woollen
sleeve.

"I'll say one thing for vampirism," Beth remarked dryly, "it certainly brings
out the best in a bodybuilder. Never mind drug tests, they should check the
champions for fangs!"

Lindsey carried the body out and down to the van. Beth followed, watching the
neighbouring flats for tell-tail movement, trying to check all curtains at
once for twitching. As far as she could tell, no one had seen them. They
tossed the man into the back of the van and closed it, moving to the front.
Beth quickly got into the driver's seat and started the engine.

She'd never driven anything this big before but had got used to it on the
journey from her friend's place to the flat.

There is a subdued thrill most drivers feel at the wheel of a car - the
awesome responsibility for maintaining control over a machine so intensely
powerful and potentially dangerous. It seemed amplified by the van, old and
battered though it was. She'd certainly noticed other road users giving her
more space and respect.

Neither woman spoke for a long time as they headed through the streets, trying
to keep to back roads and less populated areas.

"What happened?" Beth asked finally, wanting to break the tense silence.
"Huh?" Lindsey asked, shaken back from her far away musings. "Oh, with the..."
and she gestured behind them.

"Yeah."

"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. I've been kinda hazy the last few days.
A head full of weird ideas and images. It's like I couldn't control my own
thoughts, just being bombarded with lust and violence.

"I guess I knew what it was that I was going to do but I'd shut that bit off.
I didn't want to acknowledge it. I just retreated and let impulse take over
and do what it had to."

"You picked up a man?" Beth said, her voice deathly quiet. It wasn't really a
question. The corpse in the back spelt out the climax to this tale in bold
letters. There were no surprises as to where it was invariably heading.

"Yeah. I think I somehow knew that it would kill him. Even though my lust was
directing me towards women, I didn't want to do that to a woman. Somehow I
could accept what had to be done better if I did it to a man instead."

She laughed then. It was a painful sound, a touch hysterical, but when she
spoke again, her voice was relatively steady and calm once more.

"Because I didn't know what was happening to me these past few weeks, I wanted
to talk to that vampire chick again. I wanted to find out exactly what she'd
done to me. But I don't know how to contact her. I don't even know her full
name."

"Have you been back to the bar?" Beth asked.

"Yeah. But she wasn't there. No one could tell me much. A few women knew who I
was talking about, she's hardly an inconspicuous figure after all, but none of
them knew anything more about her than I did. Less in fact, given what I've
already discovered!

"But I couldn't stay in there anyway. The place was doing my head in. My lust
was going out of control. I've never felt so... so fucking rampant. I was
surrounded by all these painfully gorgeous dykes, all utterly hot and horny as
hell. I had to get out of there, I was beginning to lose control. That's when
I knew for certain that this weird madness was getting worse. Something had to
give."

"So you decided to go ahead? Pick someone up?"

"Yeah. I decided to just do it," Lindsey agreed. Then, as if her unconscious
needed to undercut this revelation with something trivial, she added. "I
borrowed your green satin top."

Beth almost laughed. "What? I barely fit in that top. Jesus, you must have got
some admiring glances in that. I take it you had no trouble pulling!"

* * *

Lindsey had worn a heavy jacket, not wanting her muscles to put off potential
suitors, but left it unzipped, happy to use her newly blossomed chest as bait.
The slinky satin top she'd borrowed from Beth's wardrobe barely contained her
breasts and she'd stood in front of the mirror wondering if she dared baring
such an outrageous cleavage. This kind of everyday anxiety helped distract her
troubled mind from the burgeoning insanity that lay beneath.

But despite the immodest apparel, Lindsey was deeply disconcerted by her
seeming inability to score. She'd just supposed that it would be easy, hadn't
even thought she'd need to buy her own drink. But here she was nearly finished
her drink and she hadn't had so much as a lurid comment.

If this had been a lesbian bar, she'd certainly have been hit on by now,
especially dressed as she was. (Not through her sex appeal so much as what the
clothes actually signified - a desire to show off her body - a desire to
impress and attract company. Women wouldn't have hesitated at such unambiguous
signals and body language.)

In fact, if she'd been out and seen such an outrageous display of tits used as
plumage, she'd have been at the woman in a heartbeat, whether she was in a gay
bar or not.

She wondered if she'd overdone it. After all, she was hardly well versed in
the etiquette of the male meat market. She should have consulted Beth. But
then, what kind of complicated conversation would that have led to? And
besides, this was Beth's top. She'd seen her wearing it and the effect was
just as brazen on her. She wasn't especially shy about using her tits to
impress guys, and she never had any trouble pulling when she put her mind to
it.

Lindsey had been distracted from her musings by a man, he'd come up to her
without her notice. He smiled as she looked up, startled.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he offered.

"Sure!" she agreed, sounding too eager. She reigned herself in. "Why don't you
sit down." And she gestured to the seat next to her.

"Actually, the way you were glancing around all the time, I'd assumed you were
waiting for somebody."

"No, I'm here alone," she assured him.

"Me too," he told her, his voice smooth and full of confidence. "At least, I
was."

She smiled, gestured to the barman then turned back to her victim.

He'd bought a couple of drinks while they chatted merrily away. Lindsey forgot
that she was supposed to be seductive, and found herself relaxing. She liked
the control she had over the man. It was an odd feeling and unlike anything
she'd experienced before. She realised she could probably persuade him to do
anything she wanted, bend him utterly to her will. It made her feel predatory.
It was a feeling she liked. A few drinks later, when he'd suggested they go on
someplace else, she simply said, "My place is close."

And so they'd gone there.

Lindsey pointed to her bedroom.

"You're very direct," he said, "I like that."

"Not necessarily," she replied. "Actually there is something I should tell
you."

She didn't tell him however, she showed him instead. He sat on the bed and she
held the sides of her jacket, pulling it open.

This offered him an even better view at her scandalously displayed breasts, a
sight he gazed at in open and joyous wonder.

"Your breasts are fantastic," he told her.

Without further fanfare she shimmered the coat from her shoulders, letting it
drop away from her arms. The skimpy top now revealed her spectacular upper
body in all its tremendous mass.

Even before she had a chance to flex, his expression went from delight to
astonishment. His eyes nearly burst from his sockets. Whatever he'd been
expecting from her, it clearly wasn't this.

"Jesus! That ain't right!" he hissed.

As if to reinforce his words, his face registered more than just shock, there
was horror and revulsion there too.

Lindsey saw it and was glad of it. She knew what was coming next and knew it
would be easier if she despised this man. So far, he was obliging her.

With a dramatic flourish, she rolled her arms around and threw up a double
biceps pose - the mountainous peaks of her muscles blooming like great round
mushroom clouds, vast and lethal.

The tremendous size and power of this body was still new to her and in all the
fear and confusion she'd experienced, she'd neglected the simple joy of what
was happening to her. Now she gloried in it, revelling in the sheer size and
strength of her body. And the fear and envy of the man sat staring in
horrified shock just made that impact all the more sweet.

"What's wrong, don't you like muscles on a woman?"

"Are you serious?" he sneered. "I wouldn't even call you a woman. I don't know
what you are."

Lindsey didn't take offence at the insult, she would have had to invest some
validity in his opinion first.

She lent her body forward, making her newly developed breasts bust
outrageously from the scooped top. She cupped them seductively.

"What about these?" she cooed. "You can't tell me these don't appeal. You
couldn't prise your eyes off of them earlier."

"Plastic tits don't count for shit on a steroid freak like you."

He got up, finally having recovered from his initial shock.

"What's wrong, honey?" she sighed, voice dripping in false concern.

"I'm gone," he told her simply. "This isn't my scene. You need help."

And he would have left then. Had she let him.

When he tried to walk past her Lindsey raised an arm, putting her hand before
his chest to bar his path. She couldn't resist holding her arm in such a
manner that made her bicep leap into action, swelling up into an enormous
peak, bulging with solid power.

His eyes baulked at the shocking sight of it.

"You're not going anywhere," she told him with quiet authority. Her voice
sounded amused.

"Don't make me hurt you."

She actually laughed at this, rolling her head back in an exaggerated gesture.
"You have to be joking!" she insisted. "I can't even count how many times
stronger I am than you."

He grabbed her wrist and tried to move her arm. She held it in position,
easily matching him. He used his other hand too but still couldn't budge her
even an inch. She grinned broadly at his futile efforts, glad to be able to
demonstrate her superior strength.

He tried to sidestep around her but she matched him. Then again, sidestepping
back to and fro.

"What, you wanna dance?" she mocked.

"I mean it, you freaky bitch. Get out of my way."

"Why don't you make me?" she suggested.

And he punched her in the belly with all his might.

"You bastard!" she exclaimed, furious, then added, "this isn't my top.

You better not have damaged it."

Lindsey made as if she was concerned about the fabric, carefully inspecting
it. She'd suffered nothing more from his assault, her muscular stomach
standing up to the blow in much the way a brick wall stands up to a snowball.

The man meanwhile rubbed his knuckles, shocked and somewhat pained. That
didn't however stop him from taking the opportunity to strike while she was
looking down.

He punched her again, this time fully in the face. And this time he got a
response, actually knocking her head back and making her nose bleed. Lindsey
looked at the man with savage murder in her eyes. It was an expression that
made him back away from her, suddenly properly afraid for the first time.

She wiped the blood from her nose with a finger, inspecting it curiously. She
licked the finger clean then faced the man. It was time to stop playing.

"Look, I'm sorry, I hit..." he began. It was as far as he got before she laid
him out with a sweeping backhand.

He flew backwards onto the bed, his whole body propelled with such a force
that had he not collapsed onto soft quilts and mattress, he'd undoubtedly done
himself serious damage.

Lindsey grabbed him. She wrapped her arms about him, lifting him into a great
bear hug. She stood, heaving him off of his feet, his arms pinned to his
sides. Those stupendous breasts that he'd spent so much of the evening
admiring were now pressed savagely against his chest. Far from enjoying the
experience now it was finally here, he was in fear of his ribcage cracking.

Lindsey was tall and his boots kicked wildly, though she didn't appear to
notice the contact with her shins. He squirmed in her grasp, tried to free his
arms, tried to ease the relentless crushing of his torso. She just kept
squeezing though, her hands grabbing her wrists as she pulled his body tight.

Then she did it. She hadn't even noticed how her fangs had extended from her
gums. It had just been instinct as, deep down, she'd known it would be.
Without further fanfare she plunged her fangs into his throat and she began to
drink.

The man's consciousness slowly faded. He didn't know what was happening to
him, he could only sense the increasing pressure about his chest. But even as
her arms continued to tighten, his mind seemed to slowly - mercifully - drift
away.

He felt something crack inside him, and once it started, the rest of his torso
quickly followed suit, caving in under her relentless hug. One arm snapped,
halfway between the shoulder and elbow, and then the other. But even as his
body was relentlessly crushed, his focus blurred and his pain floated into
nothingness. He almost felt tranquil as, far away, he felt a resounding crunch
that was probably final.

Lindsey swallowed him, taking his life's blood into herself. Such was her
revelry that she hadn't even noticed that she'd continued to squeeze him as
she fed. When she finally surfaced and looked around, she was not entirely
sure what had happened.

She'd taken too much too quickly. Like a drunkard overdoing it on an empty
stomach. Her head was throbbing, but this time it was in a good way. The
madness that had driven her to act on her predatory instincts had abated for
the time being at least. She wondered how long it would take them to return.

Her victim had collapsed on the bed. She saw the misshapen torso and sighed
with something approaching regret. She threw the duvet over the sight.

Then she felt a head rush and quickly sat, feeling dizzy. Without further
warning she fell facedown onto the bed, beside her victim.

* * *

"The relief I felt as I fed from him is unlike anything I can even describe,"
Lindsey told her. "When I was a kid, my arm... got broken. Hurt like fucking
hell, just ravelled up in pain. At the hospital I was given a shot. I have no
idea what was in it but suddenly the pain just melted away in this warm,
floating oblivion.

"It's the closest parallel I can think of to describe what it felt like to
feed from that guy. For weeks there's been a slow madness building up inside
my body. Right at the very core of my being. A savage and insatiable need.

"It sounds hideous to recount it like this, but you've got to understand that
in its own weird kinda way it was the most natural thing in the world. That's
what I am now - a predator. I need blood. You wouldn't call a lion immoral?

"No," Beth agreed. "But then, I'm not a zebra."

She said this with her typical dry delivery and Lindsey looked as though she
wasn't quite sure how the comment was meant. In truth, Beth wasn't sure
herself. The remark was as much a defence mechanism as either a condemnation
or a reassuring quip. It was a lot to take in, no matter how well she
pretended to be dealing with it.

But, she realised then, she was dealing with it. The reason she was here,
helping her friend dump the body was because she was, first and foremost, her
friend. And if that friend happened to have become a vampire, then it would
just take a little adjustment, that's all.

"We're here," Beth stated, pulling up. "Don't worry. We'll dump what's left of
your last meal then go home and try and get our heads round all this. We're in
this together. OK?"

Lindsey smiled, her eyes misting with tears. "Thank you. For everything."

"Oh God, don't start, you'll set me off. Come on, we've got work to do."

Lindsey nodded and wiped her eyes. Her heartfelt smile however, refused to
leave her face.

They headed to a particular bank, walking slowly in the treacherous darkness.
At least Beth did. Lindsey seemed far less encumbered, despite the fact that
she was laden down with the body. She carried it with ease, holding it as if
it was a sports bag, rather than the dead weight of a human corpse.

Beth tripped and nearly went stumbling, catching her balance and swearing
violently.

"Slow down," she insisted. "Jesus, I can barely see a thing."

"Really?" Lindsey asked, surprised. "I can actually see pretty well. In fact,
I was wondering where all the light was coming from. I figured it was just the
natural ambient glow of the city at night."

"Are you serious?"

Beth looked at the barely visible shadow that was her friend. She couldn't
even be sure whether she was looking at her front or back, the light was so
poor. Keeping her hand close to her chest, she held two fingers out and closed
the others into her fist.

"How many?" she asked.

"What are you on about?"

"How many?" she repeated, keeping her hand still and her voice flat.

"Two." Lindsey told her. "So what's your point?"

Beth looked down at her hand. She could barely see it herself. Her body was
shielding it from any light, so it wasn't as though Lindsey would be able to
see it in silhouette.

"Wow!" Beth stated. "I think we've discovered another of your super powers."

"What are you on about?"

Beth explained as they reached the bank.

A low railing was all that separated them from a ten foot drop into the inky
water. On the opposite side they could see the heavy machinery of a
construction site, like looming beasts on some desolate landscape, stretching
away for miles. It was deathly silent.

Lindsey put the body down.

"This is probably the best place," Beth said. "The currents will take it right
out. It may even reach the sea before it washes up."

"How do you know all this?"

Beth smiled enigmatically. "You can't just open the book of my life in the
middle and start reading, you know."

She knelt besides the wrapped bundle and poked at it experimentally.

"First we need to make a hole in the stomach." And upon stating this she
pulled out a long-handled screwdriver, wielding it like it was a weapon.
Considering the use she was about to put it to, that was entirely appropriate.

She slid the tool into the black sacking with remarkable detachment, doing
what was required with what she considered to be impressive stoicism. She'd
always prided herself on her essential pragmatism.

Lindsey pulled a face, distasteful. Then she remembered that Beth couldn't
actually see it and so stated, "that's sick!" Then her voice dropped its
squeamish note as she added, with genuine curiosity. "Why?"

The voice that answered her came from behind them.

"To let the gas out," it said. A rich and languid voice, a highly sensual
sounding woman. She strode towards the guilty pair.

Beth was about ready to totally freak out, clutching the screwdriver as though
to ward off the stranger. She stood, her body bristling defensively.

Lindsey however was far less concerned. She placed a reassuring hand on her
friend's shoulder, instantly calming her panic, although the three of them did
remain still and tense, a level of contained apprehension in the air.

"Have you been following us?" Lindsey asked the stranger, keeping her voice
low and deliberately unemotional.

Serena just smiled. Even Beth could see the gleam of her fangs.

"Beth - Serena. Serena - Beth."

The women nodded a curt hello to each other.

Serena regarded Lindsey, hyper-acute eyes assessing her physique.

"You've put on weight!" she remarked dryly.

"Yeah? Funny that, considering how my diet's changed recently."

"It looks good on you."

"Do you know that I've been looking for you?"

"I'm sorry, I've been keeping a low profile."

"This is her?" Beth asked.

"Oh yeah, this is her."

Serena seemed to relent a little then, softening. "I suppose you've got some
questions," she said, and her tone of voice was itself an apology.

"One or two," Lindsey agreed.

Serena nodded. "Fair enough."

She walked over to them and picked up the corpse, lifting it easily with one
hand. Callously, she tossed it out into the water. The splash it made was
surprisingly subdued. With the faintest glub it disappeared beneath the black
surface.

"Why don't I give you a lift back in my van," Serena suggested. "I'll see
about answering your questions en route."

There was now another van parked besides Beth's. The two muscle women got into
the other one and it drove away, leaving Beth alone, feeling put out and
abandoned. She sighed and headed off after them.

She was sure that Lindsey would fill her in later on anything she needed to
know. It was fair enough she supposed, they did have a lot to talk about after
all.

Despite the fact that they couldn't have arrived that much ahead of her, when
Beth returned to the flat Serena and Lindsey had disappeared into Lindsey's
bedroom, a fact that was announced by the noisy and unrestrained sounds of sex
that echoed throughout the flat without apparent embarrassment or apology.

It was true Beth had heard Lindsey on previous occasions. Often in fact, the
woman was hardly abashed or discreet at the best of times. Beth had joked with
her friend that she was just showing off. Or maybe she was trying to advertise
how fantastic lesbianism was.

"I assure you, it's not deliberate," Lindsey had told her. "In fact, if I'm
with the right woman, it's not only beyond my control, but it's something I'm
not even aware of."

But on this occasion the mutual cries of ecstasy sounded like a warzone
crossed with a harem.

Not knowing why she suddenly felt so distraught, Beth stood and left the flat
again, practically fleeing.

* * *

It was too late for bars and too early for cafés but Beth knew a place close
enough to walk to that stayed open twenty-four seven. It fancied itself as a
kind of American style diner. Right at this moment she could think of nowhere
she'd rather be than to take comfort in the company of complete anonymity and
shared solitude.

The man whose name she didn't bother to ask was a shift worker. He told her
that he'd just got off the night shift and was heading home. He was eating bad
food with genuine hunger. What he worked the night shift doing, he didn't
happen to mention.

What she did ask during their short, low-key and seemingly inconsequential
dialogue was whether he lived close or not. When he told her that he did she
replied, "we'll go there then."

And he'd agreed.

They made surprisingly tender love, considering the fervent urgency that
seemed to overwhelm Beth, the impassioned hunger for this man that took hold
of her once they'd reached his small bachelor's flat.

He tried to excuse himself and take a quick shower beforehand but she pulled
him down onto the bed, on top of her, wrapping her arms and legs about him,
refusing to let him go.

She used her arms and her lips and her breasts and her hips to keep him
entwined in her embrace and she would not release him. She pulled his clothes
off with desperate haste feeling like a vampire herself, wanting to sink her
teeth into the flesh beneath.

He was overwhelmed by her passion and her zeal. He was unprepared for such
events, seemingly unused to such occurrences. He made love like a man who
hadn't been with a woman for far too long a period, but one who quickly
remembered the ropes, his hands and his body familiar enough with the slopes
and contours of the feminine form. A divorcee perhaps, he'd certainly been
trained by someone to be considerate as well as adept.

But despite this, and despite her own intensity, Beth didn't reach orgasm,
although she took genuine solace from the expression on his face, as he
undoubtedly did.

Afterwards, he looked into her eyes, her own equivocal expression warding off
the threat of open sentiment in his.

Beth dozed a little but despite the busy night, she only slept an hour or so.
She woke and watched the grey light encroaching through the thick curtains.

It was curious the way the man had made love to her. Despite her zeal and her
aggression there was still the distinct sense that the act had been just that,
lovemaking, rather than callous fucking. It was certainly an expression of
emotion rather than mere animal lust, even if that emotion wasn't necessarily
love.

She thought of the two vampire women who were back at the flat - the power and
dominance each were capable of. Either one of those women could take this man
and break his body as though he was nothing. They could snap him in half
without breaking a sweat. It wasn't as if she bore the man any sort of malice
or hostility - she didn't. But to think of it - to imagine the strength and
the power to be capable of such an act. It was an intoxicating idea.

Never in her life had she imagined such a thing. Looking at this man now, she
mused, if he actually wanted to, he would be able to pin her down and rape
her. She would be literally powerless to stop him. If he took it into his head
to commit any sort of act of violence against her, she would be unable to
defend herself against him. And it wasn't as if there was anything special or
impressive about the man. He didn't even work out.

As if her very scrutiny had awoken him, the man stirred. Embarrassed, she
moved her focus, not wanting him to catch her staring at him while he slept.

Beth moved, as if responding to his movements, and when their eyes met it was
mutual and natural. He smiled at her and she responded in kind. She decided
they should make love again and kissed him. It started innocently but she
quickly became more amorous. Thinking again about dominance and power she
climbed on top of him, sitting her body astride him.

"You're insatiable!" he groaned, though he hardly sounded too put out by the
fact.

"No I'm not," she assured him. "I'm just not done with you yet." And she
kissed him again with increased passion, pressing her body knowingly against
his.

Their kiss parted and she grinned lustily down at him, rubbing her body
against his erection. He was in the game now.

Her breasts hung above him, tremendous and prevailing.

"Look at these," he remarked, taking hold of them, fondling her with gentle
insistence. "They're incredible."

She didn't answer, fixing him with her eyes and keeping herself still above
him while his hands softly kneaded her bountiful flesh.

"You've probably heard that before," he said.

"Once or twice," she admitted.

He began kissing them.

Beth's thoughts were still muddled, but she let those concerns drift away. She
let the pleasure of the moment whitewash her troubled mind. Releasing herself
into the act, she let sensation be her guide.

Staying on top she was better able to control the motion and stimulation. For
his part, he seemed all too happy for her to take the lead.

This time she did climax and it was almost a romantic revelry. Soft and
implosive, her orgasm was as euphoric as it was exhilarating. Her body
quivered as she collapsed onto him, and his arms rose about her, hugging her
to him. She laughed sweetly and kissed him, honestly grateful.

His dick was still hard and insistent inside her and she realised he hadn't
ejaculated yet. But with a few more sharp and savage thrusts from beneath her
hips he quickly finished off. She bucked her hips and stoked his face as he
did so, joyfully watching his expression as, eyes rolling, he released.

Beth left the man sleeping, leaving carefully and quietly so as not to awaken
him. She even went so far as to consider leaving her number, but decided
against it. With a callous pragmatism she admitted to herself that it would be
pointlessly sentimental, after all, he had served his purpose.

When she returned to the flat, the two lesbian vampires were still fucking
with the same rampant ferocity, a zeal that showed no signs of abating.

* * *

"I'm surprised you can even fucking move," Beth remarked dryly, later that
evening. It was dark again before the lovers were finally done; Serena had
left and Lindsey had finally reappeared, looking even more dishevelled than
before.

"I've got to admit, if I hadn't suddenly got this new vampire strength, I
probably wouldn't be able to speak right about now, let alone move."

"I don't know whether to envy you or bow down in awe."

"She said she wanted to apologise for all that she'd put me through."

"Well, that was sweet of her."

"Sweet isn't the word."

"It sounded sweet!"

"Sorry. Hope we didn't disturb you too much."

"No. I went out actually. Just to clear my head a little."

"Clear your head?"

"...Yeah."

"Oh my God, you had sex!"

"How do you even know that?"

"You little slut!"

"You can always tell. How do you do it?"

"When it comes to women and sex, I can just tell. I have a facility for it."

"That's scary. It's almost psychic."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Sex!"

"Yeah. Straight people have sex too sometimes."

"Who was he?"

"Just some guy. Not important. I just wanted a little comfort and
distraction."

"And?"

"And? And I found it."

"No one special?"

"No one special. But enough about me. What did Serena have to say?"

"Well, she was impressed by you."

"Me?" Beth asked, surprised, and just a little bit pleased.

"I believe what she actually called you was hips, lips and tits."

Beth blushed. "I'm just as God made me," she replied, a touch coyly.

"And what a job She did of it!"

"Thought you said I wasn't your type."

"You're not. I'm not blind however. I know poetry when I see it."

"Yeah, yeah, and when I walk it's poetry in motion. I've heard that one before
too."

"What she actually asked was whether you and I were... you know."

"And what did she say when you told her?"

"Well, she just kinda smiled this wicked, lurid little smile and said 'good'."

"Wow!"

"Good wow or bad wow?"

"Flattered wow."

"I told her you're not gay."

"And what did she say to that?"

"She didn't seem to care. In fact, she didn't seem to think it mattered much."

Beth sighed, wondering whether the vampire may well have had a point.

"Are you having subversive thoughts?" Lindsey asked, teasingly.

"She certainly has a... well, a quality to her."

"Yes you are, you dyke!"

"You said it yourself, she has a certain seductive quality."

"Yeah, and it's obviously a lot more potent than I realised!"

"Well anyway, never mind about that. What I actually meant was, what did she
say about... you know..." and she mimed fangs with her fingers.

Serena had apologised.

"Why do it like that?" Lindsey had insisted. "Toss me in the deep end and see
if I learn to swim. Christ, you didn't even tell me what was going to happen
to me."

"Short version. To see if you could cope. It's a harsh truth, but you can't
mollycoddle a vampire. If I'd tried to guide you through it gently, you could
never have adjusted, you would have fought me all the way. It has to be sink
or swim."

"And if I'd sunk?"

"Then I would have been very sad about it. But vampirism isn't something you
can take back. The only way a new vampire can survive the transition sane and
intact is to accept that darkness and allow it to control your instincts."

"So I'm a slave to it now? Is that the life I have to look forward to? That of
an uncontrollable killer?"

"All human beings remember, deep inside the primitive core of the brain, what
it was once like to be an animal. Yes, you now have to adjust to being a
predator, but that comes easier than you might imagine. And there are fringe
benefits too."

"I still would have liked to have a choice."

"I gave you a choice."

"You didn't exactly explain the small print."

"This wasn't some Faustian pact. I didn't trick you. Deep in your heart, you
knew it was darkness I was offering you. I picked you because you had that
potential - I could see it in you. And here you are, alive and well-fed. Sorry
to tell you this, but that alone proves that I was right."

"I still feel used - tricked."

"Well... yeah, I suppose I am sorry that you feel like that. But I have to do
what I think is right. And sometimes the choices we make are the lesser of two
evils."

They drove on in silence a while. Serena could sense that the other woman's
anger had at least abated a little.

"The new muscles suit you," she offered, finally breaking the silence.

Lindsey looked down at her newly expanded physique. "Yeah, what the hell is
that all about?"

"It happens sometimes. Kind of a synchrony between us I guess. It's fairly
unusual but I think you were particularly open to it."

"So my body changed because this is what you look like?"

"Basically."

"I guess that is pretty cool," she allowed reluctantly.

"You do realise that you're actually a hell of a lot stronger than you look,"
Serena told her. "And you don't exactly look like a five stone weakling to
start with."

"I had noticed," Lindsey admitted, and couldn't help smiling. Fringe benefits
indeed. But there was something else she wanted to ask about - something not
to do with her new body or its capabilities. Instead of asking, she told
Serena about her first kill.

"A part of the bloodlust is the sadism," Serena told her. "It's just how the
predatory aspects of your nature manifest themselves. Make no mistake, you are
a predator now, and you will have to learn to deal with everything that goes
with it."

"I don't want to hurt anyone!"

"Unfortunately, that's not true, is it. Not anymore."

Lindsey was silent. She couldn't deny it. Serena was right.

"I'll tell you what I do, if that helps," Serena said. "Murder and death is
now so tied up with sexual lust I can't always tell them apart. I need to
drink blood and I enjoy the physical act of assaulting and draining a victim.
The pleasure and thrill of it is a part of what I am now. I know that it makes
me a sadist but I can't control that.

"What I can control is my behaviour. Ultimately I can choose. If I don't feed
I'll die but that doesn't mean I don't still have a choice. I choose to live.
I choose to feed off of others so that I can continue to exist. There's no
such thing as a moral vampire."

"You fed off of me."

"That's different. That was a taste, for the sake of pleasure. It was a part
of sex. It's not sustenance. I can't live off of it. Well, not unless I had
maybe a dozen women lined up and I took a tiny bite of each. It's so
impractical as to be ridiculous.

"Ultimately it's a decision you have to make, whether you want to live, at the
cost of countless other lives, or sacrifice yourself for the good of the
world. Personally I hope you don't choose the latter. I haven't known you long
and I do actually quite like you, despite everything I've put you through.

"Once I made the choice to live, irrespective of my victims, the sadism was
easy to accept, seeing as it comes with the whole package. I don't kill for
the pleasure of it, I kill in order to live, but that said, if you're going to
be a vampire, you might as well enjoy it."

"Do you only feed off of men?"

"Normally. I'll kill a woman if I need to - equal rights and all that. But
when picking a victim, I always pick a man. Sometimes I'll sleep with a man,
if I'm in the mood, but I normally end up killing them afterwards anyway. Or
during, even, that can be fun too. But generally I prefer to have sex with
women. Females are for friends and fucking. Males are merely meals."

"Catchy."

"You'll find a way of dealing with it," Serena assured her. "And I'm here to
help now. It's just those initial steps you have to take alone."

"What else do I need to know?" Lindsey asked her, suddenly worried. As if she
hadn't had enough upheaval to endure already.

"Practical stuff. How to appreciate your new powers. And also it's helpful to
know how to go underground, stay under the radar. The frequent slaughter of
human beings is one of those things that tends to get noticed if you're not
careful, even in today's society."

"Does it matter that I told my friend?"

"No. And that is quite a friend you've got!"

"Not a security issue or anything? I'm not breaking some secret vampire code?"

"Hardly. Who is she likely to tell? What would she say to them?"

"Yeah, I suppose you've got a point."

There was another silence then and when Serena spoke again, her voice was
softer and more gentle than ever.

"I do want to apologise to you, honestly I do."

"And just how are you going to do that?" Lindsey asked, though, given the
mischievous and lustful expression that played across the vampire's face, she
could at least guess the nature of the apology.

Serena licked her lips in a deliciously wicked and wanton manner. "Well, if
you invite me to come up to your flat with you, I think I can find a way."

* * *

Despite the ease with which the body had been disposed of, Lindsey was deeply
troubled over the next few days. It was more complex than simply her learning
to become a predator, more than just accepting that she was a killer. In a
weird sort of way that much of it was easy enough. It was instinctual, after
all. Her body had certain needs and all she had to do was allow herself to
fulfil them.

But there was something else that was troubling her now. And it didn't take
the powers of a vampire to see it.

"What's bothering you?" Beth asked. "Stuff."

"I know that I can't comprehend what you're going through," Beth acknowledged.
"But that doesn't mean I can't be here for you. This is huge. You're actually
becoming something else - something new."

"It's not just that," Lindsey said, and Beth knew then that her suspicions had
been correct. Whatever was upsetting her friend so was more than becoming a
vampire, something she appeared to have taken to with remarkable ease.

"There are things I have to do," Lindsey told her.

"Feeding?"

"No. Things I need to resolve."

"Things?"

Lindsey shrugged. "You know, things. Stuff. Baggage. Issues. Pick whatever
psychobabble terminology appeals to you most."

"Past stuff?"

"Yeah."

Somehow, Beth knew she wasn't talking about resolving these issues internally.
It wasn't therapy that glimmered in her eyes with vicious coldness.

"Let me help you."

"I don't want you to be involved."

"I helped you dump the body of a man who you slaughtered and fed upon in a
vampiric frenzy. Just how not involved would you like me to be?"

Lindsey smiled. "OK, you've got a point, but I don't want you to be any more
involved than you already are."

"You know I don't like being left out!"

And Lindsey laughed, hugging her friend. "You're one twisted little fuck, you
know that?" she said, brimming with affection.

"Hey," Beth laughed, hugging her back, "I'm not the one who eats people."

* * *

There was a man. He was a bad man. There are worse men of course; there are
those who have committed unspeakable acts, atrocities even beyond normal
comprehension. He wasn't as bad as all that, but he was bad enough. Bad enough
to cause a young woman a lifetime of anger and resentment.

It is technically true that Lindsey did not have to wait until she became a
vampire before acting out this particular scenario. The emotional closure
could have been quite easily sought many years ago. She was an immensely
powerful woman before meeting Serena, physically strong and armed with well
practiced skills. It wasn't even as if she'd never killed a man with her bare
hands before.

But the simple truth was that the intervening years had helped her heal.
Memories fade and trauma becomes buried in the everyday mundane pressures of a
healthy, active life. No matter the horrendous reality of what she'd once
endured, she'd forgotten the past in favour of a more positive present tense.

It's only when you pick at scabs that they start bleeding and become infected.

So it was that Lindsey moved silently through the house. This wasn't the home
of her childhood. This man had long since abandoned her mother, finding
instead a younger, fresher woman for his affections. But despite his habit of
repeatedly moving on once he became bored, he hadn't taken much tracking down.

Once again he had married a single mother. He'd found a woman already
downtrodden and demoralized by life, defeated and dejected by all the
hardships she had endured. He had made himself cosy in her home, just like he
had once done so with Lindsey's mother.

She broke in through the attic, ripping the whole window-frame out of the
skylight and slipping silently inside.

The daughter was asleep in her bedroom, the mother currently in hospital. This
man had apparently expanded his modus operandi. When Lindsey was a little
girl, he had only used his fists on little girls, Lindsey's mother had escaped
the two-year failed marriage relatively unscathed. Physically at least.

Her ex-stepfather was still downstairs. Lindsey wondered if he would recognise
her. It was safe to say that she'd changed a great deal in the many years
since he had seen her last.

"Who are you?" he demanded, as she revealed her presence. "What are you doing
here?"

She didn't answer him. She loomed from the shadows, standing brutish, her arms
hanging thick and heavy below her huge, great shoulders, angry and aching for
action.

She wore loose fitting garments of black, the frightening size and power of
her body concealed from him. He would find out what she was capable of soon
enough. But even so, there was fear in his face. For a man who had no regard
for women, he recognised the potential threat of this one, even without seeing
her intimidating musculature. Something in her stance perhaps, her confidence
or her aggression. Something that clued him into the fact that he was in
serious danger here, woman or not.

"Just take whatever you want and go," he pleaded. "We don't have much. There's
some cash in my wallet on the counter, you can take it. I'm not going to stop
you. You don't have to hurt anyone. My daughter's upstairs asleep. She's just
a little girl!"

It was odd to see him now, see him how he was today, nothing more than a
fragile, frightened old man. He would have been no match for her even without
her newly acquired strength. In her head this man was a giant - a gargoyle of
awesome power. She realised now just how weak and pathetic he truly was. And
the contempt stirred up the rage, and it was rage that had led her here
tonight.

Lindsey stepped towards him.

He must have read her intention because the moment she moved he turned around
and ran. She leapt forward and easily caught him, wrapping her arms about his
chest and lifted him up off of his feet. She heaved him into the air in a
great bear hug, as easily as a parent would a child. Her chest pressed against
his back, her biceps flexed hard against his pinned elbows, her hands locked
in front of his stomach.

She couldn't help thinking back to her first victim, of how she had crushed
him to death without even realising it, so enraptured was she in feeding. She
wasn't feeding now however, and was completely conscious of the agony she
caused the man as she slowly began to squeeze.

His bones were old and fragile and it didn't take much pressure before they
began to pop and crack.

She relented quickly, tossing the broken body on the ground. She didn't want
him to pass out or die until she'd had the opportunity to truly make him
suffer. She wanted this man to welcome death. She wanted his last moments on
Earth to be so terrible that he actually welcomed Hell when she finally sent
him there.

She regarded the man as he quivered before her in pain and fear. How fragile
and broken must his latest wife be, to allow such a wretched specimen of human
detritus to dominate her life so? Well, no more. This man's days of terror
were over for good.

She had also noticed that when he turned to flee, he had been heading for the
front door. For a man who'd cite his innocent daughter in a plea for clemency,
he had no apparent compunction about abandoning her.

One elbow had apparently shattered as she'd squeezed him and he was now trying
to drag his body using the other arm - a pitiful attempt at crawling away.

She watched him travel a few, agonised inches before stamping down on the back
of first one calf and then the other. Both his legs snapped beneath her foot,
the meat of one splitting open messily, the fragmented bone jutting out. And
yet still he attempted to pull himself along, determined to get away. However,
there would be no reprieve. With a careless kick, she turned the broken man
over onto his back. Then she sat herself on top of him, sitting high up
astride his body, so that her muscular weight caused his crushed torso agony
anew. She splayed her thighs so that her knees pinned his elbows, then drove
her weight down. The broken elbow was ground into further mangled pieces and
the other elbow snapped.

She grabbed his chin with one hand, straightening his head, making him look at
her. His terrified eyes focused up at the face of his murderer. Her free hand
drew back in a fist, held ready to strike.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked him, her voice dangerously calm and quiet.

"You're the devil!" he gasped, believing it.

"Funny," she said absently, "I used to think the same about you."

And she began to lay blows into him. And she probably would not have stopped,
had it not been for the child.

The little girl was standing stock still.

She was the length of the room away, the angle and various pieces of furniture
probably masking the worst of the gruesome sight. That was something at least.
How much had she seen? Enough. Children were not stupid after all, and this
girl certainly had previous experience of domestic abuse.

Lindsey wanted to embrace the child. They were sisters, after all. But she
knew the guise she was currently in would only scare the girl further.

"I know you're frightened, but I promise you you're going to be OK."

The girl didn't speak. She just continued to stare wide-eyed at Lindsey, her
face without expression.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Lindsey told her. "Do you understand?"

Mutely, the girl nodded.

"Do you believe me?"

Again, she nodded.

"Do you have a telephone here?"

Silently the girl took a few steps backwards, grabbed the handset of a
cordless phone and held it out to Lindsey, irrespective of the distance
between them.

"No," Lindsey told her. "You take it."

The girl dropped her hand and held the phone to her chest, as if cradling it
protectively.

"I want you to listen to me and understand what I'm telling you," she told the
girl. "Nothing is your fault. You're not to blame. Take that telephone and go
up to your room. Close the door. Then ring the police. When they come, tell
them everything. There's no reason to be scared, no need to hide the truth
from them. Tell them everything you can and answer every question they ask
you.

"You might have had to lie about things in the past, or think that you had to
keep things hidden or secret, but not anymore. You have no reason to be scared
or ashamed of anything anymore. No more secrets, it's time for everything to
come out. Do you understand?"

Again, that silent, sombre nod.

"OK, go on then," Lindsey told her.

The little girl turned away and disappeared upstairs.

Lindsey heard the telephone handset beep and guessed she was phoning the
police. She turned back to her victim.

Incredibly the man was still alive. His skull was half-crushed after the
pounding she had given it. His limbs all broken and mangled. She'd bear-hugged
him, crushed every rib and only stopped short of squeezing the very life out
of his chest because she didn't want his suffering to finish so abruptly. If
she could, she'd spend a lifetime making him die.

Instead she knelt beside him and cradled his battered and broken body. It was
a tender act that, had he still a mind to consider such behaviour, would have
shocked him. She tilted the broken head back and lifted him up to her mouth.

Whatever strength he had left, whatever life force, she sucked out of him. She
bit into his throat and with a single savage draft, finished him. He was dead
even before his body slumped back down to the ground.

* * *

Lindsey once told me how she'd stamped a man to death. He'd attempted to rape
her in a darkened carpark and she'd been forced to defend herself. She'd used
her superior strength and fighting skills to put the man on the ground,
breaking both of his arms and both of his legs. And then, as he lay helpless
and defeated on the ground, she'd cold- bloodedly murdered him.

What she hadn't told me at the time was why he'd stirred in her such murderous
wrath. The prospect of being raped is horrific enough, but she had only
recently seen what it had done to a friend. The assault had been bad enough,
but the woman had then endured a breakdown in the aftermath. To add insult to
injury the case had eventually been dropped. Though she had identified the man
who'd done this terrible deed to her, he had walked away scot-free. As a
result, she had suffered a relapse. Her torment from this one incident had
lasted many years, and would certainly continue to haunt her to a lesser
extent for the rest of her life.

When Lindsey told me this, I knew what was about to follow. If vengeance was a
dish best served cold, then this particular helping was going to taste sweet.

* * *

Lindsey was riding the motorbike and Beth held on behind her. She could feel
the vampire's bulging muscles as their bodies pressed tight. It was like
snakes writhing beneath Lindsey's leathers, hard knotted creatures, thick and
sinewy. Her body was pumping, jacked up and excited, ready for action.

They pulled up in shadow, close to the low-grade housing estate. A huge
concrete eyesore, a dark labyrinth, dismal and depressing. Several large
maisonette style flats, bricked together by rat-maze walkways built about
decrepit courtyards.

Lindsey was wearing black shades despite the fact they were in ill-lit streets
at the dead of night. She'd claimed it was a disguise but Beth had rolled her
eyes. "And the fact that it makes you look cool has nothing to do with it."
Then she'd added, "You don't need to make excuses. If I could see in the dark,
I'd wear shades too."

Lindsey replaced her riding gloves with plain black leather ones and checked
her ponytail was tight. "You actually look really pretty in that," she said.

Beth had pulled off the safety helmet and was stuffing her hair into a dark
green beanie hat.

"Great," she said. "You look like Blade, and I get to look cute. I don't
exactly put the fear of God into the bad guys."

"Sure you do," Lindsey assured her. "After all, you're with me!"

"Is it wrong that I'm excited," Beth asked. "I mean, you're a vampire, you
have all these predatory impulses and animalistic urges driving you to
slaughter and kill. I don't have that excuse."

"You're eager to see an evil man finally get what's coming to him," Lindsey
said. "And believe me, he's gonna get what's coming to him."

They encountered no one en route, crossing through the darkened estate, up the
stained concrete stairwell and along the open balcony to the front door. A
final nod of assent and they struck.

They went in hard and heavy. Lindsey kicking the door literally off of its
hinges.

The flat was little more than a squat. The tragedy and degradation of the
estate continued inside the small apartment as if the corruption had spread,
infecting everything within. It seemed to have infected the inhabitants too.

There was a surprised stirring from the two men who lay slouched on tattered
old sofas. Huge and gleaming, the showy HDTV they watched looked out of place,
such flashy wealth conspicuously incongruous in amongst the neglected
surroundings.

Lindsey led the way, laying both men out with a single punch to each of them.
Though she didn't think either man had been killed, Beth was pretty sure she'd
heard their skulls crack, even above the blaring television. Both men were
bleeding and unconscious.

She had originally wondered a little about the morality of assaulting the two
flatmates, as well as the man they were here to punish.

"It's not like we'll be killing them or anything," Lindsey had assured her
when they discussed it beforehand.

"Yeah," Beth agreed, and then she added, "Besides, just look at the type of
man they choose to have as a friend. If they can be associated with somebody
like that, then they're really not worth much consideration."

"You've got a point there," Lindsey said. "Maybe I should kill them too."

And Beth couldn't be entirely sure whether or not she had been joking. But
here they were and both men were safely unconscious and Lindsey was storming
through the rest of the flat, searching for her target.

Beth ran up to one of the men; he'd fallen off his sofa when Lindsey had
punched him out. She gave him a healthy boot in the side, just for good
measure, then followed Lindsey.

A bedroom door burst open and he stood there, wanting to see what all the
noise was about. It was actually surprising that he could hear anything above
the heavy, aggressive music that was thumping from oversized speakers within
his room.

He was a large cliché of a man, a wanna-be gangster street thug, complete with
muscles, tattoos and heavy jewellery. He too wore shades. He stood there in
his boxer shorts. From the double bed behind him a well-endowed woman was
clutching bedding around her nudity as she peered out at them curiously.

The man saw Lindsey and remarkably, he kept his cool, despite the fact she
matched him in both height and breadth.

"What the..." he began before Lindsey punched him so hard his skull fractured
and both his eyeballs burst.

He flew backwards and crashed onto the bed, knocking his shades free to reveal
the unpleasant sight beneath. The woman began screaming and sprang away,
practically falling sideways out of the bed. Lindsey backhanded her, knocking
her across the bedroom. She slammed into the wall and collapsed naked and
unconscious onto the ground.

"A little too hard!" Lindsey remarked carelessly.

Beth thought she meant the woman at first but realised she was talking about
the rapist. He was either unconscious or already dead. She had wanted to
prolong his suffering before she finally killed him. Still, death would have
to suffice. She wasn't going to wait around until he woke up, that might not
be until... well, ever.

Lindsey lent over her victim, twisting his head to expose the neck. She did
this with such ferocity that it snapped, making the man spasm. Lindsey paid it
no mind, producing her fangs and driving them into his throat.

She fed quickly, body pulsing with pleasure as she took her fill. Afterwards
she wiped her blood slavered mouth. She replaced his shades and then turned to
go.

"OK," she said breezily. "I'm done."

Beth was a little freaked by actually witnessing the act but she dealt with
it. "Sure," she said, visibly steeling herself. "Let's get out of here."

But they weren't quite out of the woods yet. They fled the apartment and were
heading down the broad concrete stairwell to the ground floor when they heard
the rushed activity of men heading up towards them. Police men.

Between the gap at the centre of the stairwell they could see the two
uniformed men barrelling up, straight towards them.

"Wait here," Lindsey told her friend, slapping her shoulder. And then she took
off back up the stairs.

It all happened too quickly for Beth to even register. Lindsey was already
gone and the policemen were already upon her. She had enough time to see the
faces of the men, and for them to register the surprising fact that the
frantic, fleeing criminal was in fact a pretty young girl.

Then a blur of movement behind them. Two heavy hands reached out unnoticed,
caught both men, their heads, cupping their cheeks. Lindsey slammed the
helmeted heads together with a sharp smack, neatly knocking them both
unconscious. They collapsed where they stood.

"Jesus, how did you get behind them?" Beth exclaimed.

"I went the long way round," Lindsey told her curtly. "Now, shall we maybe get
the fuck outta here?"

Beth looked at the fallen policemen. She looked back over her shoulder and
then down the stairwell, trying to figure distances and speeds, not to mention
the leap off of the balcony. "You're good!"

* * *

Some incidents were pettier than that. For example a guy called Adam. His
crime was not so great that he deserved death. (Not that that fact alone would
necessarily be sufficient to rein the beast in. Lindsey had been getting less
and less concerned with that pesky conscience with each successive murder.)
But it was with some small degree of relief that Beth heard Lindsey's plan for
her ex-boss, a man who, by all accounts, deserved to be put in his place.

"He likes to think of himself as a hard man," Lindsey said, smiling. "Getting
beaten up would be humiliating enough..."

"But getting beaten up by a chick..." Beth added, smiling. "I want to watch."

"Sure. Be one of the customers. I did want to pick a busy period but they tend
to be during daylight hours. Guess we'll have to make do with an evening.
Friday should be crowded enough. I want him to have an audience. I want there
to be witnesses who won't let him forget the humiliation."

So Beth had been there, sitting at the table, sipping her coffee. Lindsey had
stormed into the place and pushed roughly through the huddle of customers at
the busy counter and demanded to speak to the manager. (And she had to admit
to taking some pleasure at roughhousing the customers too. Having worked the
counter on many previous busy Friday nights, she well knew just how despicable
the general public could be as a heaving, mindless mass of self-important,
demanding children. But that was another issue.)

A couple of the girls working there were old colleagues, a few unfortunates
still stuck in this dreadful hovel of a shop, stuck in the drudgery of long
hours at minimum wage. It had been a shit job and she'd hated it enough
without the boss making her life worse.

"Lindsey? What's wrong?" This from a girl called Susan. They'd never been
particularly close, but she was a pleasant enough woman. She had a perverse
sense of humour, a black streak of negative wit that had helped many a
monotonous shift pass by just a little easier. She was curious, and just a
touch amused.

"Is he in?" Lindsey demanded.

"Probably hiding in back," Susan declared, her voice too loud, undoubtedly
intended to carry. The place was small and it was unlikely that Adam was
unaware of the ruckus going on in front and his conspicuous absent would not
show him in the best light.

Despite the disruption to their all important evenings, the heaving crowd were
curious to see what was going to happen. They wanted to know why this angry
young woman wanted the manager. Everyone liked to watch an argument between
other people, especially a customer and shop- manager. Lindsey wasn't so
caught up in her vengeance that the baying crowd didn't inspire in her a touch
of the old contempt, despite the fact it was precisely that rubbernecking
quality she deliberately intended to utilise.

The man finally stumbled out. Adam didn't look like a corporate coffeeshop
manager. He wore a suit badly, like a sulky school kid that finds any way they
can to rebel against the uniform without actually getting into trouble. His
tie was askew, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked, his trainers contrasted
against his suit. He liked to work out and his shirt was too tight on him, as
though he believed this display of his muscular bulk actually looked
impressive rather then just like a tragically ill-fitted suit.

"What do you want?" he demanded. Professionalism wasn't an issue here
apparently. He came to the front of the counter to face her, striding shoulder
first as would an alpha ape, looking more like a school bully facing down an
impertinent upstart than a manager addressing a disturbance in his shop.

The audience must have realised that this young thug was indeed the manager
she'd demanded and they followed the proceedings with interest. Those staff
out back had come forward too. Everyone wanted to see how this was going to
play out.

"Almost a year I worked here," Lindsey reminded him, "and you made my life
hell. I thought it was important to let you know just what an arsehole you
are."

"I ain't got time for this," he told her with a contemptuous sneer. "You got a
problem take it up with head office."

"No. You should know how people feel about you."

"I don't care!" he insisted. "Now get out of my shop before I throw you out."
Which was of course exactly what she wanted him to do. Not that he would be
able to.

"Not until you admit to all these people what a pathetic, childish,
petty-minded, self-involved little twat you really are. God, anyone who treats
a job like yours as a power-trip has got serious issues of their own. But that
doesn't excuse you from treating your staff like shit. Everyone here works
damn hard... well... a few probably do. But they get precious little
appreciation for it and they don't need a worthless little cunt like you
making their lives even harder. You've got authority over people, you've got
to use it more responsibly. If you don't you'll end up with some pissed off
bitch like me coming back for her pound of flesh."

"I'm not interested," he snapped, cocking his head like a rooster. "You hated
your job? So go make a friend and tell them about it, coz I don't fucking
care." He raised one muscular arm and pointed to the door. "This is my place,
and I'm telling you: leave the premises. Now."

"You pathetic, worthless, obnoxious, useless, brainless, pointless..."

"I'm not gonna tell you again. Get out."

"Fucking make me!"

So he had. At least, he'd tried.

He grabbed her roughly by the arm and his eyes had gone wide in shock. Though
Lindsey's T-shirt had short sleeves, it was about two sizes too big so they
were loose and floppy enough to conceal the tremendous size and development of
her arms.

"You're not the only one who works out," Lindsey told him, a cruel smile on
her face. "Think you're a hard man? Let's see how hard you really are."

But he wasn't listening to her. (So what else was new?) He was too awestruck
by the huge bicep he'd felt as he went to manhandle her out of the shop. His
hand still held that tremendous muscle, fingers gripping around the outside of
her triceps and thumb reaching up the peak. It didn't reach the top. His
fingers at full splay didn't come close to stretching halfway around the
circumference of that expansive bulge.

"Holy fuck!"

"I always wanted to come back and give you a piece of my mind, as they say.
Let you know what it's like to work for a complete arsehole like you. But
you're not going to listen to me. You aren't even listening to me now."

And it was true. He'd taken his hand off of her tremendous arm, but was still
rolling his eyes up and down her physique, reassessing her.

"Remember all those fights you used to boast about having been in?" she asked
him. "All those stories about all the different men you'd beaten up. Maybe
there's a language I can speak that you will listen to."

Lindsey shoved him. An open palmed slam into the centre of his barrel chest.
It was hard enough to make him stagger backwards, stumbling for his balance. A
smaller man would have gone down then. A smarter man would have stayed there.
But Adam was neither and violence was a language he was well versed in. Tact
(or at least his compromised version of it) was something he didn't like
relying upon. But somebody actually striking him? In front of all these
people? In his own shop? They were just fucking asking for it.

Girl or no girl, Adam steamed into Lindsey, his fists leading the way. She
swatted the punches aside easily, her flexed forearms meaty enough to suggest
her muscular bulk even if her loosely fitted outfit concealed it.

The audience suddenly backed up en mass, actual violence was best viewed from
a slightly greater distance. They seemed to move as a single entity giving the
brawling pair a good radius of space to roughhouse in.

Nobody jumped to the aid of a woman being assaulted by a brutish and
powerfully muscular man. Although, it became apparent all too quickly that she
didn't require rescue.

Lindsey was just playing, that much was apparent. She was happily batting his
blows aside like a cat that's totally unfazed by an overzealous kitten. For
all his brute strength and violent intent, this man was so outmatched it was
comical.

She slapped him, open-palmed, sending him reeling over into the closest table,
overturning it and spilling coffee. The middle-aged couple sat there leapt
away quickly, pulling back to merge with the circular audience.

He was still on his feet however, though half collapsed over the fallen table.
Before he could regain his footing she kicked him smartly on the arse, sending
him flying to the ground.

As Adam picked himself up, Lindsey regarded her still shocked, still
enraptured audience. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I apologise for disrupting your
evening like this. I can only assure you that this arsehole is entirely
deserving of everything he gets."

The audience didn't seem to mind. They'd be dining out on this story for
months. Lindsey was reassured that this coffeeshop was going to be popular for
a while, and Adam's humiliation would be an ongoing torture. Adam meanwhile
had got shakily to his feet and found a weapon. One of the metal framed chairs
the middle-aged couple had been using. Lindsey turned just in time to see him
swinging it into her.

But her vampire senses had given her reactions far sharper and faster than any
human. She'd easily caught the chair with one arm, even as the other jammed
forwards in a slamming fist. She smacked him hard enough to put him back on
the floor, shattering his nose with an impressive spatter of blood, but
stopped short of actually killing or severely damaging him.

She still had hold of the chair and wrapped both arms around it. She squeezed
it, hugging the metal frame to her chest. With a soft creak of protest, the
cross-barred structure folded in, yielding to her tremendous strength. The
wooden, padded seat gave a crunch and snapped into broken pieces, only held
together by torn strips of faux leather fabric and industrial foam. She threw
the busted chair down with savage spite then turned back to Adam.

From his place on the floor he'd witnessed her destruction of the chair, seen
her turn and stride purposely towards him. With a whimper, he began
retreating, shuffling backwards on his arse, hands and feet scrabbling
comically. The audience behind him parted like the waves of the Red Sea. She
easily caught up to him.

"Please, no!" he sobbed, his cocksure arrogance now completely gone. Lindsey
reached down for him, grabbed him about the neck and, with that one hand, she
heaved him from the ground and up to arm's length above her head. There was an
awed murmur from the crowd and Adam began choking, grasping her wrist with his
hands, trying to reduce the pressure of his bodyweight against his neck.

And there was a moment when Lindsey was tempted to just squeeze. It was as
much a desire to thrust that savage violence down the throats of this
over-eager audience as it was to snap the worthless chicken-neck of her
arsehole ex-boss. If they wanted a spectacle, by God she was capable of
showing them a sight they'd not quickly forget.

But the moment passed and she relented to just hold him up, legs kicking, body
swaying, throat gasping for breath.

"If you're still working here this time next month," she told him, her voice
low and savage. "I'll make this look like a Sunday School picnic." And she
simply released her grip, letting him crash unceremoniously into an untidy
heap on the floor.

She needn't have given him the ultimatum. His ego shattered, Adam couldn't
stand the humiliation of facing his staff again after this. He walked out the
shop shortly after Lindsey and Beth had left, hand in hand, and never
returned.

There were other incidents of equal pettiness, scenes of lesser carnage where
Lindsey was happy enough to take Beth along. Although Beth had persuaded her
friend to take her on some of the more savage assaults too.

"If you were to backtrack through your life," Lindsey mused, "your memory
sharpened by supernatural acuteness, how many would you come up with? How many
acts of petty adversary you considered to be worthy of punishment?"

"I want to come," Beth insisted. "It's not fair that you leave me out of the
most exciting adventures."

Lindsey knew that her friend was only joking in calling them 'exciting
adventures', her talent for understatement, but that didn't stop her from
being serious about insisting she come along. And though she was loath to drag
her friend into danger, Lindsey did take some comfort from Beth's presence.
She was smart and capable and just as excited by Lindsey's new capabilities as
Lindsey was herself.

And so it was, as Lindsey broke into Jason Barton's expensive, mansion- like
house, Beth was besides her.

The steel bars bent with ridiculous ease. Flakes of paint fell away as Lindsey
prised open a wide enough gap for them to fit through.

"Fucking Wonder Woman!" Beth exclaimed, awed, "No matter how many times I see
you do that, it's still totally cool to watch."

A little annoyed, Lindsey pressed a finger to her lips.

"Chill, babe," Beth told her, "I'm whispering so low I can't hear me. It's
just your vampire senses again."

Lindsey broke the pane of glass with minimal noise and carefully snapped the
stray fragments, clearing their way in.

"We should buy a thick steel bar," Beth suggested. "I can just spend all
evening watching you fold it into shapes. Much better than TV."

"I think our nights are interesting enough," Lindsey remarked.

Jason Barton was alone in the house. He had heard the glass break, low though
it was, and being of a paranoid bent, had instantly triggered the silent
alarm. When he'd stepped from the front room he saw the two women. At least he
saw one woman and one sudden blur of motion. And then something suddenly
struck him in the chest so hard he was propelled ten feet through the air,
striking the far wall with a heavy crash.

Even as he was falling winded to the ground, muscular arms were wrapping
around his. He was hauled up onto his feet, his attacker behind him, pinning
his arms back, trapping them beneath their own, immense biceps.

"The police are on their way," he warned, his voice weak and frightened.

Incredibly, despite the dense muscularity of his attacker, it was a woman who
held him. Either that or it was a man who'd stuffed two large leather balloons
down his shirt. But the voice that cooed sadistically in his ear was
unmistakably feminine.

"All that means is that your corpse will still be warm when they find you."

"Who are you?" he demanded, squirming in her grip. She held him fast, keeping
his back pinned hard against her own superbly muscled torso. In fact, she held
him so tightly his feet were almost held off the floor. As it was, his weight
was carried more by her grip on his arms than by his own feet.

"Oh, I doubt you'll remember me," Lindsey told him. "Our acquaintance was
brief, and you probably see so many people in the course of a day's
enterprise."

"Were you a client?"

"Ex client," she hissed. "When you found out I was gay, you dropped me. Then,
just for jollies, you blackballed me with all your society chums, made certain
I wouldn't get backing anywhere else either."

"Is that what this is about? Gay rights? You and your girlfriend thought you
got screwed over so you're here to teach me a lesson?"

"No. This is about spite. Your spite against me. Purposeless, vindictive
power-happy, over-privileged cunts like you have the world handed to you on a
silver plate. I guess it makes you sick to see someone like me making
something of herself and you decided to quash me with your wealth and
influence. You didn't need to but you did it anyway - because you could.

"I don't believe in karma, much as I would like to. No, I think natural
justice needs to be helped along its way. That's why I'm here."

And the other woman strode towards him menacingly.

"And I just came along for the ride," Beth told him, grinning evilly. She
reached into her pockets, pulled out a pair of black leather gloves, much like
the ones her friend wore, and put them on with great flourish and performance.

"You look like Varla," Lindsey had told her back at the flat as she'd tried
them on. She hadn't needed to state which Varla. Both women adored the Russ
Meyer movie classic 'Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill,' as well as its buxom
anti-heroine, played by karate chopping Tura Satana. Beth had happened to be
wearing a ridiculously low-cut black T-shirt at the time, much like Varla's,
the gloves had finished the look. She regarded herself in the mirror. Her
recent exercise regime was beginning to show. She'd gained a little extra
healthy weight and had started to notice how her strength had increased.

"It's the gloves that do it," she remarked.

"The tits help too," Lindsey assured her.

"Maybe, if I had hair like yours," Beth mused. She grinned. "I look like
Varla?" and she punched one hand against the other menacingly. "I think that's
the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me!"

It was with this thought in mind that she pulled off her jacket, exposing the
same tight black T-shirt with its sharp V-neck plunging deep between her
considerable breasts.

Despite his predicament, Jason stared agog at the tremendous cleavage. It made
Beth smile. She liked the idea that this man was going to get beaten up by a
woman he couldn't help but be sexually attracted to. Confusing men was always
fun and it was almost a pity he would never have the opportunity to dwell upon
the humiliating experience.

And then she punched him in the stomach with all her might.

Jason gasped, winded and pained beyond reckoning. His body wanted to double up
but Lindsey held him fast.

Beth began to pummel him, swinging her fists with careful balance, just as she
had practiced on the bag. She couldn't help but compare the two. Jason was far
softer than the punch-bag. And striking a real man, she discovered, was far
more satisfying. She got into her rhythm, slamming blow after blow, hitting
her mark with unceasing precision.

Then she switched, aiming her blows at his head instead. He was already so
softened by the damage she'd done to his torso that he could have offered no
defence even if Lindsey hadn't continue to hold him. In fact, if she wasn't
holding him up, he would be unable to even stand, let alone defend himself.

The first punch sent his head flying to the side, spraying blood. Lindsey
stuck out her tongue like a child catching snowflakes. Beth threw another,
smacking his head back the other way, her gloved fist doing his face savage
damage. His blood was flowing now. Rather than disgust, Beth was enthralled by
the potent sense of power this instilled in her. She truly understood for the
first time how people could become addicted to violence. She felt justified.
She felt mighty.

Another punch, his head whipped so harshly it was a wonder his neck didn't
give. As his jaw did. The next punch was lower and it was as if his chin
carried on beyond the momentum of the rest of his skull, the fragile bone
shattered. And her next smashed his teeth, making the broken shrapnel of
fragments spatter out of his mouth, along with blood and spittle. Another,
this one splitting the already broken nose.

She continued to pound him, finding her rhythm once more, enjoying the simple
psychotic joy of self-justified savagery.

His face was a mess. He was certainly unconscious and even if he wasn't, he'd
be unable to see through the swollen lumps that were his eyes.

"OK," Lindsey said. Then, laughing, as Beth continued to lay into him with
unflagging brutality. "Hey, hey, ease up. Enough. You're gonna kill him!"

"Is that a problem?" Beth asked, surprised, finally relenting.

"No," Lindsey said. "It's just they tend to taste better if they're still
alive."

"Oh, fair enough."

She removed her blooded gloves, shaking them to get the worst of the gore off
before shoving them into her pocket.

Lindsey lifted the near-dead man up to her mouth. He didn't make a sound as
she slid her fangs into him and began to drink.

* * *

Serena hated stakeouts. It was true that she had of late, been getting a
little slapdash in her approach, barely paying any attention to what was going
on outside the van. But she continued with the task she'd set herself, despite
the endless monotony of it. And she only needed a fraction of her attention to
keep her senses tuned to the exterior. Her main focus could still be taken up
by the interior. Taken up by the girl who currently lay beside her, her slim
limbs tangled loosely amongst Serena's far more muscular ones.

Marina was sat half lying on Serena's muscular torso, resting cosy against
those giant breasts. Serena's strong arm carelessly embraced her from behind,
holding her gently.

Though she kept an eye on the outside inactivity of the street, Serena was
happy to occupy herself with this particularly luscious distraction. She'd
been spending time at a hip and funky gay bar. She didn't like the place as
much as some of her other haunts, but it certainly had its good points. The
clientele for example. It was the kind of place single women tended to hang
out when they wanted to meet other single women.

Serena was intrigued by this girl. She'd quickly ascertained she wasn't
vampire material, not open to the kind of black terror which the transition
required. Marina would certainly lose her mind before she accepted that degree
of savage darkness, no matter how debauched and uninhibited she clearly
believed herself to be. There was still a genuine sweetness and naivety to
her, a sense of joy in the world of daylight that made her entirely
unsuitable.

But there was still a wild streak in her - a delirious fervour that might yet
be exploited for their mutual fun and pleasure. The girl's blood would taste
sweet, of that she had no doubt, but Serena was undecided as to whether their
reckless passion would go quite that far. And even if it didn't, there were
still exquisite kisses aplenty to be had.

Marina was a whip of sweet sexual candy. A large breasted, preposterously
skinny, wholesome American babe with an unchaste hunger for revelry.

"This wasn't quite what I had in mind," she admitted.

Serena smiled. "I did warn you."

The girl rolled over in the soft nightlight Serena had installed for the
benefit of her various guests.

"I didn't think you were serious."

"Next time, I'll take you somewhere romantic, I promise."

"I was hoping you'd be taking me someplace romantic now," Marina cooed
seductively, the rich luridness of her tone turning the words towards a far
more suggestive interpretation.

"I'll see what I can do," Serena assured her, caressing her more intimately.

"I know one of your previous conquests," Marina suddenly announced.

"Really?"

"Do you remember a blonde woman named Karen? Tall, skinny. Sexy in a college
professor kind of way. Obnoxiously intelligent."

"Was she an American too?"

"Yeah."

Serena smiled lustily. "Oh yeah, I remember her."

"I knew it was you!" she said, joyfully. "As soon as I saw you I thought you
had to be the same woman!"

"So, what did she say about me?"

"What, apart from the fact that you have the most amazing body outside a
bodybuilding magazine. Hell, the most amazing body inside a bodybuilding
magazine too. I'd assumed she was exaggerating until I saw you."

"She was hardly lacking charm herself," Serena recalled. "Have you and her
ever...?"

"No. But she told me all about you - in lurid details!" Marina poked her
muscular lover playfully, her voice teasing and coy. "She said you did things
to her that were unholy. Orgasms so unbelievably intense it was like you
drained her strength. She could barely even move for a month."

Serena suddenly felt a touch of guilt. "Did she mind?"

"Mind? Are you kidding? For that kind of pleasure, it was a cheap price to
pay. What the hell did you do to her?"

"Just a technique I picked up. She's right though, it can be quite draining on
my partner."

"I'd assumed that she was exaggerating. But then, I thought that she was
exaggerating about your body too, look how wrong I was about that." Her voice
became softer then, even more sweetly sexual. "Will you use that technique on
me?"

"Maybe," Serena said, teasing, knowing already that she almost certainly
would.

"What if I were to beg?"

"That depends how good you are at begging."

Marina laughed and kissed her. "I'm good," she promised.

The vampire kissed her back. "So am I!"

Marina played her fingers along the muscular arm that was slung lovingly and
lazily across her shoulder. "Is that why I want you so rampantly?" she asked.
"Because of what you can do for me?"

"You fancy me rampantly?"

"Insanely. I'm so horny it's almost painful."

"You're sweet," Serena laughed.

"Seriously, I don't go for muscly girls," she admitted.

"Well, my body isn't to everybody's tastes," Serena conceded with a sly grin.

She pumped her bicep, making the boulder-like peak swell into a hard, round
mound of sheer and solid muscle. "There are some people, both men and women,
who find muscles on a woman to be the most erotic thing imaginable. But others
- most people in fact - think it looks odd, or freaky, or utterly repellent."

"That's what I mean," Marina told her, admitting guiltily, "Normally I would
have. Show me a picture of a female bodybuilder and I recoil in horror. But I
look at you and I'm hornier than a teen who's just discover her sexiest friend
is also a dyke and had just invited herself around for a sleepover. Why is
that?"

"It's a gift," Serena told her.

"Flex that again."

She did so and Marina wrapped her hand around the mighty peak, lustily feeling
its monumental size and density.

"Right now, I find this just as desirable as your breasts," she told her. "Or
your thighs." And her other hand slipped between the muscle- woman's mammoth
legs. "Or any other part of your body," she added, as the hand moved slowly
but indubitably upwards.

It was Serena who was shuddering with delight now. Marina's lips moved,
hovering an inch above the other woman's ear.

"Will you do the same thing to me as you did to her?" she demanded, her voice
soft and so sensual it sounded like silk.

"Yes!" Serena gasped. And she would. They would share a night of such passion
and rich delight that neither woman would ever forget it, even without a
vampire's gift for memory.

But despite the intensity of the pleasure experienced, it was a careless,
unhurried love. After all, they were on a stakeout and they had nothing but
time to kill.

* * *

Lindsey had actually managed to persuade Beth to stay in the car for this one.
Something she was grateful for because, as it turned out, things were far more
complicated than she had originally thought.

She had found the target simply enough, she just didn't know why, when she
broke into the house and strode purposefully into the living room, he was
already bound and gagged, tied to a chair, waiting for her.

His eyes had just enough time to meet hers - wide and scared - before her
hyper-acute ears heard, cutting through the unnatural silence, radio static
crackle and a voice order: "Go, go, go!"

And they struck, hard and fast.

It was the element of surprise that they had on her; that factor alone was
just enough to give them the edge they needed to take her down. Her
inexperience, her vampiric youth and naivety, meant that their trap, if sprung
with sufficient speed, would successfully terminate her. And Lindsey didn't
have a chance to respond as the darkly clad, marine- style squad of armed
assault soldiers burst in upon her, their wooden stakes borne high, ready to
strike.

The closest one would almost certainly have found his mark, had not a figure
moving at near impossible speeds intervened. He was grasped just as he struck,
and spun around so violently that his back, his arm and his neck all snapped
in simultaneous precision, the multiple breaks sounding like a single, sharp
crack.

Lindsey caught up and leapt backwards from the soldiers even as the second man
had the stake ripped from his hand and plunged through his own heart with such
savage force that not only was the front and rear of his Kevlar vest punctured
by the blow, but the PVC-clad fist now ramming the stake, followed it right
the way through.

Serena pulled her hand free of the gory wound, tossed the man aside and leapt
on her next victim.

The soldiers finally realised that there was another person in the room,
beyond their team, their target, and their bound-up bait. Lindsey meanwhile
had recovered from her shock and responded in the only way that came naturally
to a predator.

She grabbed the closest man and tore his head off. It took merely a twist,
like breaking a man's neck only with a little more insistence, and she'd
ripped it right off of his body. She tossed it aside, still wearing its flak
helmet, and grabbed the next soldier.

Another had been flanking her but with a blur of motion she saw a shiny black
figure grasp him from behind, a muscular arm snatching the guy up and twisting
his head, snapping his neck with a loud crunch.

Meanwhile, the man she held tried to stake her. She took his arm and twisted
it about with such excessive force that she practically ripped it off his
body, the joint tearing with a sickening crunching of bone. The man screamed,
but his cry was cut short by her fist slamming straight into his face,
shattering his skull, silencing him for good.

Serena had grabbed two men, her powerful arms wrapping around their throats.
She turned them, making them face out to either side. Then she stepped back
and slammed both men together, smashing the backs of their skulls into each
other with muscular savagery. It was a similar trick to the one Lindsey had
once pulled on two policemen. But Serena didn't hold back on her strength. The
two soldiers' heads burst at the impact, even inside their helmets.

Another was falling back, panicking as Lindsey first focused on, and then fell
upon him like a banshee. He pulled a handgun and she heard the shot fire as
she grabbed his shoulders. With a sharp jerk, she twisted them both back and
towards each other, snapping his spine and his collarbone.

She tossed him aside and looked around. There was a soldier screaming for
help, screaming into the mike on his shoulder that they needed backup, waving
his gun uselessly. All around him he had watched men being broken apart by a
force so fast it was little more than a blur.

Then there was another blur as Lindsey came at him. She wrapped her fist
around the gun, pinning his hand beneath hers. He tried to go for his stake
with the other hand but she grabbed that too. She squeezed the stake, crushing
his hand into a mangled pulp even while she reduced the hardwood weapon to
crumpled splinters.

Serena threw a man across the room. He connected against the far wall with
such violence that the wooden pelmet cracked and the plaster split. Instead of
falling, broken onto the ground, the soldier was caught, Serena having covered
the distance almost as fast as he had. She drew her victim down across her
mighty shoulders, snapping him in half, and then threw him aside.

She looked around. Lindsey was fingering a small neat hole in her leather
jacket, the spot where the bullet had bounced harmlessly off of her belly.

"Am I bullet-proof?" she asked, impressed. She still held the gun in her other
hand, the soldier still pinned within her grip.

She pulled the gun free with little regard for his hand, ripping off two of
his fingers in the process. Then she crushed it, squeezing the metal, her
insanely powerful grip moulding it like clay. She'd held it high for him to
see - or was it the obscene swell of her bicep that she wanted him to witness,
so large it almost burst the leather sleeve of her jacket.

She dropped the useless lump of misshapen metal and then punched the guard, a
skull smashing blow which ended him.

The room was finally still.

Lindsey licked blood off of her fingers, looking around the fallen men like a
kid in a candy-store wondering where to begin.

"We're not done yet," Serena told her. "There are others watching the assault
team from afar."

She pointed out of the main window to a far off van parked several streets
away. It was only through a gap in the buildings opposite, a precise
alignment, that they were able to see it. And it them.

Inside the van, a telescopic sight watched through the window of the target
house. Most of the helmet cams had shattered. Those that were still
broadcasting remained motionless. The cameras placed inside the house itself
were still working and showed a scene of utter carnage. The human wreckage of
dead soldiers strewn about. As well as a man, still bound and gagged, still
sitting in a chair at the centre of it all.

"Go!" screamed the operator. He was sat in the back of the van before the bank
of monitors; he had witnessed all that had happened. Even though it had
happened so fast it had barely registered, the creatures moving so quickly
they were even harder to see on camera than they were in real life. All he
could be certain of was that these two women had made mincemeat of the entire
team in a matter of seconds.

The last thing he'd seen was the PVC clad vampire, the one who had suddenly
and unexpectedly intruded upon their little party, point directly at the van,
and then both women had disappeared from sight. It was enough to shake him
from his shocked inaction.

"Get us the fuck out of here!" he screamed into the mike.

But from the violent thud he'd just heard - the shudder that had shaken the
van - he had a horrible feeling that the driver was already dead.

He ripped off his headset and ran for the rear doors.

They were ripped right off as he reached them, the metal screaming in protest
as two muscle-bound vampires pulled them away from the van, each taking one
and tossing it aside.

The women could have been twins. Both beautiful of features, long luscious
hair, tremendous breasts, and the kind of musculature to put Superman to
shame. One wore leather, the other PVC.

Both women smiled at him and two sets of fangs gleamed with malicious glee.
They leapt at him as one each going for either side of his throat. It was the
closest he would ever come to experiencing a ménage à trois.

"You've been following me?" Lindsey asked.

"Yes," Serena admitted.

"Using me as bait?"

"Yes."

"To catch these guys?"

"Yes."

"Who hunt vampires?"

"Yes."

Serena explained the scenario, a common phenomenon with young vampires. It had
to do with the facilities they suddenly acquire. Without warning, they are
flooded with powerful memories of the past. All those long forgotten snippets
and reminiscences come back in vivid detail. People you'd once known,
experiences you'd once had. To be suddenly swamped in the past; it's hardly
surprising that some become bogged down in it.

Many lost treasures are recovered - forgotten moments recaptured in startling
clarity. Those you thought you had lost entirely still exist in a very real
and coherent way inside your own heart and mind. And the joy and beauty of it
is overwhelming.

But the negative comes back to haunt you too. The heartache and sorrow. And
the antagonism. Every hurt and sting, every vindictive barb and callous
adversary. Enemies to your heart and your happiness, who you had thought to be
successfully purged from your mind, who you thought you were completely over
and rid of, suddenly loom larger than life, their crimes against you blown up
to full wide screen HD stereo surround sound.

It's little wonder then that though a newly born vampire will happily dwell
upon those gladdening reminiscences, they will also feel it necessary to seek
atonement from those who have wronged them. And given their new and lethally
potent powers for hunting and killing, not to mention a slightly reconfigured
sense of morality, it is little wonder that they act upon that impulse for
revenge.

The syndrome was common enough, and recognised by those who knew of vampirism.
And there are those who would exploit such a thing, seek out specific murders
and find patterns, find common denominators that a police investigation
wouldn't necessarily recognise. A group who hunted vampires could seek a
newborn using these clues to help track them down.

"You knew they'd find me and try to kill me," Lindsey said. "You made me into
a vampire specifically to lure them out."

"I might have turned you anyway, you were perfect material. OK, so I used you
as bait. But on the plus-side, you get to be a superhuman immortal being.
Doesn't that at the very least help to even things out?"

Lindsey shrugged. "You're still a bitch!" she remarked, but it was
affectionate in tone.

"I've never once claimed otherwise."

They had made it back to the car. Beth looked out at them from the driver
seat, surprised to be seeing double for a moment until she realised it was
Serena and not Lindsey's shadow.

"Hello sexy," Serena purred. "Love the new hair."

She walked right up to the car, saw through the window, looked down at the
girl inside to see the tight black T-shirt Beth was wearing. She did a double
take.

"Wow!" Serena exclaimed. "Hey, you know who you look like? You ever see that
movie 'Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill' because in that top with your tits hanging
out, and the black driving gloves, plus your new hairstyle..."

They assured her they knew exactly who she meant.

"What about that guy?" Serena asked as they were about to drive off.

"Huh?"

"You know, the one you came here to kill? I imagine he's still in the house,
still tied to the chair where we left him."

Lindsey thought about it for a second and then waved her hand dismissively.
"Ah, fuck him," she said. "I'm feeling unusually benevolent."

And they drove off into the night.

* * *

"Actually there is something," Lindsey said.

Serena had apologised and assured her that this time she was being honest,
that there was nothing else she was hiding, that Lindsey could now relax and
adjust to being a vampire with all the joys and tribulations that came with
it.

"Oh yes?" Serena asked looking at her. She switched her gaze to Beth, who sat
watching, her large brown eyes wide with hopeful excitement.

"I think I could probably do it myself, but I don't want to risk hurting her.
Plus it would be kinda weird. You know, I don't think of her in that way."

"Whereas I do?" Serena finished helpfully.

"Well... you do, don't you?"

Serena's eyes ran lasciviously over Beth's body, making the girl shudder with
a delicious and unexpected delight.

"You know, sex isn't actually obligatory to the process," she told them.

Beth's face dropped in sudden and comical disappointment. "But it is
optional?" she asked, her voice pleading and hopeful.

Serena strode over to her, sat closely beside her, stroking her shoulder
sensually. "I'll see what I can do."

"Will I get muscles, like Lindsey did?"

"You'll certainly develop vampiric strength," Serena told her. "As for the
muscles? It's fairly unusual but yeah, it is possible that you might grow
bigger, or even match my size, like Lindsey did." She said this in the tone of
an apology, or even as a preparatory warning.

Beth seemed far from put out by such a consequence however. "Well... some
muscle might be nice."

"You like muscles on a woman?" Serena asked, placing her arm between them and
flexing, making the peak bulge.

Beth grabbed the tremendous bicep tentatively, squeezing it with fascinated
and excitable awe. "I am definitely getting used to the idea," she admitted.

They kissed with genuine passion. A long, slow, soul kiss that had both women
trembling by the time they breathlessly parted.

"For a straight woman, you do that with remarkable conviction."

* * *

And I felt her muscular arms scoop me up, easily lifting my weight, still
kissing me all the while.

I won't bore you with the specifics. Actually the truth is simply that I want
to keep the intimate details for myself - just for myself. It's enough to
assure you that Lindsey's description of what intimacy with this woman is like
was in no way an exaggeration. God knows I couldn't even begin to do it
justice, there's something close to madness within the excess experienced at
her skilful hands.

So the choice has been made and the damage has been done. All that remains now
is to finally see at first hand what vampirism is truly about.

I know I will go through much the same as Lindsey did and I hope I am prepared
for the anguish and the torment that comes with that transition. But having
witnessed the grand becoming of another, I have the comfort of knowing that no
matter how traumatic the transformation may be, the final result is going to
be worth it.