Posted by Wurdolak on October 14, 2000 at 00:48:55:
[One night on mIRC I met a most delightful and unusual young lady, and during several roleplays with her was delighted at her most savage yet unique fantasy. I dedicate this story to her and my friend who couldn't control his emotions or cope with life and died of a cocaine overdose. Little Frank, you dumb fuck, why did you make us cry?]
For Enessa and Frankie.
:Unoxygenated blood flow, minus of course the nutrient fractions, is the most important factor in feeding of an undead subject. This inactive bloodflow through the veins is why a vampire never attacks and feeds on a corpse, as the venous bloodflow is the nearest to cadaver blood, and therefore of little use, since our survival is empired on the blood of the LIVING, or living blood. :)
The beard was dirtier and greasier than the fingers pulling it, and he turned and hollered, "hey, Twat".
Across the room a young woman in a dirty black nylon
slip roused and roze on one arm and looked at him, her eyes squinting, "Huh?"
"What the fuck is this?"
"What?"
"This shit on the computer?"
She rolled over, her shapely behind squirming as she made her nest on the dirty mattress, and mumbled, "I don't read your email, how the hell should I know?"
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Sometimes it's not easy being eight hundred years old.
The car was smooth, a Lexus, and she rocked and rolled gently in the seat, her lifeless head rolling back and forth on the seat, the bloody wound at her neck glistening in the city lights. The stream of blood ran down her neck and disappeared into her cleavage. Her breasts bounced softly under her blouse, actually a satin tiger-striped pajama top tucked into the leather mini-skirt. I liked that, the new fashion of wearing pajamas as evening clothes. Her tiny gold shoes were on the floor where she had kicked them off. I ran my hand through her silver-blonde streaked hair and held her to me, limp and still warm. She will revive in two or three days and we will feed and have many wonderful nights till she tires and moves on. I took her blood as I entered her in the front seat, and let it spurt into my mouth, a few drops at the time as she rode me, my tongue keeping it from flowing before the time, and as she orgasmed I let her up and down one last time, and then drank, hard, as she gripped my neck and held my head to her shoulder and she gasped softly as her heart stopped and she lay limp in my arms.
Freddy was 11 when I met him. He was the quiet kid on the block when he came by one night and asked if he could mow my grass sometime. I gave him a regular job and watched him grow up, more or less in my yard. He became a young man in my grass, and when he finished high school he expressed an interest in the Final Trade, mortician. He and I became friends, best friends. We were close, as close as I could be to a mortal, and when I heard he had died of an overdose of coke, I reflected again on the grief and loss of having this lifespan. Sometimes you don't even get to see them age and die at the 3 score and 10. He was my best friend, certainly the best I had this century, and I wept.
Know ye the tears of a vampire? They are cold, and greasy, and full of sorrow. The sorrow of half a millenium.
He was a low-level distributor, and sold Freddy the snort, which was not cut as it should have been, and he died before he fell out of his chair in the office. I had to face the eyes of a 3 year old child, who did not know what death was, and a five year old who did, and tell them their Daddy would never be home again.
They said he used young women as pushers and guards, guess he figured they were more trusworthy. My crotch glowed and twitched. Well, hope they had a shower.
I parked the car and laid my lifeless dear in the seat.
I should be back before rigor sets in.
The shack was an old two story garage with offices in the back, the double garage doors ancient and plastered with concert posters, church revivals, and old oil and parts ads. I caught the point guard, a young lady in leather pants and silk halter. She had
a magnum in a belt holster and I had a hand at her throat as she reached for it. I knocked it out of her hand as I sank my teeth into her neck, she gasped as I took a large drink, I stood her on her feet and raked my finger across her tummy, her hands went to the wound, the intestines bulging as she sank to her knees.
I left her there and in the corner of my eyes saw her fall and jerk once.
The next one caught me by surprise as I was looking into the front garage doors, she was faster and sunk a K-BAR into my side and reached for the Glock auto. She also was disposed of faster. I had her neck in one hand and broke it, at just the right spot, and her arms and legs went limp, but not the head, as she looked with terror as the teeth moved for her neck...
I threw her into the bushes and slunk in the small side door. The place smelled lick old oil, rotten pizza, and women's perfume. The third was a dark little gal who looked to me just like Wynona Ryder, all leather and satin and MAC-10. She walk past and I calmly reached out and grabbed the gun from her grasp. She turned and before she could look into my face I had my hand in her torso, warm and wet and tight and got the beating heart and with a clean tear, ripped it from her breast and took a drink from the still beating organ as she gazed wide eyed at me and it. They were right about a guilliotined head living long enough to blink it's eyes 3 times before dying. By second blink I took her hand and handed her the quivering organ and she collapsed in a heap at my feet.
I kicked the door open and sprang in. A woman was asleep on a filthy mattress to my right and rolled over and cowered against a wall. So I thought. I moved towards the fat shitbag as I heard a click and then a burst of flame and a nick of stinging flies as 22 out of a clip of 36 9MM. bullets poured into me. She moved against the wall trying to drop the empty magazine as I ripped the black shirt part to expose the wounds on my chest and my head. I flexed my arms and torso, exposing my teeth, my eyes black and white pupils flashing, and each little bullet worked it's way to the surface to fall bouncing at my feet. I stood trembling and caught one coming out of my temple and this was the one I threw hard and fast and caught her in the temple with a thunk and she dropped the gun and with a gasp fell to the mattress, the black slip shining in the light of the computer monitors and her pale skin like ivory against her black hair.
The biker was leaning against the table, shaking, and jump as he knocked a monitor to the floor, where it burst with a flicker of fire and I was upon him. I had his neck in one hand as I reached for his crotch. But what he feared didn't come to pass, I just ripped his pants from him.
I sat him on the table like a doctor with a patient, his struggles ineffective against my grip. With my right hand I reached and got a kneecap in my grip, so hard the blood started from his skin under my nails and like turning and pulling a doorknob I ripped the kneecap of with a pop.
"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!"
His jerk brought the blood out of his neck under my fingers, and even I found the scream uncomfortable.
I decided to be merciful and got the other kneecap without delay and with a pop pulled it off too.
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGG!"
I dropped him to the floor, a greasy puddle writhing in a welter of thrashing limbs. I placed a portrait photo of two small children, smiling, on the desk and put the white and bloody kneecaps before the frame.
The woman was trying to rise and I walked over to hr and got her by the hair, the other hand a spear into her abdomen. She gurgled and wide eyed stared into my face as I torn in two and pulled a section of intestine out, wiggling, and wrapped it around her neck. With a two handed grip I strangled her, her arms trembling, till she gasped her last breath and threw her to the greasy mattress, the blood dark against her ivory skin.
I walked back to the car, and gently sat my darling up, her head limp, and got in. I snuggled her to me and started the car, backed out, and drove down the dirt road, made a turn, and was on the highway.
Know ye the tears of a vampire? They are cold, and greasy, and weep this night for a mortal. He was my friend.
Vampires can have friends, can't they?