by R. C. Graham
Terror overwhelmed the insane humor. He wanted to scream, run, anything. He didn’t want to die and he knew that was all fate had in store for him now.
The vampire reappeared. She smiled at him. It would have been a coquettish, sweet expression on a woman. On her it sharply emphasized her inhuman beauty.
Lust filled Clint at that instant, although he couldn’t fathom why. His body was afire with it. His cock hardened to stone. He ached for the vampire. He wanted her more than anything he had wanted before. His passion needed her, had to have her. Clint would have accepted any act she was willing to perform on him if he could rut with the redheaded fiend.
The monster reached out, stroked his member where it pressed against his jeans. A shudder of eroticism almost broke the supernatural bonds placed on him.
“Ooo,” cooed Clint’s former victim. “Is that for me? I guess you’re happy to see me.”
A whine leaked from his throat. Clint was happy to see her…and terrified and helpless and hating her for making him feel all those things. He was her prey, he realized that now with every cell in his body. Prey was something he never expected to be.
She looked into his eyes and he felt her grab his will again. “Follow me,” she ordered. “We need some privacy. Stay silent.” As she headed back down the trail the helpless rapist did as he was told.
When they emerged from the copse Clint noticed two shapes on the ground, just visible in the moonlight. The big one was obviously Hulk. The loose way his head lolled showed that his neck had been snapped like a twig. Weasel made a sound like he was trying to breath liquid. His arms clutched weakly at his chest, he stared blindly at the starry sky.
He’s drowning in his own blood! She smashed his chest in! A gurgling noise bubbled from him as Clint tried to scream in terror. But that was the closest his body would come to disobeying the vampire’s commands.
A rattle and sudden cessation of noise told him that Weasel was gone.
His tormentor stopped and Clint did as well. She turned to face him and remarked, “This will do. We wouldn’t want to be interrupted, now, would we?” She snickered with a dark glee.
The vampire moved her hands to undo Clint’s jeans, reached inside and pulled his erection into the cool night air. “That’s so nice. I like to know how badly I’m wanted.” She stroked him with a gentle touch.
Clint’s lust rushed to the breaking point. The feel of the vampire’s fingers was so exquisite. His balls drew up and his ass clenched, preparing to launch his seed onto her hand.
Before he could explode she grabbed his manhood, too tightly, with a near crushing force. The agony of her grip stopped his orgasm dead. A peep of pain jerked from his chest. “Oh no,” was her comment. “You don’t come until I say you can.” Once again Clint could feel her orders sink into his body and mind.
The vampire kneeled. Clint’s eyes followed her.
The auburn haired vampire loosened her grip and pumped him, slamming a wonderful ecstasy into his soul. Clint didn’t want to enjoy it but the pleasure of her touch filled him. His eyes lost focus. Another whimper seeped past her possession of him.
Her tongue ran out from between her sharp fangs to wash around his crown. His body tried once again to orgasm. But her orders held. That near release pushed all his feelings higher than ever. Terror, loathing, and lust swirled like a tornado through his soul. Another whimper sounded in the quiet air.
The vampire opened wide, placed a fang on Clint’s glans. Then she pushed it all the way through his member.
Clint keened with agony and passion. The blackest delight and most horrible joy blanked out his awareness. His consciousness became the most vivid of emotions, both dark and light. The desire to come rose to agonizing levels. Tears began to flow down the victimized rapist’s face.
She pulled her fang from him, licked up the blood that leaked from the hole she punched. “Interesting taste you have,” the vampire remarked. “So foul. You’ve got almost no redeeming qualities. A certain intelligence maybe. But no warmth, no empathy, no real joy. It’s a good thing there’s not many people like you. I wouldn’t like my meals very much if most people tasted the way you do.”
The not yet dead killer whimpered again. Clint could tell that his blood informed his tormentor of every facet of his personality. Shame that he disgusted even a monster like this was added to the melange of emotions in him.
The vampire looked into Clint’s agonized face to ask him, “Do you have something to say? If so, say it quietly.”
“Please!” Clint entreated with a desperate edge.
An angry glower shaped the vampire’s face. “I’ll bet all your victims said the same thing. They plead too, for their lives, for you to stop the pain. It didn’t stop you. Pleading won’t stop me either.”
“I don’t want to die!” he went on.
“Did the women you killed want to die? No. But you killed then anyway. You didn’t care.
“I don’t care if you die either. All I care is if you suffer before dying. I want you to know pain. I want you to know fear. I’m going to enjoy every second…”
She stopped talking. A quiver shook her. The monster disappeared and her disguise as a woman returned. Her mouth was a grim line. She stood up without letting go of his manhood.
“Oh no,” she whispered, so low she must have been talking to herself. “I’m better than you. I won’t dirty myself with torture.”
Clint felt a wave of relief wash through him. He was going to live.
The woman smiled then, widely, showing that her fangs were still there. “No more noise,” she ordered. The hand she held him with started to pump once more with a gentle, pleasurable beat.
Despair filled Clint. He was still going to die. She just wasn’t going to play with him first. That despair didn’t stop his body from approaching the instant of orgasm. A gurgle telling of all the emotions in him leaked into the moonlit night.
“You can come now,” she told him.
He did. Great jets of semen spurted from him, landed on her T-shirt, covered her hand. The climax was the most intense Clint had ever known. Some of his seed seeped out the still bleeding holes in his member. The sharp sting of that alkaline liquid only added to the intensity of the bliss he felt.
The vampire’s other hand darted out. She grabbed his head and jerked it down, towards her. The next instant her fangs sunk into his neck.
The wave Clint was riding crested high.
And it carried him, silently screaming, into Hell.
* * * *
The door to the condominium opened and the red tressed woman stepped into it. Her hair was damp, like she’d just gotten out of the shower. She was dressed in Clint’s shirt and Weasel’s jeans.
The living room she entered was dark, all lights were off. Illumination seeped into it from the city beyond. The CN Tower blinked in the distance. A man with a lithe build, dressed in black, was silhouetted against the window.
He turned at the sound of her entering, a warm smile on his face. That changed to shock when he noticed the look she wore.
Her expression was bleak, ashamed and frightened. She lifted her arms to him in a desperate request for support.
Without hesitation he ran across the room and gathered her in his embrace. Holding tight, he showed how much he cared for her.
The woman grasped at him like an anchor that would keep her from being drawn in by an whirlpool.
The pair held each other for several minutes before she released him. They stepped away from each other, showing their lover a weak, warm smile.
“My darling Diane,” the man said, “did something happen?” His voice had a trace of a French accent, the timbre of it carried his caring for her.
She nodded.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Her reply was another silent nod.
“Let’s be comfortable then.” He took her hand and lead her to the couch. As the man sat, he drew her onto his lap, embraced her once more. His hands
stroked her hair gently as the petite woman huddled against him.
Again, there was several minutes of silence. Which Diane finally broke.
“Do you remember, Georges? That article we read in the newspaper about women who had disappeared?”
“Oui.”
“I met the men responsible for it.”
Georges’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Ah. What happened?”
Diane started to recount her experience. Her voice was a little cold as she recited the events of her evening, her eyes unfocused. The events she was relating to her lover were ones she didn’t wish to get too close to.
Georges interrupted with a snarl as she told of her being shot. His own mask slipped for a moment revealing that he was a vampire as well. The man returned with a “Pardon.”
She smiled and stroked his face. “De rien. I love that you love me so much.”
“What happened then?” he prodded.
Diane’s face grew bleak. “I, I lost it, Georges.”
He clutched her tight. “Mon Dieu,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“I killed them. I liked it. The first two quickly. It was fun.
“Then I took my time with the last one. He was the leader and I thought he deserved all the pain I could give him. It was so delicious. Almost as much fun as feeding.”
“Oui, mon amour. The monster enjoys doing evil.”
“It’s the first time I’ve had that happen. I didn’t really understand what it was like before. Every other time you were there to hold me back, bring me around. This time you weren’t. I lost it!
“What happens next time? Will I become nothing but the monster?” Diane’s voice grew high with fear.
Georges pressed a hand against her cheek and directed her to look at him. “Non,” he told her. “Because it didn’t happen this time. You’re too strong and good for the monster to control you forever.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you came back. You’re sitting here, not the monster.”
Diane’s face relaxed and the start of a smile formed.
“How long were you gone?” he asked.
“Not long, maybe five minutes.”
“Why did you stop?”
“Because I realized I was being just like them. I was enjoying someone’s pain and terror. It wasn’t something I wanted to do.”
“Just so. And here’s another thing. What would you have done if you were still human and encountered these people? If you were armed, say, with an assault rifle?”
“I would have rocked and rolled.”
Georges’s blinked at his lover in confusion.
She chuckled at that expression. “I mean I would have held the trigger down until I emptied the magazine.”
“Ah, I see. An appropriate metaphor.” He smiled at Diane. Delight shone in his eyes.
“Would you have felt bad about it?” he continued.
“A little. I’m not much for killing. But I wouldn’t spend much pity on those assholes.”
“Just so.” He pulled her into a comforting kiss. One that told Diane all she needed to know.
“So,” Georges remarked as they broke apart, “the monster came out, but you reeled it in quickly. Your victims were people that deserved their fates. I see no reason why you should worry too much. I love you even more learning how strong you are.”
Diane took his lips and kissed him hard. He answered with the same passion. The kiss was a long one.
Finally they separated and snuggled together. There was a great contentment on their faces.
“If I may ask?” Georges inquired. “What did you do with the remains?”
“I checked their car,” Diane told him. “They had everything needed to sink some bodies. So I took it and prepped them. After I removed some clothes. Mine were a little bloody.
“For a minute I had considered throwing them into the lake using a hammer toss. Then I remembered that I don’t need to worry about drowning. So I stripped down and carried them in one at a time. They’re about one hundred yards out and ten fathoms down. I got dressed, found a cab and came back here.”
Her lover chuckled. “You are such a brilliant woman.”
Glancing up at the window, he discovered the horizon was beginning to lighten. “Bedtime, love.”
Diane got off his lap, stood up and extended her hand. He took it and rose himself.
“I think we should leave Toronto tomorrow night,” he told her as they walked towards the bedroom. “We’ll leave the bad memories here behind. Montreal is a few hours away and I’m sure you’ll love it.”
“I’d love Hell if you were with me,” she replied.
The bedroom door closed to end their night.
Table of Contents
You Can’t Go Home
My love and I are traveling through the warm, Mississippi summer night in our RV. Diane is in the driver’s seat. I could pilot our vehicle, but it’s something I learned late and I’m not good at it. She, like most modern people, learned the skill as soon as she was able and is very comfortable behind the wheel. Even in a vehicle as large as this one.
I have my feet up on the dashboard. Through the open window the odor of ripening crops, fruit in orchards and farm animals waft into the cab. There is a touch of skunk as well. Luckily the last animal is distant. With a vampire’s sense of smell their defense mechanism is even more unpleasant for us than for humans.
Our trip has been very enjoyable. It’s been entirely by land and water for people like us can’t fly. A plane taking off and landing in a single night is very difficult to schedule. I doubt passengers bursting into flame over the mid-Atlantic is something that would stay out of the news.
So Marcel set up a long, pleasant journey for us. We drove from Paris to Monaco, stopping at a house designed for our kind to sleep in along the way. After two nights in the Principality, gambling, wandering, we boarded a ship where we had an interior suite. That sailed to Majorca, Barcelona and finally to Lisbon.
We changed vessels to travel the Atlantic and it was a most enjoyable voyage. We walked the decks at night, haunting the bars and ballroom, basking in the life crowded around us.
We spent a week in New York after we docked there. I’d lived in the city for many years, off and on, so I showed Diane some of it. The museums, a show on Broadway, little places tourists wouldn’t visit. She hunted on her own for the first time there, and she did very well. Her prey never knew what happened. More importantly, Diane’s meal survived.
Then we picked up our RV which was modified by one of our kind for vampiric use. All the windows can be shuttered. The interior where the bed is has walls and tightly sealed doors so we can sleep in it if need be. It also had other luxuries such as a satellite linkup for entertainment purposes and internet access. A small fridge holds blood for emergencies.
From New York we travelled to Toronto. Although not one of the world’s major cities I’ve found it a lovely place to visit. New York but cleaner and less violent.
It was unfortunate we had to leave quickly. A trio of serial killers had mistaken Diane for prey. Since they didn’t survive their foolishness we decided to move on.
Montreal was our next destination. It’s an old city, still lively but it’s not the place it used to be. We went to Quebec City next and I, as always, was delighted to see it had kept much of its soul. It was the place I first lived when I fled Europe for North America at the end of the 18th Century and the city has always held a place in my heart.
After a week there we decided there had been enough procrastination. So we headed south, visiting important Civil War battlefields along the way. Although I’d been here in America at the time I’d stayed in New York where the war never reached. I did see some of the draft riots but that was it for excitement.
Diane, being from The South, is enthralled with the war. Every battlefield we stop at she gives me a running commentary as we wander through it. It’s a change of roles for us, one I don’t mind at all. I
find it refreshing to learn that I don’t know much. Diane’s knowledge, intelligence and enthusiasm fire up my passion for her. Often we interrupt our tours with happy lovemaking. She always scolds me for being a lecher, and kisses me to show she doesn’t mind at all.
Our trip has been leisurely, it’s been three weeks from Quebec City. Now we’re in Mississippi and an hour from Diane’s family. I look to find her face has a happy smile, but she is tense across the shoulders and back
I lean over to kiss her cheek. “Don’t worry, cher,” I reassure her. “It will be fine.”
She takes her eyes off the road for a moment, smiles at me. “Merci.” Turning back she remarks in English, “I wish I could turn the headlights off, the glare isn’t very pleasant. I don’t need them anyway these days.”
“But,” I smile at her, “a vehicle without lights will draw attention.”
“I know,” Diane replies. “I’m just not fond of hiding all the time.”
“You’ll get used to it. Put your sunglasses on if the light’s that much bother.”
She does, and chuckles. “Sunglasses at night. Am I cool or what?” I grin at her for I love her sense of humor.
We fall into silence and continue enjoying the drive. The smells change, less crops, more fruit. A coyote hustles across the road at one point.
“Oh look!” exclaims Diane. “It’s Red’s. It’s still open!” Her voice is infused with happy memories.
The view out the front windshield shows we’re approaching a long, low building of wood construction. A large parking lot surrounds it, full of vehicles. There are as many pickup trucks as cars, an observation I don’t find surprising considering the venue. A hint of both steel and acoustic guitars drifts in the window, the odor of beer and people crowded together accompanies it. A large neon sign at the juncture of lot and road proclaims the name of the place. There’s not a lot of exterior lighting though, just single floods on each wall.
“An old haunt of yours, cher?” I ask.
“Yeah. I spent a lot of nights here before I went to university. It’s a fun place to hang.”
