‘Heavy Splash,’ a Horror Short Story

[Trigger Warning: some sexual content of a disturbing nature.]

Ayumi Suzuki shouldn’t have been driving. She was about to peak on a combination of ecstasy, ketamine, and acid as she, naked, drove out of the front yard of the country home where the party was still in full swing that summer night. The other partiers, her associates in the porn industry, were too wasted themselves to notice her having sneaked out after a trip to the bathroom…not that they cared. ‘Yummy Sucky’— her stage name—was important to them only insofar as she made money for them. The waves of her thoughts rose and fell like this:

I’ve got to get out of there! I’m just too high. I love to party, but they just don’t know when to stop. All those pills. All that snorting. All that fucking. I’ll die if I keep doing drugs in there. I washed the come off my face and left immediately after. I didn’t even bother to get my clothes. I’m surprised—and lucky—none of Phil’s musclemen stopped me from leaving. I may be naked and stoned, but at least I got away from them. It’s safer to leave now, and to risk it on the road, than to stay, and risk letting them just get crazier and crazier with me, till they kill me. Gotta escape…escape…Drive, drive far away…just keep driving…

She was driving alone down a gravel road lined with trees on both sides. Besides what little light the half moon and stars were giving overhead, her high beams were augmented by the dazzle the drugs were flashing in her eyes.

Are those trees I’m driving past…or are they people, blacks with their hair dyed green? They all look like punk rocker clones of Leon, one of the porno studs who were just fucking me in that bedroom. Man, am I ever stoned!

Her little car was swaying left to right, but mostly staying on the gravel. The tires crushed the bordering grass during the extremes of three sways. Her head was swaying all the more from the mental massage of the high she was now peaking on.

Great party! A way-too-crazy one, but a great one! I’m really fucking high. Now that I’m away from all those fuckers, I can just relax and enjoy my high. Leaving them was kinda like leaving home in Sacramento. I’m so glad I left my parents’ home to live this party life, here in Washington State. I don’t always know which way I’m going, but I’m glad I left that hell of a house back in California last year. Escape…the great escape…I just drove and drove…got far, far away from them…I just kept on driving…

Going through the forest, she took a wrong turn to the right, and then went down an inclining dirt road. She thought she was still on the right path, even though it was a bumpy, downhill one. The descent made her want to slow down, which of course was a good thing. If only she’d been willing to stop.

The road doesn’t seem level anymore. I don’t remember going up or down any hills on the way to Phil’s house. Must be the drugs making me think I’m going downhill.

She was tingling all over from the ecstasy, and the drugs made her vision too blurry to see the difference in roads. The tingles cancelled out the bumpy feel of the road so well that she hadn’t noticed the end of the smoothness beneath her tires, either; the drugs she was on were better than the best of shock absorbers. The darkness of the overhanging trees was beginning to envelope her. There was a small spot of light at the bottom of the incline, where the dirt road was leading to God-knew-what, a kind of light at the end of the tunnel.

Is this a straw I’m looking through, with pure, white cocaine at the bottom, waiting to be sniffed up my lucky nose, or am I driving through a tunnel? Yes, it’s a tunnel! How did I get from the forest to a tunnel? I don’t remember there being a tunnel anywhere on the road from my place to Phil’s house.

Indeed, her high was making her think she was driving through a tunnel at the moment, with a grey glow at the far end. The trees—or the greenish-brown curved tunnel walls, as they looked to her—were rippling like the waves of a serene lake, a peaceful escape from the smut business.

So I’m doing porn now: so what? As a twenty-year-old who didn’t finish college (I’m so glad I dropped out—I’m sick of school!), I didn’t have many other options after running away from home; but even if I had, why should I be ashamed of fucking in front of a camera? I’m freely exploring my sexuality: what’s wrong with a girl doing that? At least I’m not chained to a desk anymore, always pressured to get next-to-perfect grades for my parents. I do whatever I want now. I get high whenever I want. I escaped from home…I just need to escape from the partying and the sex, for a while…Just keep on driving, far, far away…

She drove down to where that light was, and came out from the trees. Dots of blurry light flashed in her eyes: was it the stars, or was it the drugs? Still peaking on her high, every inch of her body sizzling with pleasure, she didn’t notice how the road had ended, and she was now driving slowly on a long wooden pier, one wide and sturdy enough to support the weight of her car, but leading into the middle of a lake—one with as many cans, plastic bags, and chocolate bar wrappers as there were dead fish. For a moment, she stared at the dark spaces between the planks of wood on the pier. The spaces were going straight ahead, in the direction she was driving.

The dirt road looks different. Why are there straight, black lines on the light brown dirt? Are they lines of black cocaine, all chopped up for me to snort on a wooden table? Is there such a thing as black cocaine? I’ll bet black blow gives a freaky buzz. Still, no way! No more drugs for me, thank you. Is that dirt I’m driving on, or is it wood? The sides are black and wavy: where’s the grass? Wait a minute: everything is wavy. Where’s the road?

The car swayed left and right, almost going off the side at one point. To her eyes, that sturdy pier seemed to be as wobbly as the waves of the lake, as did the swaying trees. Everything seemed to be an ocean, as if she were underwater: there was no sense of separation or distinction between her and her environment, or between anything around her…it was almost primordial Chaos, a dark world of death, before the creation of the universe, before the pain of life had even begun, as waste and void as her mind was wasted and void. It was beautiful. Her spirit was about to hover over the face of the waters. No, everything already was water, and she was in it, Ayumi, a drop of water mixed in with her surroundings, indistinct from them.

I’m free now, I’m out of the darkness and into the light: it’s like having found Jesus, and dying with Him on the wooden rood, the Word at the beginning of time; unlike in Mom’s and Dad’s church, those hypocrites and their phoney, conniving pastors. The family preacher never helped me when I complained about Mommy’s and Daddy’s coldness when I was a child, always pushing me to slave away at school, and never letting me have any fun.

Though she was driving slower and slower, she was too stoned to notice how the edge of that pier was getting close.

Well, I’m twenty years old now, and I can go wherever I want, do whatever I want. Neither Mom nor Dad can stop me. No one can stop me. I hate the family’s posing as ‘respectable’ Japanese-Americans, the way they carry on the social lie about us as the good, Christian, Suzuki family, with their religion, a drug for the masses, and my only drug to ease my suffering when I was still living with them. Oh, what bullshit! But I got far, far away from them. I have much better drugs now. I just need a break from Phil and the porn moviemakers, and from the sex, for the moment. I just have to keep driving, driving to safety…

She didn’t even notice herself drive off the end of the pier: it was as if she were going down another dirt road incline. Her car plunged into the lake. The water, fanning out in all directions around the front of her car, was like a great flash of light blinding her. Because everything had been waves in front of her eyes, the sight of undulating water outside her car wasn’t a surprise to her.

Am I being baptized? Yes! I’m being bathed in holiness and redemption.

The car sank diagonally into the water as if it were quicksand, for there was such a mountain of junk dumped into the lake, it managed to slow the car down. The window to her car door, to the left of the driver’s seat, was open by an inch or so. As the dirty water poured through and splashed all over her, she turned her head towards it, letting it splash all over her face. She smirked as she got soaked.

It’s like my last bukkake film. I had so much come all over my face, my mouth, my nose, it was hard to breathe. My director, Phil, got so mad at me for ruining the scene when I asked for help, instead of giggling like the little slut he wanted me to act like. Why couldn’t he just help me? Nobody helped me. I thought I was going to die!

She moved her head back to the front to face the windshield, and took a breath while looking through it. It was so dark out there. She couldn’t see any kind of road. Instead, the outside looked like a forest of giant fungi, dark green mushrooms the size of trees, swaying left to right. She blinked her eyes, still too dazed to be thinking about the water filling up in her car, already a pool with her feet submerged.

What are those orange things floating about? They look like…are they dead fish? No, they can’t be. This is one intense high. Am I no longer driving? Am I dreaming? Am I in an aquarium? I sure am far, far away now. My head is swimming: is my body swimming? What’s with all this water? Why is it so dark outside?

The car thudded against something and stopped moving. Her head jerked forward, almost hitting the dashboard. It was a good thing she had her seatbelt on.

Did I hit something? What is that in front of me?

Some dark, thick mass had bumped against the windshield, cracking the glass slightly. For a second, the thick mass looked like a giant, fidgeting, black octopus, about to wrap its swaying tentacles all over her.

Are those Leon’s hands on my arms? Are we filming another fuck scene? No!

Then she looked again, and saw what looked like a large tree stump. Actually, it was a thick branch, and another, thicker and stronger branch, one parallel to the first, was under the car, holding it in its diagonal position. More dead fish, and the corpses of one or two frogs, were floating by the ajar window, through the top of which the water was pouring in like a waterfall. The water in the car had risen to her knees now.

I’m cold. Now I wish I’d grabbed my dress. Why am I so wet?

She looked to her left, and felt the dirty water splashing on her face again. As it went all over her nose and mouth, she looked out the ajar window and saw a frog’s corpse almost slipping in: its front limbs, having slipped past the glass, were fluttering at her, as if wanting to touch her face. The limbs were inches away from her nose. She could see the frog’s face seeming to stare right into her eyes. She blinked her eyes, and for a second she thought she saw…

Are those my father’s hands reaching out to slap me, the way they did whenever he saw me not studying?

She jerked her head away, shook it for a few seconds, and looked back at the windshield.

No, that can’t be Daddy. I’m far away from him now. This trip is getting just too intense for me. I’m seeing things.

She looked back at the window, blinked and tried to focus. She saw the frog. She sighed with relief, swatted at it to make it float away, and looked back to her front.

I knew it. It wasn’t Daddy. When will that bastard get out of my head? Can’t I just enjoy my high in peace?

The water was a swirling mix of turquoise, brown, orange, and yellow. The face of a large, grey, dead fish approached the windshield, its wide-open mouth kissing the glass. For a second, it looked like a shark about to attack: she saw huge, sharp teeth shining from its widening jaws. She jerked her head, looked again, and saw just the fish. She let out a heavy sigh, and waited for her pounding heart to slow down. As she calmed down, she focused on the waves of pleasure her high’s massage was giving her brain.

Please, no more scary sights. Just let me enjoy my high.

Indeed, her whole body was vibrating, undulating with her high. Had it not been for the scary surroundings, it would have been the best feeling she’d ever had in her life. It was as if she were at one with the water: the boundary between her and her soaking surroundings was as blurred as her vision. It was like death, an annihilation of her ego, but it was also a beautiful oneness. It was peaceful, an end to her suffering. She was one with the waves of the world.

Am I taking a shower? This is like that time three months ago, when we did that film and I fucked that white stud, Jim Johnson, in the shower. I was on really good ecstasy the day we filmed that scene, too, almost as good as the ecstasy I’m on now.

She saw that fish head again, and for a second, it looked like her father’s face. She shook at the sight of it.

Oh! Wait, no, it isn’t Dad yelling at me. That reminds me of when Mom and Dad caught me with a small bag of marijuana in my purse, which my nosy aunt found. I’m so glad I don’t live with my family anymore. I’m safe now, far away from them. It’s good to drive away, to escape from the pain.

The pressure against the windshield caused it to crack into longer crooked lines. The crack was like a giant, emaciated, white spider, wanting to crawl inside the car and onto her face. She thought she saw glowing eyes in the center of the crack, the ‘head’ of the spider.

Ooh! That isn’t a spider, is it? I hate spiders, especially big ones.

Her mind was taken off of the ‘spider’ when a set of six-pack rings, whose plastic had disintegrated somewhat, leaving only two distinct rings, darkened by dirt, slipped through the window crack and landed on her hands. She looked down at them. They looked like grey handcuffs.

Am I doing another bondage film? Phil promised me he’d never make me do that again! Well, he makes a lot of promises he doesn’t keep…bastard. He—Phil Sakamoto—kind of looks like my Dad.

The six-pack rings were washed off her hands by the continuous influx of filthy water, which she was way too stoned to give serious thought to. She looked back down at her hands.

Oh? The handcuffs are gone. Good. Wow, I guess Phil does keep his promises sometimes. Hey, what’s that slapping me?

A few skinny dead black fish slipped through the opening in the side window and slapped against her left cheek as the water continued to pour in. She was up to her waist in water now.

Is that a tree branch in front of me? Where am I? What keeps swatting my left cheek? Something long and black. Is it Leon’s dick slapping my face after I blew him? It sure feels that way. He was doing that at the party tonight, wasn’t he? I hate it when he does that during filming, but when Phil tells us to do a scene a certain way, we have to do as we’re told. I’ll bet Leon likes swatting my face with his cock. Asshole!

The windshield cracked again. That ‘spider’ was growing into a monster, looking like a nuclear mutation. The acid she was peaking on made the ‘spider’ seem to move. For a second or two, the spider seemed to be crawling a bit, then stopping and watching her. Those glowing grey eyes she saw seemed to be staring right into her soul. She jumped at the sight of them, then looked again, and realized the ‘spider’ was just a crack in the glass. The relief wasn’t reassuring, though, for the darkness and freaky visuals were ruining what could have been an amazing buzz.

Oh, shit! I hate spiders. I really didn’t need that hallucination.

The water was up to her belly now. Was she vibrating from her high, or shivering from the cold? The dead black fish were floating in a circle around her, almost touching her skin. She looked down at them, and thought she was wearing some kind of chain around her waist, links of black rotating around her.

Has Phil chained me to a wall? I guess I’m doing a bondage film again, after all. I hate him. What’s that pouring on my head? Is he having someone piss on me again?

She looked back up at the windshield, then back down at her waist. The black fish had floated away.

Oh, wait, I’m not chained up—good. But what’s that smell? Piss? Dead animals? I’m really fuckin’ high, like that time I was snorting cocaine at that other party last week, and I heard Phil and Jim talking about climate change. Jim was warning about the dangers of pollution and shit like that. Phil ignored him, said it’s a liberal myth made up so the government can tax us and interfere with our lives more. I tend to agree with Phil. My dad never believed what the environmentalists say: I hate Phil and Daddy, but I agree with them about that.

Some of the filthy water got in her mouth. She spat it out and coughed.

Did Jim just piss in my mouth?

She looked to her left, but didn’t see Jim’s dick.

No, it isn’t him; but fuck him and his green politics, anyway. Fuck Mother Nature. She’s a whore, like the whore my misfortunes made me into. My mother’s nature was never any kinder to me than Daddy was; she always ignored my childhood need for hugs and love, instead barking at me to finish my homework. Fuck Mother Nature. Fuck everything. We’re all going to die one day, anyway. Death is beautiful. Death is escape. Getting away, far away. Finding peace of mind. We’re all polluted, and we can never un-pollute ourselves. There’s no hope for redemption. Just die, and escape from it all.

The windshield cracked again, making a small hole through which water sprayed like a shower nozzle on her face.

What’s that? More bukkake? Or another shower fuck scene we’re filming? Damn, why am I so wet? This is such good ketamine! It’s as if something terrible is happening to me, but I feel perfectly safe from it. It’s like I’m shielded in armor, or in an electric field of energy, or something. Flashing rays of light are shooting out in all directions around my eyes. Nothing can hurt me, though everything is trying to. I see horrors before my eyes, death everywhere, but a bubble of protection will keep me safe. I’m too high to care, anyway.

The water level was up to her breasts now. Her nipples were freezing and erect.

Am I in a swimming pool? I did a porno shoot in a swimming pool a month ago. I was swimming around, then Leon walked by the poolside naked, his big black dick pointing at me, then I came out of the pool, as naked as he was. Then we fucked. His dick is too big, but I was high on ketamine, so I didn’t feel the pain during the filming. I sure was sore afterwards. Still, I’m not complaining. Fun times!

The water was up to her neck now.

As bad and Phil and his boys get, at least it’s not like life at home in Sacramento, being repressed by my parents after they’d taken me to church services, when the preacher warned of the kind of sins that led to the Great Flood, sinning that Daddy ignored in himself–with his hands on me–even as he punished me for my imperfections, and the pastors ignored my cries for help. Bastards! And when I complained to the preachers about my parents’ strictness, they said that potheads deserve to be treated with strictness! And they all talk of God’s love and forgiveness. Hypocrites, all of them!

The glass of the windshield finally broke. Shattered pieces of glass flew at her face, cutting tiny holes in her cheeks. Tiny pieces of plastic, like scattered rice, but glowing because of the drugs, were flying at her face, too. The tree branch’s jagged front hit her in the face like a fist, giving her a nosebleed. All her blood got diluted in the water that was enveloping her, swirling about her face like fumes from marijuana cigarettes, only they were red.

Who punched me? Was it Daddy, after he caught me in my room smoking pot, the day before I left home? Was it Leon, after I finished blowing him? I remember Phil wanting him to do that, but I refused to let him. Phil is such an asshole sometimes. My jaw gets so sore from blowing Leon’s big cock. Speaking of blow, is this cocaine going up my nose, or is it more bukkake? Sometimes it feels like a glass powder, sometimes it feels like…water…water turned to red wine by Jesus…

She blacked out. Deep black. A far, far away kind of black. It was a bottomless pit of black, like Jonah going into the mouth of the great fish. She phased into unconsciousness, a place where the border between unconsciousness and death was blurred…a peaceful place, beyond the pairs of opposites, those of life and death…shifting back and forth between those opposites…like…waves…

Am I awake? Am I…dreaming? I can’t breathe. The water…is beautiful. Red. Is it wine? Are those…dead, pink fish…floating about me, or are they…severed cocks, Jim’s and Leon’s, after I…bit them off, with their blood…flowing everywhere? I’d sure…like to bite them off. Phil’s, too. I had to…get away from them, far away. Too many drugs, too much fucking, too much sucking, too much partying. It was fun, but it was…dangerous fun. I ran out…of the house, completely naked, with…only my car keys…I had to…get out…of there. I thought I’d…die there.

The line between life and death was, for her, like the surface of the ocean, rippling up and down, up and down…

But out here, dying is better. It’s beautiful…to die. It’s like sleeping. Dreaming. Escaping. No more abuse. No more being…exploited by Phil. No more pain, no more filth…polluting my body. No more drugs…to fuck my head up. If my…body isn’t…getting fucked…my mind is…This is better…Just sleeping, forever. Escaping the world. Getting away…from the filth. The Great Flood, washing away…the sin of the world. With the end…comes a new beginning…a new creation. I’ve found…redemption…through blood…Christ’s blood. Peace. Feeding me…with fish, the Jesus fish. All I’ve…ever wanted…to do…is to get away…to drive away, far away from all the…

‘Slutlips,’ a Surreal, Psychological Horror Story: Chapter Three

 

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[NOTE: this is the third chapter (click here for the first, and here for the second) of a psychological horror story based on an audio film of the same name by my musician friend, Cat Corelli, something I wrote up an analysis for; you can learn more about that here. Before you begin reading, though, TRIGGER WARNING: as a horror story, this one has some graphic content of a violent and sexual nature; so if you’re one of my readers with C-PTSD or other forms of psychological trauma, you may want to skip this one. As for you braver souls, though, read on…]

Alice woke up at about two o’clock in the afternoon. Her whole body was in throbbing agony from the hangover she’d worked so hard the night before to drink herself into.

She seemed to be drowning in the seas of her feeble ego-state; then, with effort, she rose from the carpet she’d been sleeping on and looked at herself in the mirror on the hotel room’s dresser.

“There I am,” she gasped. “Thank God.”

Then she looked down and saw blood stains by her feet.

What are those drops on the carpet? she wondered, then the memory of the night before faded back into her mind. “Oh, yeah…”

She turned on a radio on the bedside table and set it to the local news-station. As the news played, she went into the bathroom and washed the rest of her victim’s blood off her face. The stains on her dress would have to wait ’til she got back home (if she’d be safe from the cops there). Besides, the red and black stripes on her dress obscured the blood well enough for cleaning it not to be urgent.

The news continued playing as she scrubbed the stains off the carpet with an old rag she found in the bathroom. By the time she’d almost finished getting those red drops off, she–in spite of her relatively dissociative state–heard the radio announcer say, “The search is ongoing for the murderer of Ray Terence, a man found with his throat cut in the alley between the NRG Club and the Eden.”

Alice heard the announcer say, ‘Roy Torrance,’ ‘Energy Club,’ and ‘The E-Den.’

“Oh, my fucking God,” she whispered, eyes agape, then she put her hand on her mouth. Looking away from the mirror, but still half-listening to the news report, she felt those ocean waves carrying her off into another ego-less reverie.

She heard the voices of two men investigating the case. It sounded as if they were…maybe…being interviewed by the radio announcer. She saw dark waves enveloping her in a vortex of darker and darker grey, fading into that black spiral.

Inspector Trudeau said, “The slash on Roy’s neck. It looks big enough to be the slash of a machete.”

FBI Agent Curtis spoke in a gravelly near-Brooklyn accent; it sounded cheesily stereotypical of crime investigators in noir novels or films. He said to Trudeau, “So…the report says there were teeth marks on his skin, as if he was bein’ sucked by a vampire, or a psycho who thinks he…or she…is a vampire. Barely distinguishable from the goddamn machete cut, if that was the murder weapon, but still, there…That’s not quite a typical case, is it?”

“Pretty far from typical, agent,” Trudeau said.

“Do ya figure the killer has any connections to Satanic sects, devil worshippers, maybe?”

“None so far that we can see.”

“Do you know know anything about who the killer might be?” Curtis asked. “Anything that could lead to him…or her? Background? Occupation? Family members?”

Every time Curtis referred to the killer as possibly female, Alice felt a chill go through her. Just this once, she thought, it would be great to hear a sexist use of pronouns.

“Well, the victim’s name is…Terence…or Torrance…something like that–I don’t have the file with me,” Trudeau said. “But this killing happened outside a bar, so I doubt there’s any family connection with the killer, or close friendship, or anything like that.”

Alice breathed a sigh of relief.

“In any case,” Trudeau continued, “our Winchester boys in South Dakota are on the case. They’re informing the victim’s brother…one Donny, or is it Danny? I don’t remember. If you like, I’ll tell them to ask if there’s a possibility of anyone in the victim’s family wanting to kill Roy. Anyway, that’s all for now.”

“Thank you, inspector,” Curtis said.

Alice turned off the radio and shuddered to hear the name Danny.

He was Roy’s brother…and her father.

But…was he Alice’s father…or Lily’s?

Still spinning down that black spiral, Alice couldn’t remember.

“Lily,…Lily,…” she whispered in the darkness. The waves returned, the undulating shifting from absolute black to a dark grey.

The current of waters surrounding her brought Lily’s head near. Alice’s consciousness entered the head…

…Lily, eighteen, was on all fours on a large bed with wrinkled blue sheets. As the bed creaked and jerked back and forth with Roy on top of her, the sheets looked like rolling ocean waves.

Beside them on the bed were Lily’s father Danny, and a girl about Lily’s age, who was getting doggy-style from him, just as Lily was getting it from Roy. Also as in the case with Lily, the other girl’s face was hidden by her hair and her tears.

As the men were invading them, Danny chanted, “We’re…the sons of God, coming into…the daughters…of men!”

All the girls could hope for was a quick end to the ordeal.

“The sons of God…are good…men of God,” Roy grunted between thrusts. “We’re…the descendants…of Seth!”

“You daughters…of men,” Danny panted, “are descended…from Cain…You’re wicked…you tempted us…you look…like sluts!”

“Your hot…slut-lips,” Roy moaned, “make us want…your slit-lips.”

“You’ve earned,” Danny sighed, “God’s wrath.”

I wish God’s wrath would cause the Great Flood to wash you two away, Lily thought. An endless ocean to purify me of your filth. Envelop us, ocean.

The pain of the men’s stabbing was getting overwhelming. The girls felt more and more blood coming from their insides.

Suddenly, the queen’s voice was heard: “Off with their heads!”

A Great Flood, indeed, came and enveloped them all. Alice’s consciousness left Lily’s head, which Alice could barely make out rolling away under the water. She saw other dismembered body parts whisk past her like hurrying schools of fish being chased by a shark.

As the dark waves continued to flow around her, Alice heard an unintelligible voice repeat something to her.

A female voice said, “ecilA ,pu ekaw ot emiT.”

I’ve heard that weird woman’s voice before, Alice thought. Who is she? She feels so close to me, yet so far away, too. Is she a part of me,…or am I a part of her?

“lrig ytterp ,pu ekaw ot emiT,” the Mystery Girl said again.

The dark waves were getting a bit lighter, and Alice rose to her feet, saw herself in the mirror again, and tried to ignore her pounding hangover. She looked down.

“Fuck,” she hissed. “I’ve still got some drops on the carpet.”

Too exhausted and still too much in pain, she collapsed on that spotty carpet.

She heard a voice–it sounded like Daisy’s–say, “Lily…It’s all beneath your skin.”

The waves grew darker again. She lay there, hovering between consciousness and unconsciousness…

My Short Story, ‘Hot Sauce’, in the Horror Anthology, ‘Depraved Desires 2’

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I have a new erotic horror short story published in a horror anthology called Depraved Desires 2 (Volume 2), published by HellBound Books. My story is called ‘Hot Sauce,’ and it has a political subtext, allegorizing how, after rising in revolution against one’s oppressors, it’s crucial to protect one’s gains from counterrevolution, and not be distracted by one’s personal desires.

There are a bunch of great stories in this series, including ‘The Elk Woman of Friedland Woods: A Tale of Erotic Horror,’ by Jacob Mielke; ‘The Lifeguard,’ by Matt Payne; ‘Going Down,’ by Ken Goldman; ‘Black Dress Society Part 2,’ by M.J. Sutton; ‘Loves Embrace,’ by D. Norfolk; ‘June at the Hellfire’, by J. Stanley; ‘Love Bites,’ by Tim J. Finn; ‘Oven Picking,’ by Shane Porteous; ‘The Giant and the Lovers,’ ‘Between Heaven and Hell,’ ‘Cut the Raggedy Man,’ and ‘The Nutcrackster Suite,’ by J.L. Boekestein; ‘For Hire,’ by Becky & Lee Narron; ‘Red,’ by Marela Aryan Ballot; ‘Your Breath Is Mine,’ by Becky Narron & J.L. Boekestein; and ‘Desperately Seeking Bigfoot,’ by Jennifer Lynne.

All our stories were compiled by that great auteur, Bonny Capps, author of such books as Snuffed and Stranger. The cover artwork and design are not mine: they’re by HellBound Books Publishing. The Foreword was written by Xtina Marie. I want to thank both Bonny and Xtina for the opportunity to give my writing exposure here! Hugs and kisses to them!

Beginning Scene in ‘Creeps,’ an Erotic Horror Novel I’m Working On

The tunnel was claustrophobic, stuffy, and pitch black. It smelled of burned corpses. Only their soaking sweat covered their total nakedness as they shuffled through, banging their elbows and knees against the sides of the tunnel. The desperate urge to escape made Petunia LeBar and the man crawling behind her forget their fatigue, as well as the unbearable heat.

“How much longer, do you think?” the man asked in gasps.

“I think…I see a tiny…dot of light…up ahead,” she panted, now crawling faster. “We’re almost there.”

“Thank God,” he said. “We’ll be free…of those bastards.”

“The light…is getting bigger,” she said. “This is it.”

They started crawling faster, in eager anticipation of their soon-to-come freedom.

Then, from behind, they heard the squealing sounds…like a million screeching violins in a crescendo.

“Oh, no,” she said with shaking breaths.

“Let’s hurry…before they get us…Be brave!” he said. Suddenly, though, he felt an army of worm-like things crawling up his legs. “Oh, God! They’re on me!”

“Oh, my God! Frank! No!

She looked back and saw the short, glowing Creeps, wiggling in colours of blue, yellow, green, and orange, some crawling past him and towards her, others crawling all over his body, aiming for his ass and head.

Before he could close his buttocks in time, one of those things slithered inside his anus. He screamed and jerked his whole body, banging against the walls, roof, and floor of the tunnel, as the Creep slid deep inside his rectum, then into his intestines as fast as mercury. It wiggled inside, tickling him; then other Creeps made their way inside, one in his right ear, one up his left nostril, two in his mouth, and another up his ass.

He kept banging his head and limbs against the walls of the tunnel in all helplessness as he endured the unbearable tickling…so unbearable that he ignored the pain of his bruised and bloody toes and fingers.

Then the first Creep settled in his intestines…

…and the burning began.

“Oh! Oh! It’s hot!” he groaned.

“Frank! Frank! Oh, God, don’t die on me!” she bawled, slowing her crawling, confused over whether to go back and help him or flee the approaching Creeps.

He moaned in pain at first, then the ball of fire he felt inside himself grew, burning holes in his internal organs. He felt the fire cut into his stomach.

“Ah! It’s burning!” he screamed, coughing blood, his body now shaking and writhing with as much violence as that of the burning Creep. Then his body went limp and he lost consciousness, falling on the floor of the tunnel.

So horrified was she by his death, always sobbing and shaking, that she hadn’t noticed the Creeps crawling up her legs.

Then she snapped out of it.

“Oh, God!” she shrieked, trying to close her legs; but one of those things was too fast for her, and it slid inside her vagina.

Her whole body shook. She screamed, putting two fingers inside to try to scoop it out, then two other Creeps slinked in. They got past her flickering fingers and joined the first, deep inside her now. Then one of those wigglers crept inside her anus.

“Oh!”

The three inside her vagina melted. She felt the ooze permeating her body within seconds, passing through the mucous membranes of her internal organs. The other one snaked up her rectum and into her intestines. As she continued shaking all over, banging against the tunnel walls as Frank had, she softly sobbed.

Am I going to die, too? she wondered.

That worm melted inside her, too, in about the same area of her body as the one that killed Frank, and she could feel its substance pass into her bloodstream and spread throughout her body.

But, what was it?

Would it burn her insides, too? If it was going to do that, she figured it would have already begun burning. It had to be something else. But what? Part of her would have preferred the burning and a quick death to her forced life of prostitution in this hell of a house. She trembled as she waited for it to take effect, for she knew these worm-like Creeps were how her enslavers kept her and all the other nude women and men here under their control.

Soon enough, she began to feel the effect of a drug. She grew light-headed, her body swaying left to right. It almost felt like ecstasy, but it was a depressant rather than a stimulant. Her eyes grew heavy, and the glowing multi-colour Creeps surrounding her grew foggier before her eyes. Her limbs and head grew even heavier, and within a minute she slumped onto the floor of the tunnel and passed out.

Hi! Thanks for visiting my blog!

My blog is called ‘Infinite Ocean’ because–apart from my dialectical monist philosophy, which I hope can help people heal from alienation, C-PTSD and the other effects of narcissistic and emotional abuse–I have a (potentially) infinite number of subjects to write about. I have eclectic interests, so I write on a variety of subjects. Here is a brief explanation of all that I do.

In addition to writing about anarchism, socialism, libertarian-leaning Marxism, narcissistic abuse, and psychoanalysis, as well as writing literary and film analyses, I also write fiction–horror and erotic horror, mostly. Here are links to some of my short stories, as well as to works-in-progress. Here are some poems I’ve written.

Then, there are a few novels I’ve written and self-published on Amazon. (If you’re a sufferer of complex trauma and find horror triggering, I’ll more than understand if you want to skip past the next few paragraphs.)

My Kindle e-book, Sweet, is about a woman who has a disturbing habit: she likes to have men get her pregnant, then a few months after the baby is born, she kills it, cooks it, and eats it. Her latest lover wants to be involved with their baby’s life–how will he stop the mother from ending its life?

…and here are links to my other two Kindle e-books, Vamps, and Wolfgang.

Vamps is a vampire erotic horror novel, about three groups of vampiress strippers/prostitutes who lure lustful men in, then suck…their blood. Vampire hunters, however, are out to get them, and have been exposing them to the lethal sunlight. Someone is helping the hunters find the vamps…is it one of the vamps?

Wolfgang is about a German billionaire who happens to be a werewolf. Racked with guilt over his killings (particularly those of his own parents), he has a young prostitute whip and beat him, in sort of an S & M style, in an attempt to assuage his guilt. She has her own agenda (a lycanthrope fetish!), though, as does his butler (to use the billionaire’s money in ways the butler deems fit). A love triangle develops between the three: who will get control of the money, which two will remain lovers, and who will be the next werewolf?

My next erotic horror novel, Creeps, is a work-in-progress as of the writing of this update. It’s about a prostitution ring that uses small tech put inside worm-like ‘creeps’ that slither into the body, so the tech can take control of the bodies of the people forced into “consenting” prostitution. Two people, a young man and his older sister, discover that a woman friend of theirs is trapped in one of the legalized brothels, and they have to figure out a way to get her out of there. If the mafia ring (protected by a corrupt government) catches the woman’s two friends, though, creeps may be used on them to keep them quiet…permanently.

Anyway, I hope you have fun looking around at all of the different topics I’ve been writing about, and I hope you find some that interest you enough to make you want to follow me. Cheers!

‘Vamps’, Chapter Seven: Twice Bitten, So Sly

The following night, I found the CNT Club; like the POUM, it was shrouded in a forest, but to the northeast of town, whereas the POUM Club was to the southeast of town, almost along the same longitude as the CNT.  Also like the POUM, the CNT Club had male vamps protecting it from Christian vampire hunters.  The original sign over the front door, Tramps, hadn’t been taken down: a red V was spray painted over the Tr, but later, CUNT, in black lettering, was spray painted over all the original letters; then the C, N, and T were spray painted again, but in white, presumably to distract one from the obscenity of the black lettering.  I went in.

Amid the loud techno music and flashes of strobe lights that coloured up and dotted the darkness, I saw the by-now-typical, perfectly curvy strippers, either half naked or fully so, giving table- or lap-dances.  One of them, a buxom blonde goddess in a white lace bra and thong, with matching fishnet stockings and high heels, approached me.  Her vamp fangs were hidden in an overbite, behind full lips with lush, dark red lipstick.

“Hi,” she sighed in a thick Slavic accent, her hand held out to shake mine.  “My name is Anna Petrovich.  Are you looking for a job here?”  We shook hands.

“Well, I’m stripping in the POUMTANG Club right now,” I said, “but if I like it better here, I might consider asking you for work.”

“We’re always looking for new blood,” she said.

“Oh, I know that,” I said.

“How many times have you been bitten?  I’d say once, from the slight mark on your neck.”

Since the mark was now practically invisible, especially in the darkness of the bar, I figured she must have psychically sensed its presence.  “That’s right, I’ve only been bitten once; but I’m eager for my second and third bites.”

“We can help you with that, if you’ll be willing to help us.”

“Speaking of help, do you know of a vamp traitor who’s telling the vampire hunters in town where you girls are sleeping?” I asked.

“We were hoping you could help us with the same thing,” Anna said.  “We’ve had three of our vamps destroyed, exposed to the hellish sun.”

“Awful,” I sighed.  “I heard it was only one.”

“Two more were destroyed today.  That’s why I was hoping you could strip for us.  We don’t have enough girls here.”

“That’s too bad.  I hate the bigotry against vamps here.  We’re not the Satanic beasts the Church says we are.”

“And the Church isn’t the pantheon of saints it pretends to be.”

Same scholarly vamp vocabulary, I thought.  So odd to hear such erudition in strippers, particularly in uneducated me, yet so cool, too.  I’m sick of men always thinking we’re all just a bunch of dummies.  “How can I help?”

“First,” she asked, looking me straight in the eyes with that hypnotic fire in hers, and stroking my hair.  “Do you trust me?”

“I don’t see…why not,” I said, my vision already blurring and my head swimming.  “I don’t trust…the Catholics here.”

“Then we must love each other.”  She kissed me on the lips.  “But first, come get to know some of us.  Come with me.”

Anna led me through the bar, and I passed by the stage, where a short, tanned stripper with slight muscle tone was doing her third song, “It’s Alright (Baby’s Coming Back),” by the Eurythmics.

Anna and I sat at a table close to the stage.  We chatted as the nude girl onstage carried on with her floorshow.  Apart from her awe-inspiring, curvy body, she had an unusually large clitoris.  Crawling about barefoot with her legs spread wide apart and her ass pushed out, she had everything proudly on display for her rapt male audience at the tip rail.

“Who is that hot-looking girl?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s Francine Tremblay, or ‘Franny’, as we all call her,” Anna said.

“She’s the sister of Fanny in POUM,” a short, petite stripper with black hair said in a Spanish accent.  She was wearing a dark red bikini and matching high heels.  She sat beside me.

“Really?” I said.  “They’re sisters?”

“Yes,” Anna said.  “It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said.  “Franny sure resembles Fanny.  Their similar names are appropriate.  I’m Erica,” I said to the Latina girl, holding out my hand to shake hers.

“Maria Gonzalez,” she said, shaking my hand.  Her fangs were showing without inhibition.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

The song was over, and Franny got off stage without even bothering to put her clothes back on.  Not that she needed to: her nakedness was a glory to see, even for those not sexually attracted to women.

“Hi, I’m Franny.  You must be the new girl in POUM,” she said in a French Canadian accent.  We shook hands.

“Yes,” I said.  “I’m Erica George.  Nice to meet you.  You looked really beautiful onstage.”

“Thank you,” she said.  I looked over at Anna, who I already envied and admired. Being a vamp had given her an inscrutable, beautiful calm and confidence.  I wanted that coolness so badly.  “So, where are you from, Anna?”

“Russia,” she said.

“Your English is amazingly good,” I said.

“It wasn’t always,” she said almost sadly.  I assumed correctly that her vamp powers were responsible for the perfection of her grammar.

“What brought you to Canada?” I asked.

“A job opportunity here,” she said with a frown, looking away.

“Why not strip in Russia?” I asked.

“Because I thought the job would be in social work,” she said, still frowning and looking away.  Her confidence was obviously also something she’d only acquired as a vamp.  Her life before becoming a vamp had suddenly become all the more fascinating, as I could easily empathize with those lacking in self-assurance.

“Oh?  The job offer was a lie?” I asked.

“Yes.  About a year ago, these three strip-clubs were a front for human trafficking,” Maria said.  “We all got tricked into coming here, thinking we’d get good jobs.  Instead, we were made into prostitutes against our will.  Then the Vampire Revolution liberated us.”

“Yes,” Anna said.  “A vamp named Leona Trotta bit me one night after I escaped.  She made me a vamp, I returned, bit the other girls, and we killed the whole mafia family who had been holding us against our will.  Now, the strip club is our own.”

“Awesome!” I said.  “These three strip clubs are the first ones I’ve ever seen where the strippers are actually the ones in the saddle. It’s awful, though, that you were all sex slaves before.”

“I had been hoping for a good job to make money for my poor family in Mexico,” Maria said, a tear running down her cheek.  “Because of my being a slave here, I couldn’t send any money home.  My sick mother died because I couldn’t give her any money to pay for medical help.”  She began sobbing, and Anna put her arm around her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said.  With my blossoming psychic powers, I could feel Maria’s pain quite acutely.  I almost wanted to cry, too, as if her mother had been my own.  Of course, my own mother’s death made it even easier for me to sympathize with poor Maria.

“My sister, Fantine, has an illegitimate daughter for whom she was hoping to earn money with the stripping job here,” Franny added, snarling.  “We were able to get our family in Chicoutimi to take care of the little girl, thank Empusa, but Fantine, an unpaid slave, was so distraught at not even being able to see her.  Those mafia bastards!  I’m so glad we sucked them all dry.”

“I’m glad I never had to meet them,” I said, feeling Franny’s anger.

“Well, I have to go onstage,” Maria said.  “It was nice to meet you, Erica.”  We shook hands again, then she turned around and walked toward the stage.

“Bye,” I said.

A man approached Franny.  “Can I have a lap dance?” he asked her.

“Sure,” she said, smirking, licking her lips, and contemplating all that delicious blood in him.  She went with him to a VIP Room, never bothering to put on any of her clothes.

Two more strippers approached Anna and me, one of them a golden blonde and the other a dirty blonde.  They smiled suggestively at me.

“Let’s go upstairs now,” Anna said to me.  We got up and went with the two strippers to a staircase leading up to the second floor.

“So, what does CUNT stand for?” I asked.  “I understand the Caledonia strip clubs’ names are all acronyms.”

“It stands for the Collective Union of Nudists and Transwomen,” Anna said as we began ascending the stairs.  “We got rid of the word ‘Union’ not only because it was redundant, but because we were getting flak from the Catholic community here for the acronym’s ‘obscenity’.”

“So there are transwomen here who want bites to make them physically female, too, eh?” I asked.  “Just like in POUM?”

“Yes,” she said.  “Transgender people from all over flock here to have the bodies their souls desire.”  We reached the top of the stairs and went into a bedroom, one not unlike the one I’d been in with Andrea, Christina, and Meg.  The two other vamp strippers had entered first; having only worn bras, thongs, and high heels, they’d already stripped naked and were waiting for us on the bed.  There was no need to tell me about the ritual for my second biting: we all psychically communicated this intention.

Anna removed her bra, revealing the two most beautiful, natural breasts I’d ever seen.  Each of that soft pair of giant cake balls was topped with sweet berries for nipples.

Then she removed her thong, revealing her shaved pubic region.  Next to come off were her fishnets and shoes, and she was as nude as the two vamps on the bed.  I quickly got naked, eager for that bite (not to mention the hot sex), and Anna and I got on the bed.

“Erica, meet Celina Helmer and Josie Beverley Druitt,” Anna said.  “Celina and Josie, meet Erica, a once-bitten who just started working in POUM.”

“Hi,” I said to them.

“Hi,” Celina and Josie sighed in unison.

All three of them started caressing my arms, legs, and breasts as I lay on my back on the bed.  Anna put those delicious breasts of hers on either side of my face and gently pressed them on my cheeks.  Oh, their softness and smoothness!  I was really coming to like lesbian love.

After she tickled my lips with her erect nipples, I asked, “When you…bite me, will I…Oh!…lose my will…completely?”

“Not quite,” Anna said, gently kissing my left cheek and neck.  “Only if…you’d been bitten…twice by…the same vamp…would your will…be all hers.”  She squeezed my right breast, pinching the nipple.

“Ah!” I moaned.

Josie, who also had lovely large breasts, began rubbing them against my belly as she sucked on my right breast.  Celina, with smaller, perkier breasts but ones no less tasty, had buried her face between my legs and was making my vulva as wet as her saliva-soaked mouth.

My sighs and squeals were getting higher and louder.  As I got hornier and hornier, I feared the pain of that second bite, as well as the possibility that Anna wasn’t being honest about how much control she would have over me after the bite.  Would I completely lose my will, and be made her slave for an indefinite amount of time…maybe forever?

Still, the vamps’ expert lovemaking kept me more and more excited, and that pleasure relaxed any worries I had…though in the back of my mind, it occurred to me that such a relaxation would be a perfect way for me to surrender my will to them completely.

My fear of the pain of the second bite, and of possibly losing all my will, didn’t distract me from the pleasure, though: actually, that fear increased my excitement.  My body was tensing up and shaking with anticipation of my nearing orgasm…and new vamp powers!

Finally, I let out a scream, with my eyes squished shut, and I orgasmed; with perfect timing, Anna bit me the very second of my climax.

Again, I felt the numbing daze as of one on drugs, my perception blurrier and blurrier as I felt my blood being sucked out.  I felt my will become more that of the vamps’ Blood Collective than of my own.  I just lay on my back, my head spinning.

“How do you feel?” Anna asked.

“High,” I moaned.

“No marijuana or ecstasy ever made you feel stoned like that, eh?” Celina asked, grinning.

“No,” I sighed.  “Not like this.”

“Celina has a wicked tongue, hasn’t she?” Josie asked.

“No,” I said.  “She has a…very good tongue.”

Celina laughed, always proud of her abilities.

“Do you feel more connected with us?” Anna asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“That’s because your blood is merged with that of the Collective,” Josie said.

“More and more, you’re becoming one of us,” Celina said, licking her lips and proudly baring her beautiful fangs with a sinful grin.

“You’ll care more and more about our needs, and we’ll care more and more about yours,” Anna said.

“We vamps all love each other,” Josie said.

“In mind…and body,” Celina said, kissing my belly several times.

“How do I look?” I asked, getting off the bed on the left side.  As with the first bite, my initial stupor was abating somewhat.  “That bite didn’t…hurt as much…as last time.”

“The second and third bites hurt less and less,” Celina said.  “Your third will hardly hurt at all.”

“Then you’ll be impervious to pain,” Josie said.

“A mirror is over there,” Anna said, pointing to the wall to the right of the bed.

I went around the foot of the bed and approached the mirror, which went from the floor up to a few inches taller than I.  I gazed on my frontal nudity, waiting for my blurry vision to focus.

What a difference!  I was grinning in narcissistic adoration.  My teeth, those four fangs, were sharper; my skin was whiter, but creamier and more delectable; my breasts were again larger, rounder, and firmer, like a perfect silicone job, only without silicone; and my curves were snake-like!

“How do you like yourself?” Celina asked.

“I think I’m in love with my body,” I said.

“I think I am, too,” Celina said with a lustful glint in her eye.

My eyes were welling with tears.  Vamps rule!  I thought.  Wait till Hal sees me!  He won’t be able to resist me.  I just hope…for his sake…that his love for me isn’t only skin deep.  “When do I get my third bite?” I asked.  “I don’t think I want to wait.”

“After you’ve looked around the PSUC Club for us,” Anna said.  “When you’re a thrice-bitten, you’ll fully know the danger we’re all in.”

Vamps, Chapter Six: Meeting Stella

After my lap dance with Hal, I went over to a table and sat with two of the strippers I hadn’t met yet, one a blonde, the other a brunette.  “Hi,” I said.  “My name is Erica George.  I’m the new girl.”

“Hi,” said the brunette, a short, petite beauty.  “I’m Jenny Milton.”  We shook hands.  She smiled, baring her beautiful fangs.

“I’m Tiffany,” said the blonde, who was short, skinny, and cute.  We shook hands.  “Nice to meet you.”

“I have a question,” I said.  “Why did The Candy Club get renamed ‘POUMTANG‘?  You know the sign out front is misspelled, right?”

“It’s an acronym,” said Jenny.  “The spelling is deliberate.”

“OK, what does it stand for?” I asked.

“The Party Of United Mothers, Transwomen, And Nudist Girls,” Tiffany said.

“Wow,” I said.  “That’s awkward-sounding.”

“Yeah, well, it originally was the Party Of Obscene Naughtiness, Transwomen, And Nudist Girls: POONTANG,” Jenny said.  “But the Christian community here didn’t like that acronym, so we had to clean it up by misspelling it on purpose.”

“What’s more, ‘United Mothers’ sounds more family-oriented than ‘Obscene Naughtiness’,” said Andrea, who now joined us.  I smiled up at her as she grabbed a chair and sat beside me.

“Do you all have sons and daughters?” I asked.

“In a way,” Andrea said, stroking my hair.

“All the boys we bite are like our sons, since we made them vampires,” said Jenny.

“And the girls who we’ve made vamps are like our daughters,” Andrea said.

“Hence, we’re mothers,” Tiffany said.

“I like the sound of that,” I said, looking at Andrea.  “My mom died when I was very young.  Oh, how I cried and cried as a little girl from her loss.  And then my dad changed into such a…well, maybe I shouldn’t talk about that.  It’s depressing.  But anyway, I’ve felt so empty without a mother’s love.  I like the thought that I can get that from you all.”  Especially from you, though, Andrea, I thought as I still looked at her.  (Actually, she kind of resembled my mom physically.)  After all you’ve done for me, I like to think of you as a mother figure to me.  I sensed she felt my thoughts, and was smiling her love back to me.

“I’ll be happy to be your new mom, Erica,” she said, kissing me on the cheek.  We smiled lovers’ smiles at each other.  I was really hoping for not only my second bite from her, but a second love-making; for that daughters’ love I felt for Andrea was, if you will, quite Oedipal.

The stripper onstage, Fanny, just finished her third and last song, and got off the stage.  Tiffany looked over there.  “I have to go onstage now.”  She got up and went there.

“See you,” Jenny said.

“Well, you’ve explained ‘Mothers’ in POUMTANG,” I said, “but what about ‘Transwomen’?  Are there any here?”

“Of course,” Jenny said.  “Look around.”

“Do you really think every female face you see here is physically so?” asked Andrea.  “Look carefully at those two over by the bar.”

I leaned over and strained my eyes a bit looking to my right at the two she was referring to, in glittery dresses and heavy makeup.  Indeed, I noticed Adam’s Apples protruding most inconveniently from their necks.  I also vaguely sensed their biological masculinity from the psychic vibes they were giving me, vibes of acute dissatisfaction with their bodies.

“Wow, they are,” I said.  “Why do they come here?”

“Because they admire us,” Jenny said.

“And with every bite we give them, they grow more biologically feminine,” Andrea said.  “Those two over there haven’t been bitten at all yet; I can sense it.  But they’ll be wanting it, since they’ve heard rumours, from their once- and twice-bitten friends, of what we can do.”

“I don’t understand how your bites can change them so radically,” I said.  “I thought the bites only make people into vampires, and really hot-looking ones.  How do the bites make all those other changes?”

“One of our abilities, remember, is shape-shifting,” said Fanny, who now joined us.  She sat at my other side.

“A vamp can change into a bat, for example, simply by wishing it,” Andrea said.

“As strippers, we all naturally want to be hotter looking, so with each bite, and each resulting gain of power, we immediately get sexier,” Jenny said.  “We want better looks instinctively, so those changes are more or less automatic.”

“Transwomen want women’s bodies to match their female souls,” Franny said.  “So three bites give them a free sex change operation, with none of the surgical risks.”

“That’s the beauty of being a vamp,” Andrea said.  “Our powers give us whatever we want.”

“The only catch is needing to drink blood,” I said.

“That’s right,” Jenny said.  “That, and staying out of the sun.”

“Speaking of which, where are Meg and Kristen?” Fanny asked with a frown.  “Tell me we didn’t…”

“We did…we lost them,” Andrea said, a tear rolling down her cheek.  “The vampire hunters found them.  Jim saw her ashen remains in her apartment when he went over earlier tonight, correctly sensing trouble.”

“Oh, no,” Jenny said, her eyes widening.  “Kristen gave him his third bite.  He must be heartbroken.”

“He is,” Andrea said, baring her fangs and snarling.  “He’s sworn revenge on the Christians.”

“I hope he sucks the whole town dry,” Fanny said.  “We’re not safe.”

“I’m afraid to go to sleep at dawn,” Jenny said, almost sobbing.  “I keep lyin’ awake, helpless in bed, wondering if they’ll find me, break down my bedroom door, rip open my curtains, and fry me in the sunlight.  I’m really getting scared.”

Andrea put her arms around Jenny and kissed her cheek.  “Don’t worry, baby,” Andrea said.  “We’ll be OK.  You have your once- and twice-bitten guards watching over you, don’t y0u?”

“Yes,” Jenny sobbed.  “But what if they aren’t strong enough to protect me?”

“And when are we going to find the vamp traitor, or traitors, in whichever strip joint they’re working for?” Fanny asked.

“That’s what we need you to help us do, Erica,” Andrea said to me.  She gave me a map of the forest areas all around Caledonia so I could find the CNT Club.  “Go to CNT tomorrow night and find out all you can, any hints that the traitor could be one of them.”

“Speaking of possible traitors,” Fanny said.  “Here comes Stella.”

“Who’s she?” I asked as I saw a tall, curvy, long-haired brunette approaching us in a white dress shirt, black dress pants, and matching high heels.

“Stella Lynn East,” Jenny said.  “Owner of the PSUC Club.”

“And major man-hater,” Andrea said, sneering.

“If she hates men, why does she own a strip club?” I asked.

“To suck men dry,” Stella said in an English accent as she sat down to join us.  “Good evening, vamp sisters.”  She looked at me with a grin that proudly showed off her fangs, and a sparkle in her eyes that looked a combination of deja-vu and discovery of someone long-lost.  Indeed, she stared at me for several seconds, in a wide-eyed daze, before asking, “And you are…?”

“Erica George,” I said, shaking her hand.

“A once-bitten, I see,” she said, kissing my hand.  “Oh, do let me have a bite or two.”  Now that sparkle in her eyes was one of flirtation.

I blushed.

“So, what’s the news at PSUC?” Andrea asked with a frown.  “How many more of your vamps have they destroyed?”

“Four today,” Stella said with an angry sigh.  “Oh, those bastards will never leave us alone.”  She was giving out an energy of deep hate for the Christian community, very sincere vibes: I figured she couldn’t be a traitor.

“Which ones?” Fanny asked.

“Chantale, Alexis, Mercedes, and Beth,” Stella said.  “I swear, when I find out who the vamp traitors are among us–males, I’m sure–I’ll expose them to the sun myself without remorse.  They’ll be the only vamps deserving of such a fate.”

“I’m aware of a female traitor,” I said.

“How do you know that?” Stella asked.

“I went to the Sunshine Pub today,” I said.  “Some men who killed Billie Bryson said a female told them where Billie’s apartment was.”

“Erica, the men you talked to were just that…men, and they can’t be trusted,” Stella said with a twitch of agitation on her face.  “They’re all liars.  They’d love to make us believe a female vamp betrayed us, to divide us.  Make us not trust each other.”

“How can you be so sure they were lying?” I asked.  “What they said felt like the truth.”

“I can’t honestly believe a female would betray her sisters,” Stella said.  “But a male vamp, resentful of his period of servitude to his female biters, before his third, liberating bite, would gladly betray us.  Men can’t handle female power.  They think it’s natural for them to rule over us; so when we get power over them, they have us destroyed.”

“It didn’t feel like those men were lying,” I said.

“Honey, your powers aren’t fully developed yet,” Stella said to me, stroking my hair and looking in my eyes as if I were an old lover she’d lost long ago.  “When I bite you, and liberate you, you’ll understand men’s true nature.  Vamp or no vamp, men are afraid of female power, and they’ll do whatever they have to to stop our ascent to power.  Those men lied about the traitor being female, I assure you.  Watch your male vamps, sisters.  Guido, Jim, and Jorge: they may seem trustworthy to you, but they’re not.  We’re not safe from them.”

“Jim’s out hunting men as we speak,” Andrea said.  “In revenge for Kristen.  Gino and Jorge’s helping him.  We trust them completely.”

“Why?” Stella asked, sneering.

“We don’t share your…extreme views on men,” Andrea said.

“Extreme,” Stella chuckled.  “Extremely common sense.”

“We believe men can be changed,” Fanny said.

“Men will never change,” Stella chuckled louder.  “I know from experience.”

“After a period of servitude to us, under our gentle rule,” Andrea said.  “The rein of the yoni, if you will.”

Stella had a belly laugh.  “The only way to end the rein of the phallus is by usurping it forever.  No temporary women’s rein with tame men.”

“We think it will,” Fanny said.  “We’ve seen the proof in Gino, Jim, and Jorge.  And all of the FAINGS seem loyal.”

Seem loyal,” Stella said.  “They’ll turn on you.  Give it time.”

“If you refuse to see any good in men, why do you have male vamps working for you?” Andrea asked.

“They aren’t full vamps,” Stella said.  “They’re twice-bittens, you know that.  And they know their place.”

“In other words, they’re your personal slaves,” Andrea said.

“That’s right,” Stella said, smiling.

“Look,” I said.  “I don’t like male power over women any more than you, but if you enslave men, how are you any better?”

“It’s not about being better than men, love,” Stella said to me.  “Either we control them or they control us.  When the vampiress revolution finally happens, males will be reduced to ten percent of the population, used only for reproduction, so we vamps can have a limitless supply of blood.”

“We don’t believe so radical a solution is necessary,” Fanny said.

“Agreed,” Andrea said.

“Same here,” I said.

“Very well, sisters,” Stella said, getting up.  “Have it your way for now.  Time will tell, and we’ll see which vamps’ views are proven right.  Goodbye, Erica: I hope to see you…and to bite that pretty neck of yours…soon.”  Stella gazed at me one more time, with a kind of mysteriously melancholy longing, then turned around, walked away from our table, and left the club.

“When you’ve finished looking around the CUNT Club, we’ll need you to go to the PSUC Club, too.  As much as the vamps there hate men and insist of sisterly solidarity, there’s always the possibility that all that misandry is just a cover-up, and they want us dead for some reason.”

“I do think the traitor is female,” I said.  “I felt honesty from those men.”

“Still, Erica, consider all possibilities,” Andrea said, stroking my hair again.  “Stella is right that your power as a once-bitten is limited.  Keep your mind open, for bias will limit your ability to gain access to all the enemies that will lead to the true identity of the traitor or traitors, who could be male or female.”  She kissed me on the mouth, a delicious kiss, and I felt her will vibrating through my body, making me want to seek out any traitors in CNT.

“How do you win the influence over men here?” I asked.

“After you’ve searched CNT and PSUC, we’ll give you your second and third bites, and influencing men will be easy,” Andrea said.

“Influencing men is easy once you’re a full vamp,” Fanny said.

“Yeah, just look at Tiffany onstage,” Andrea said.  Tiffany had been wearing a cute cheerleader outfit during the first song of her floorshow, grinning and giggling as she danced before her rapt audience of horny men.  Now doing her third song, she was crawling about nude and displaying her vulva and anus, in all insouciance, to a panting man at the tip rail.  “We can easily see whose blood she’s going to have soon.”

“How can you be sure he’ll ask her for table dances or lap dances?” I asked.  “Maybe he doesn’t have the money to spend.”

“Haven’t you forgotten?” Fanny said.  “We don’t sex the men up for money, but for blood.  And he has plenty of that.”

“And he won’t want a dance,” Andrea said.  “He wants sex.  We can feel his desire all the way from here.  It’s that intense.”

“He wants anal from her,” Fanny said.

“And she’ll give it to him,” Andrea said.

“Don’t you mean ‘take it from him’?” I asked.  We all laughed.

“Of course,” Andrea said.

“But that’ll hurt,” I said.

“You forget again,” Fanny said.  “We vamps are impervious to pain.”

“Actually, our vamp bodies are adapted to enjoy anal, as much as vaginal sex,” Andrea said.  “We don’t even shit anymore, since we don’t eat.  The anus is now only for sex.”

“Eww,” I grunted.

“You’ll like it, too,” Fanny said.

“Really?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Andrea said.  “In fact, anal is the best way to get men ready for a bite.”

“Either that, or doggy-style,” Fanny said.  “If a man fucks you and you’re facing him, you might enjoy it so much that you’ll open your mouth wide in sighs.  Then he’ll see your fangs and get scared.  Then, even if you bite him, his will won’t be as much at one with yours.”

“The best way to influence a man is to get him to like you as much as possible,” Andrea said.  “That’s why the best time to bite is when he orgasms, for that’s when his desire for you is at a maximum.  Then his will is all for you.”

“With your back to him as he’s fucking you, you’re free to moan and sigh with an agape mouth, and he probably won’t see your fangs,” Fanny said.

“And if you offer him your asshole, that tells him you’re a ‘bad girl,’ and you’re all the sexier for it,” Andrea said.  “That’s why when I strip for the men, I always bend over and offer the men two choices instead of just one.”

“As do I,” Fanny said.  “And as you should, too.”

Sure enough, after the song was over, Tiffany led her male admirer into a private room.  We’d hear a groan of sharp pain from him about twenty minutes later, and feel the pulling of some of his blood out of him and into the Collective Blood.

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‘Vamps’, Chapter Five: Erica Meets Her Heckler

I returned to my apartment after my long run from the Sunshine Pub and its vamp hunter patrons, a run that, thanks to the increased strength I’d got from Andrea’s bite, got me home amazingly quickly.

Sitting on my bed, I thought about my situation as a vamp, or vamp wanna-be, actually, and the threat that all those vamp hunters posed to the vamp community I was now a part of.  I was upset not only because of the danger of being destroyed by them one day after receiving my third bite, but because Andrea had changed me in a way that made me actually like myself more…and the vamp hunters were trying to take all that away.

Self-esteem was a new thing for me.  You see, I didn’t have a very happy childhood.  Though I had a fair number of friends at school, life at home in southern Ontario had become a hell ever since my mother died.  My widowed father became a morose drinker, taking out his unhappiness on me at every opportunity.  He’d call me an idiot whenever I got bad grades at school, which was usual, because I was a rebellious teenager and didn’t care about learning; so we fought a lot.

By the time I graduated from high school, he griped at me, in slurring words and bad beer breath, for not thinking about my future, that is, not trying to get better grades and get into university.  Actually, I thought about my future a lot, but not in that way: I just wanted to get out of his house and live on my own.  I was a pretty girl with a good body, so becoming a stripper looked like my best option at the time.  So that’s what I did.  I never saw Daddy again, and I have no regrets.

Of course, getting naked in front of a bunch of drunken, leering, cat-calling pigs results in its own kind of verbal abuse (and often far worse than what I put up with from that heckler my first night stripping in the POUMTANG Club).  That was when my love affair with drinking and drugs began.  Whiskey, tequila shots, you name it, I drank it.  Smoking marijuana and hash were a common pastime during high school, so as a stripper I also checked out the harder stuff: ecstasy, ketamine, cocaine…you name it, I at least tried it, if not made it a regular habit.  When I was about 24, my health had declined to the point that I realized I had to come clean.  I went to rehab, and after a painful month or so, I got better.

About a month or so before going to Caledonia, I was getting frustrated with my aging and not-so-hot-looking body.  The ad for the stripping job in Manitoba promised work “far better than any ever imagined,” so I, having nothing to lose, gave it a try and went up there.

Now that I realize what was meant by “far better than any [job] ever imagined,” I feel eternal gratitude to Andrea.  She literally saved my life; for I really had no idea what I could do as an aging, flabby, uneducated stripper.  I didn’t have the money for silicone implants or anything like that.  I didn’t even have the escape of drugs to give me solace; but the high of being a vamp, with increased beauty, strength, and even intelligence, is better than any drug, and the improvements she gave me are better than any education or plastic surgery could ever give me.

But beyond that, I was increasingly realizing that Andrea had introduced me to a much larger world.  My mind had been expanded.  I felt a psychic connection with all life around me, all thanks to the Collective Blood that I’d been more acquainted with from Andrea’s bite.  I was able to gain access to forms of knowledge that at first had seemed the domain of university scholars; I couldn’t believe the vocabulary increase I suddenly had acquired, for in conversations with people I was spontaneously–and correctly–using words I hadn’t known even existed before the bite!

That psychic connection had also increased my sense of empathy for everyone, vamp or non-vamp.  I wanted to help my vamp comrades, and also wanted to give liberating bites (for that’s how I saw them now) to all non-vamps, so they could gain the same advantages I’d just gotten.  I could feel people’s pain, frustrations, and disappointments, all from the vibrations I felt around me, everywhere in Caledonia and in the POUMTANG Club.  I was glad to search for whoever the vamp traitor was, not only to help Andrea and the other vamp strippers, but also to improve my chances of being able to help all those struggling people I had around me on the street.

And vamp hunters were ruining everything for all of us!  Bigoted bastards!  If only they knew that vampires are actually a force for good.

Back in the POUM Club that night, I went over to Andrea just before I was to go onstage.

“So, those old-timers in the Sunshine Pub scared you off, didn’t they?” she asked me.

“Yeah, they did,” I said.  “You can feel it, eh?”

“Yes, I can,” she said.  “You’re vibrating those feelings from all over your being.”

“How does that work?” I asked.  “How am I able to feel others’ vibes?”

“When I sucked your blood, I got connected with your psychic energy, and you are beginning to get connected with everyone’s” she said.  “We vamps are a network of connected blood; the Blood Collective adds to our awareness, to our knowledge, and to our intelligence.  Hence, I can feel the fear you felt when you ran out of the pub.”

“So if you already know, then why ask me?”

“I don’t know everything that happened, only basic vibes.  Now, as for the details: did they tell you who helped them find Billie? Which vamp?”

“They didn’t give a name,” I said.  “They just said she was a pretty young woman, also pale and with a pointy overbite.  Definitely a vamp approached them at night, though they didn’t believe she was one, and they didn’t say her name.”

“Very well,” Andrea said.  “Go to the CUNT Club tomorrow night and find out what you can there.  It’s another vamp strip joint, directly north of us here, north of the town, in the forest up there on the other side.  We’ll tell you more about it later.”

How do all these strip joints here get away with such raunchy names?  And in this Catholic community? I wondered.  “OK, tell me about the strip joint in about twenty minutes,” I said.  “I have to go on now.”

“Will you be OK up there?”

“Oh, yeah.  I have much more confidence now, thanks to you.  I really wanna express my appreciation for all you’ve done f0r me.  You’ve helped me in ways that I’ll never be able to finish repaying you for.  Thanks again, Andrea.”

“It was my pleasure,” she said, grinning and showing off her fangs in a way that didn’t at all look scary or freakish to me.  I grinned back, wishing I had fangs as apparent as hers, and impatiently waiting for those second and third bites.

I went onstage.  My first song was ‘Love Bites,’ by Judas Priest (I was going with a quasi-vampire theme that night.)  I was wearing only a pink thong and bra this time; now that my confidence in my body had improved, I wanted to flaunt what I had.

As I was moving about the stage, I looked out at the audience, who were much more attentive than last time.  They seemed a little hypnotized, too, but not as powerfully as they had been with Fanny.  I assumed I’d get even more rapt attention after my second and third bites, which I now waited for with even greater eagerness.  Still, I was satisfied with the fact that the men were now interested in what they saw.

Towards the back, I saw that asshole who was being rude to me the night before.  I still wished that scream I’d heard, after he made me cry, had been his…of him being sucked dry, as my three escorts presumably had been.  Anyway, he was behaving himself this time.  In fact, he seemed to like what he saw onstage.

I removed my bra towards the end of the Judas Priest song.  My breasts were now, as you know, larger and firmer, a pair of beauties I proudly showed off.  He was still interested.

My second song began: ‘You Suck,’ by Consolidated, with a naughty rap about cunnilingus by The Yeasty Girlz.  As I danced around mouthing the words with a wicked smile and looking him straight in the eyes and mouthing “Baby, you suck!”, an idea came to me: if having sex with the men was desirable for blood and mind-control purposes, then once I got my third bite and became a full vamp, I could seduce him, then get my revenge and suck the bastard dry.

If only I could have been a vamp right then and there.  I was so, so impatient for those second and third bites: how long would I have to wait for them?  I was starving for revenge against that guy!

I removed my thong.  He was still watching me, his mouth thirsty for a taste–I could sense his desire.  Now nude except for my high heels, I picked up the thong, made a slingshot out of it with my fingers, and flicked it at his face.  It slapped him right on the nose, and he was happy to get it.  The lecher was sniffing all along where it had been rubbing against my anal cleft.  What a perv!

The song ended, and I took off my shoes.  My third song was ‘Vampire,’ by Gorilla Zoe.  I still had his full attention.  He was standing a few feet away from the stage.  I slowly walked towards him, allowing his eyes to pour all over my nakedness.

Now not only confident with my body, but with defiant pride, I got down on the floor, my eyes locked on his, and spread my legs.  His jaw dropped at what was now showing.  His former rudeness had been transformed into awe.  His tongue was hanging out a foot.

I rolled over and started crawling back from him, my ass pointed at his face.  My legs were still wide apart, so everything was showing.  I could see his still rapt reaction in the mirror on the back wall.  I smirked.

The song ended.  I grabbed my shoes, bra, and purse, and got off the stage.  He followed me.

“‘Scuse me,” he said, presenting my thong.  “I think you forgot this.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said, still not able to smile at him, despite my plan to seduce him.  I put the thong on.

“Can I have a lap dance?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said as I put my bra back on.  “Ten bucks a song.”  I put on my high heels.

“Yeah, I know.  Lap dances sure are cheap here.  That’s why I like it here.”

“OK, there’s a private room in the corner over there that’s available.  Let’s go.”

We went in the room, and he closed the door.  He sat on a sofa against the far wall.  I sat on a chair facing him.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Hal,” he said.  “What’s yours?”

“Erica.”

“Almost sounds like a boy’s name.”

“I don’t think so.”  I glared at him, then thought about all that blood I wanted to suck out of him.

“You don’t?”

“No.  You aren’t going to be rude to me again, are you?”

“Again?” he asked.  “When was I rude to you before?”

“Last night,” I said, still angry, though controlling it.  “When I was onstage.  Don’t you remember?”

“No, I don’t.  Then again, I was really drunk, and I get a little out of hand then.  They kicked me out last night, actually.  Look, if I made you mad, I’m sorry.”

“You made me cry.  I ran off the stage.”  I was almost about to cry right then.

“Oh, look, I’m sorry about that.  I can be a real dick sometimes.  Booze’ll do that to you.  But I think you’re really beautiful.”

“Really?”  I felt his sincerity.

“Yeah, really.  An’ I don’t mean that in a dirty way.”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling.  Maybe when I become a full vamp, I won’t kill you after all, I thought.  Unless you piss me off again, that is.

A new song began, ‘Heavy Metal Love,’ by Helix, a longer, live version.  I got up and sat on his lap, facing him.  He was already hard as a rock.

I started grinding on him.  The pointy bulge in his jeans was rubbing against my groin, the sensation going through my thong and stimulating my clit.  I’d never felt that way about a client in a strip joint before, especially for a man who’d been rude to me.

Was my heightened horniness another side effect of the bite Andrea gave me?

Hal was actually a reasonably good-looking man: short blonde hair in a baseball cap, clean shaven, and thin, but with a little muscle tone in his arms and chest.

He also had sweet, baby blue eyes.

Without warning, I took off his cap and put it on my head.

He was bald.

He twitched in embarrassment at this revelation.  Now he was frowning like a little boy who’d had his toys taken away.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” I said, trying not to gloat at having piqued the physical insecurities of a man who’d done the same to me the night before.  “I know of ways to make you even better looking than you already are.”

“Oh?” he said, smiling that his baldness didn’t seem unattractive to me.  “How?”

“I wasn’t all that hot last night, when you saw me onstage,” I said, removing my bra.  “These were floppy then, as you had observed; now they’re firm.” I then put his face between my tits, and squeezed them against his cheeks.

“How’d you make them look better?” he asked.  He was touching them, gently pinching the nipples.

“It’s a secret.  But if you’re good, and you show devotion to me, I’ll divulge the secret, and you won’t need to wear that cap anymore.”  I removed my thong, burned around, bent over and gave him a look.

“I’d like…to…believe you,” he panted, staring at my…front and back doors, if you will…with equally disbelieving eyes.

Looking back at him upside-down from between my spread-out legs, I said, “You don’t have to believe me; just stay loyal to me, be a gentleman, and I’ll reward you.”  Then I reached up from between my legs with my finger and tickled his chin.

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