The Pulpit

AUTHOR’S NOTE; The following is a work of erotic horror so if you’re under the age of eighteen navigate away from this page. 

            Riana Färber lay in silk luxury.  Awakening as she did in total darkness she stretched out her body and squirmed against the decadent lining of her coffin.  Not quite fully conscious the two hundred year-old vampire became aware of the unnatural life slowly rising thorough her. 

            The sun hasn’t fully set, she thought.  I usually don’t like resting in my casket but we couldn’t find someplace to pass the day away.  The energy sluggishly moving through my body always gives me the creeps.

            The slippery feel of her silk gown moving against the same material beneath her gave her the impression she was sliding.  Even the slightest wiggling produced the sensation of lying upon a dry, yet oiled surface.  She opened her eyes.

            Riana began to hear sounds, faint yet distinct.  The graceless clomping of boots, the deep low mutterings of men’s voices and scrape of stone against stone resounded through the ancient wood of her coffin.  All became silent for a moment.  Then she heard a grinding sound like someone rubbing two bricks together for some unknown reason.  Puzzlement rose in her brain until the thudding slam reverberated the floor above her making small particles of dust rain down upon her face.  Then the realization came to her.

            Someone has found my hiding place!

            The icy cold caress of a thousand worms upon her brain sent terror flowing into her extremities as if she had been dunked into a frozen pond.  The splintering of wood and fiberglass above her made more fine debris cascade down upon her.  In her mind it became a race against time.  Would her body’s strength return faster than the intruders would rip open her hiding place?  Which would happen first?  Did Riana have time enough to battle those seeking to destroy her or would the clock finally run out on her undead state?  A low whimpering echoed above her.

            Oh shit—Michael! Riana recalled, not lessening her fears.

            Michael Renee McDaniels.  Her current paramour, friend and companion was stretched out in his own box which lay atop hers.  In her dull, dazed state she had forgotten their resting arrangement.  The small crypt in the center of the cemetery hadn’t allowed them to reside side-by-side.  Instead he had graciously agreed to have his coffin set above hers.  Chivalry, love or whatever the reason was Michael had insisted upon this.  Riana’s eyes began to well up with hot tears which ran out of the corners of her eyes and just past her ears. 

            “No,” her lover’s croaking voice pleaded.  “Please don’t do this.”

            His words shattered her undead heart like an ice sculpture hit with a mallet.

            “I send you to Hell’s hot embrace!” a man’s thundering reply came.

            There was a flurry of activity above her.  She could hear and feel Michael’s limbs thrashing frantically against the bottom of his casket.  More strength poured into her body but not enough to push herself free and defend the man she loved.

            “Stop!  You don’t understand!” the man above her shouted.

            Riana flinched at the sudden sound of a hammer striking something wooden and Michael’s painful wail.  More thumping noises, even more insanely desperate boomed only shut out by the horrible din of repeated impacts from the mallet.  Tears ran down the sides of her face like droplets of a torrential rain on a window pane.  Michael’s gurgling sobs, his attackers’ heavy grunting and her own weeping filled up the seven foot long coffin she lay in.  The terrible sounds overflowed like the sorrow welling up inside of her.  Riana slapped her hand across her mouth to keep her screams of denial from being heard.  The final blow fell and she gasped into her bitten palm when she spied the bloody, ragged point of the stake appear in the top of her own casket.

            “It is done,” the man stated.  “Evil has been destroyed and we can take pride in doing the Lord’s work.”

            Riana tried to think herself as small as a mouse, as silent as the grave and still as a dark tarn.

            “What about the other one?” the man’s accomplice inquired.

            “There is no reason to check it,” the first one countered.  “We only had reports of one male bloodsucker not two.  Besides how would it get out?”

            “Let’s get out of here.”

            The clomping sounds of their exit echoed like the sounds of a hollow victory in her mind.  Michael had been destroyed, killed and murdered.  They had been together for sixty years.  Her mind immediately and painfully began running through the memories of meeting, loving and turning him.  From the disco days of the seventies to the grudge era and beyond they had walked together in harmony, hunger and health. 

            Now he is gone, she sniffled.

            The bang of the iron gate informed her those who had slain her lover had departed without further investigation.  The sudden fact she had survived another close call burst into her sorrowful brain.  Riana smiled and felt the tug of her lips pulling away from her fangs.  The bared pearly weapons felt longer and sharper as her hunger for revenge grew in her undead heart.

****

            Riana crouched in the darkness and ignored the soft moaning of the semi-unconscious woman lying next to her.  She raised her sight to the small square of light above her head and tried not to laugh out loud.  Her prey’s heavy footfalls informed her he was approaching.

            Her search hadn’t taken long, in fact it had been surprisingly shorter than she expected.  Reverend Richard Black cleared his throat as he walked towards her position.  The First Church of Christ’s pastor was a pompous, arrogant and proud man who she had studied well these past few weeks.  Michael’s killer had bragged far and wide how he had removed an evil blot on the surrounding countryside.  His boasting tale told from the pulpit above her head had sent shock, relief and admiration flowing from his congregation to puff up the wilted self-worth of the minister.  This was his Achilles’ heel—his overwhelming, driving need to be respected.  It would be his downfall.

            Another groggy groan from the body beside her let Riana know she hadn’t quite rendered its owner completely senseless.  She twisted upon the sheaf of papers, crushing and tearing them to cuff the woman once more.  The sounds stopped making the vampire smirk.

            I know you too well now Reverend Black, she thought.  Your bad memory, your egotistical hatred of looking down at your sermon’s notes and how you had concocted this secret hiding place beneath your pulpit so your assistant could quietly remind you of what to say next.

            Despite the holiness of this place it had cost Riana very little in pain to crawl into here from the secret passage’s entrance in the church’s hall.  The sanctuary above would singe her flesh to a charred blackened state if she set foot upon it’s hallowed and consecrated floor.  But the ladder and hole above her had been woefully neglected when it came to being blessed. 

            Black couldn’t be seen blessing this place without being discovered and his ego would not have allowed that.

            The white square was eclipsed letting Riana know her prey had stepped up to the podium.  She retrieved the sermon’s notes and began to silently ascend the short ladder.

            “My brothers and sisters in Christ,” he began, “I am so happy to see so many smiling new faces amongst our congregation.  It makes my heart swell with joy to witness what one single act of faith and courage can do to bring so many others into the light of Jesus Christ, our Lord.  Can I get a Hallelujah?”

            “Hallelujah,” they responded.

            “We walk in dark times, brothers and sisters.  These are dark and dangerous times where pop culture tears at the fabric between what is right and wrong.  Youngsters are being corrupted by false beliefs, ungodly trends and whorish fashions.  They are being led to believe that monsters are misunderstood, to be pitied and loved instead of being destroyed like the unholy vermin they are.  Vampire movies, books and stories depicting these vile creatures to be nothing more than human beings who have a disease, nothing more.  We have to stay strong and fight what we know to be the truth…God’s own truth!”

            “Amen,” the congregation muttered.

            Riana rose to crotch level beneath the pulpit.  She licked her lips in anticipation of the events to come.  Deep inside she felt a thrill of tickling glee for what she was about to do to the arrogant murderer of her beloved Michael. 

            It has been a long time since I’ve done this, she thought silently.  Existing on animals and stealing nourishment from hospitals is enough to keep me alive but there’s something so right, so exciting about supping on a human.

            “We have long suffered from these misguided authors,” Black said, his voice rising.  “It started with Bram Stoker and has grown now to include the business empire of that Myers’ woman—a follower of the Mormon way who pens atrocity after atrocity!  Can I get an amen?”

            He could and did.

            Riana reached out and with a feather light touch caressed the front of Black’s expensive trousers.  She withheld a smile when his hips jerked back.

            “I come to you, a man dedicated to His way,” the minister said without stammering.  “to teach you these things must be, should be and will be fought!  Too many innocents are rushing to see the next Twilight movie, buying up vampire erotica and snuffing out the light of their souls.”

            She parted the folds of his fly and began to tug the zipper down.  Trapped by his speech and confusion the preacher still tried to pull away.  His pant legs shook in slight a trembling shake as she slowly yanked the metal fastener to the bottom of his fly. 

            “W-we must, without haste or fear of reprisal, tell these people we will no longer stand for their corruption.  We will protest at these movies, picket book stores during their new releases and pass out a million flyers to those who have been led down the wrong path.”

            She felt him shrink from her touch but her firm grip on his fleshy shaft held him in place.  Tugging gently on it Riana began to stroke the minister’s cock and make him gasp and stammer during his impassionate speech.  She was betting on him being too embarrassed or aroused to give away her position.

            “I-I know you will be with me, beside me the entire time as I go forth to enlighten the ignorant masses of the dangers in believing vampires and werewolves are anything less than monsters,” he stuttered.  “We will be a force from Heaven itself to be reckoned with.  C-can I get a Hallelujah?”

            “ Hallelujah!” they cried out.

            His meaty shaft had grown to its full length in her soft fingers.  Riana tugged him free of his pants and pulled the rampant cock to her cold lips.   She waited for the right moment.  For a moment he seemed to forget she had him by the balls.

            “It will be a glorious day when the world rises up to cast off the blindfold wrapped around their eyes.  We will cry in one voice that we will not allow, permit or ignore the corruption of our children.  Holding Hollywoodand the publishing industry accountable for their evil ways, to wean them off of ill-gained profits and drag them kicking and screaming into His light!”

            Upon Black’s uttering of the word His she placed her lips against the bulbous head of his cock making the minister yelp out the word.  She swirled her tongue around it making him pause for effect and keep the illusion being seen by his parish he was in control.  She heard him groan softly and imagined what must be going through his mind.  Laughing to herself she could almost hear him wondering what had gotten into his female assistant.  A part of her deduced the pastor must be thinking his sermon was inspiring the woman beneath the pulpit to suckle his cock out of sheer respect and undying dedication.

            “I charge you to do as I have done.  To seek out those filthy vile creatures who slink from the light of Heaven and hide in moldy graves.  Drag them out and drive a stake through their black hearts.  Look to the signs of their existence.  You must keep a constant vigil!  For if too many of our youngsters believe vampires are cool we will lose them to bloody bared fangs, their blessed lives given to slake the devilish thirst of these demons!  Oh Lord, please deliver us from Evil!”

            Riana sucked him deep into her mouth and he sobbed out the last sentence very loud.  She fondled his tightly clenched balls and tugged the base of his cock while in her mind’s eye she saw him gripping the sides of the podium in a white knuckled grip.  She covered his shaft with spit and snickered while his feet shifted in agitation, arousal and fear. 

            “T-tomorrow we will take up the fight and demand the local chain bookstore stop carrying the works of Anne Rice, Bram Stoker, Stephanie Myers and others who would pen such atrocities to confuse and befuddle the minds of our innocent children.  We will usher in an age—an age of… of… goodness and righteousness!”

            His slight forgetfulness had been deliberately caused by Riana’s mouth working feverishly upon his iron-hard rod.  Her hands squeezed his balls and yanked upon his vein-covered cock until she heard, with great delight, his elbows strike against the top of the pulpit.  She knew the men and women staring at him would be thinking the preacher was in the grips of a religious fervor.  Black’s voice returned but it was aimed downward in her direction.  He spoke in hushed tones and she surmised he had covered the microphone in front of him to further muffle the sound for the question didn’t come out of the large speakers.

            “What are you doing?” he husked out. 

            Riana didn’t answer him but ran the tip of her tongue underneath his throbbing member and tickled his quaking testicles. 

            “Helen you h-have to stop,” he demanded weakly.  “This isn’t proper.”

            “No,” she whispered back.  “Keep preaching.”

            Riana licked her index finger and waited for him to pick up where he left off.

            “Brothers and sisters—good people ofNiles, will you take up this burden?  Can you find the strength and dedication to suffer the slings and arrows of the lost children of humanity, just like the punishment Christ endured on his way toCalgary?  We must be strong in our faith!  Too many souls have been lost to darkness because we have sat by in idle disbelief and watched the destruction of morality.  Out of sheer shock and dismayed we have not acted accordingly.  Can I get an A-amen?”

            “Amen,” they chorused as she rubbed her wetted finger against his puckered anus.

            “I-I didn’t hear you,” Black said in a distracted tone.

            Riana slid the slippery digit into his bottom and covered his shaft with her wet mouth.

            “Amen!” the reply from the pews came loudly.

            “Again?”

            She pushed it up to the second knuckle and slurped harder at his organ.

            “Amen!”

            Working one hand up and down his meat, pushing her face against the fabric of his trousers and swirling her finger in his anus Riana drove the minister into a frenzy of contortions.  She inwardly giggled how those in the pews would think he was in the grip of some religious fever.

            “We w-will remove the stain upon literature, movies and wash away improper illusions!” he shouted.  “It will be us, filled with the righteousness of the Holy Spirit, who will topple the printed media from their unholy perches!” he bellowed.

            Riana felt his cock swell in tune with the growing loudness of his voice.  His ass clenched around her finger, holding it snugly inside while his balls began to flex.  She increased her efforts and soon she was gagging from the depth his throbbing meat had sunken to in her throat.  Yanking, tugging, thrusting and fingering she felt his dam break and the sudden rush of boiling warm seed rush down the fevered length of his organ. In her mind’s eye she could see the congregation lean forward, intent on his words.  They would see the redness in his face and mistake it for holy passion.  Only he would know it was because of the killer orgasm he was about to suffer.

            “We will cast them down into the Pit!  Overthrowing them and putting in place a moral and responsible group of goodly thinking people w-who will… always remember… they are beholden to… keeping faith with…”

            That’s it, she thought, say His name just as you get off…

            “Jesus Christ!” he screamed.

            Riana’s gullet was treated to a torrential rush of Reverend Black’s sperm which shot out of his flexing cock’s head in thick rivulets.  She noted with pleasure he was standing on the balls of his feet while her throat milked, her fist pumped and her finger jabbed him.

            “Oh my God, brothers and sisters!” he shrieked.  “Dear Lord!  It’s u-unbelievable—oh my God!”

            “Amen!” the people cried over and over.

            “Yes!” some woman screeched, “Testify to His glory, Reverend Black!”

            “Lord Jesus Christ!” some woman wailed.

            “My life for yours, Jesus!” a man roared.

            “I’ll take up the Cross for Him!” a weeping female screamed.

            Riana bit his cock and a rush of hot blood spewed into her throat. 

            “Oh God!” Reverend Black shouted.

            She drank heavily.  He slumped against the back of the podium while the rush of erotic sensations rose from his loins and enflamed his brain.  Riana felt the preacher’s hips buck slower and slower until she had her fill.  Withdrawing her fangs from his punctured cock she held him still and retrieved a length of surgical gauze from her pocket.  She stopped the bleeding with the bandage.  Only then did she allow him to withdraw his limp, reddened shaft from the prison of her firm grip.  Tenderly she placed the sensitive organ back into his pants and briefs and tucked a note into his front, right pocket while the people probably now standing in the aisles shouted, prayed and rejoiced.   She slipped down the ladder and crawled along the passageway to find a place to hide until night when she could escape.

****

            She stood on the threshold of the mausoleum and waited.  The moon, full and pregnant slowly crossed the starry sky while she passed the time.  Down the hill she could see the cars speeding past the cemetery carrying people to their various nighttime destinations.  Riana smiled briefly. 

            I wonder how much longer he can resist? She mused merrily. It has been two weeks and I must admit I do admire his willpower.  Most of my victims don’t last a few days before they come to me begging for more or to be turned but him I had to make an appointment.  He showed up per my note, but he tried to kill me.  Even then, while he was under my power Black fought me but his efforts were futile.  He died right after I drained him the second night.  I felt him crawl off and die in his bed, his bible and crucifix lying forgotten on the ground beside him.  You know if I didn’t hate him so much for destroying Michael I’d be tempted to keep him around.

            She knew the curse of her toothy kiss had coursed through the minister’s body poisoning his soul and corrupting his mind.  He wouldn’t be able to enter his church or hold his bible.  It was a matter of time. 

            Then my revenge will be complete.

            She felt rather than saw him crouching near a cluster of tombstones at the very bottom of the hill.  The supernatural connection between them alerted her to his whereabouts as surely as if he was wearing a bright red neon sign above his head.  The frantic thumping of his heartbeat crossed the distance like an ocean wave and reverberated off her body.  Riana took great delight in its fluttering beat.

            Come to me! She called out psychically.

            She watched him dart from gravestone to gravestone trying to hide.  This amused her to no end and she wondered whose attention he was trying to avoid.  Was it hers?  Or did the infected preacher desperately attempting to conceal his plight from members of his congregation who had followed him here?  Would he approach her or just glare at her from a safe distance?

            Hopping, loping and dashing she snickered as Black went from hiding spot to hiding spot.  Eventually the slouched figure crossed over the road in front of her mausoleum and slide to a stop behind a tall monolithic headstone.  Riana laughed and the sweet sound of her merriment rang out in the graveyard.  She heard him moan in arousal in response.

            “You cannot hide from me, Reverend Black,” she called out.  “I can feel your presence as surely as I can see the moon above me.”

            “What have you done to me?” he cried out in a pitiful tone.

            “Nothing you didn’t deserve.”

            “Who are you?  Why do you haunt my dreams?  Night after night I saw your face dancing like some Gamorrahian whore in sensual visions which cloud my mind.  Now I have wakened in my grave only to be pulled to your presence.”

            “I am Riana—the mate of the vampire you destroyed.  I was lying in the other casket while you drove a piece of vile wood into my lover’s heart.”

            “But that’s impossible!”

            “Why because you think I couldn’t move the coffin above me to get out?  You are as stupid as you are misguided.  I have strength enough to carry my hiding place for many miles without breaking a sweat but you were too lazy to check.”

            “Please restore me to Glory—I cannot enter my own church anymore!”

            “You are of the night now.  No longer can you call for divine aid or even utter the name of your deity.  I have made you what you despise.”

            “Why have you done this?”

            The holy man stepped out from behind the monolith and staggered towards her.  She noted dispassionately his white face, gleaming fangs and hungry face.  His hands were curled into painful claws and the smell of burnt flesh wafted past her face.  She guessed he tried to enter holy ground only to find he was damned forever.  Tears ran down his hollow cheeks so terrible was his plight it nearly tugged pity from her undead heart.  She had taken everything away from him he had stubbornly clung to.  Pathetic and distraught he sobbed quietly before her.  But she heard the echoes of Michael’s voice and the sudden remorse for Black’s plight died a stillborn’s death.  He stopped two feet away and fell to his knees.

            “Tell me why you’ve made me this way?” he demanded softly.

            “To teach you a lesson—I didn’t ask for this curse but I live with it the best I can.  Michael and I never took a human life but you weren’t interested it that.  You came, filled with righteous indignation and slaughtered my beloved like some sacrificial lamb on the altar of you puffed up ego.  Now you will suffer as I have,” she said making her voice cruel on purpose.

            “Please no”.

            “You can accept your fate or wait for the morning to come and destroy you.  There will be no redemption either in Heaven or Hell for you, Reverend Richard Black!”

            She turned her back on him and shut the door to her crypt.  A part of her wondered what course of action he would take.  Would he greet the dawn and die or would he slink off to his own grave and hide from the sun?  She was hoping for the second option.  Knowing his vast ego and the terrified look in his eyes somehow she just knew Black would succumb to a vampire’s existence.

            I’m sure once the Assistant Minister of the church reads the note I left on his car this evening he will take action.  Perhaps tomorrow night he’ll finish what I’ve started.  How ironic that the speech I heard him deliver will be his undoing, Riana chuckled to herself.

The Photo Shoot

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  The following contains adult situations and languages.  If you are not of legal age (ala eighteen) get out now!

Barbara Mentor sat on the blanket.  Beneath her she could feel the sandy from the beach spreading out, deepening to form-fit the contours of her knees, shins and feet.  Five feet away was Zack, the photographer for this shoot.  He was fiddling with his camera with a caution resembling an archeologist handling a priceless specimen.  To her right, just out of camera range was Roger, Zack’s assistant who was clutching a round disc covered in a foil-like, space age material.  His job, or so she’d been told was to reflect the faint rays of the moon onto her body for better lighting.  In reality his job apparently was to ogle, drool and fantasize about her.  He was fat-faced, having basset hound-like jowls which quivered and shook when he spoke.

What kind of pigs do this for free?  Well, I guess I know that answer now, Barbara said to herself, trying to keep the smile on her face. 

Thinking back to the phone call last week Barbara knew this could be her big break, a once-in-a-lifetime offer to grace the cover of a new magazine.  A first issue nonetheless.  It would probably end up a collector’s edition and she would be eternally remembered as the first model on the cover.  But there were no guarantees.  The magazine could flop—just another periodical failing to live up to its hype and not finding a niche in the marketplace.

But Zack swore this wasn’t the case.  From what he said this is a first in the world of magazines!

She’d done a bit of research before agreeing to the photographer’s offer.  There were, as one could imagine millions of magazines dedicated to the country’s (even the world’s) obsession with the supernatural.  But none of them came close to what Zack had told her about the publisher’s intentions to capture subscribers.  Innovation was rare in the business.  Copies of copies flooding the stands (or on the Net) of the same old thing were out there.  Imitation was the sincerest form of flattery but after a while it became too much.  Like trying to listen to thirty radio stations it became a hodgepodge of imagination devoid of noise.

But not this one.

Moonlight Magazine wasn’t anything like the periodicals she found on the Web or the bookstores.  While gothic magazines (from the bizarre to the tame) could be subscribed to this one didn’t show any signs of its more common brethren.  First off, it was funded by a major Hollywood actress.  Debbie McCain, the brunette bombshell of the Slaughter Isle franchise (there were now six flicks out) had put up the cash for it.  Known as the Scream Queen Deluxe, McCain reputation in Tinsel Town was spotless—both on and off the silver screen.  Her first director proclaimed her, “The best talent I’ve had the pleasure of directing” while others remarked about how “natural the camera enjoyed her”.  The second difference was the magazine’s dedication to only the best horror writing tinged with “just a kiss of erotica”.  Big names were penning tales for Moonlight.

Zack, finishing up his adjustments to his precious camera began to survey the surroundings, ponder the lighting and begin to bark out orders.  Roger All-Eyes (as Barbara began to think of him) was shifting around, slinking into another position with his porcine eyes still pegged to Barbara’s bikini-clad figure.

“Okay,” Zack said, “Barbie untie your top and twist about thirty degrees towards the camera.  Hold it so it doesn’t fall off all the way.”

“Zack,” she replied, “don’t call me Barbie. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Sorry, sorry I keep forgetting.  Just do what I want, babe.  This is going to be fun-tastic!”

Gritting her teeth at the mangling of the word fantastic, something Zack was prone to say Barbara began tugging off her tiny, blue top.  Looking over at the fat, squatting form of Roger he began to resemble some hideous mixture of a Doctor Seuss illustration and a lifetime subscriber to Hustler magazine.   Trying not to glare at the pervert she undid the strings of her top, catching it before her breasts were fully exposed.

“Great!” Zack said, “hold that pose!”

Jumping around like he had been kicked in the groin, Zack began snapping off pictures.  Barbara held her position, ignoring Roger’s leering. 

“Okay, put the top aside—twist away from me and give me a pouting, almost embarrassed look, Barbie.”

Choking back the urge to repeat her request about her name, Barbara did as she was instructed.  Zack was leaping and hopping, going from standing to squatting positions the photographer cheering and complimenting her as he worked.

“Great!  Oh, that’s super fun-tastic!”  Zack said, oblivious to his ramblings.

“Yer so hot,” Roger said in a thick muttering voice as if he had just swallowed something thick and gooey.

“Shut up, pervert,” she whispered without moving her lips. Her ire was growing weed-like from the way the man was staring. 

“Damn, we’re losing the light,” Zack said in a grumpy tone.  “I guess this will have to do.”

“What do you mean?” she inquired, the shoot was ending way too soon.

“Got the before pics… now gotta shoot the during and after shots.”

“The what?”

“I told you… Moonlight Mag is different.”

“I don’t… hey, who the hell are… oh my god!  Y-you’re Debbie McCain!”

Barbara hadn’t seen the horror movie star walk up but there McCain was in all her dark haired glory. 

I’m not gay—but damn! She thought.

Debbie McCain was tall, gorgeous and possessing a figure too perfect to be real.  She was wearing a simple dress, purple in color.  Around her waist and propping up her chest (not that they needed it) was a black corset with lavender frills and lacing.  Debbie’s dark eyes were deep liquid pools and Barbara was reminded of the well on her dad’s farm.  Gazing at McCain’s eyes was just like that.  Cool and faraway like the glimmer of water at the bottom of a well.  But her smarts showed through amid all the beauty.  Her intelligence was hidden yet not.  Resembling some secret hidden in plain sight, only someone observant (and Barbara considered herself to be this way) would notice it. 

It’s in her eyes you can see it, Barbara said to herself.

“This is our first cover girl?” Debbie said.

“Yes, what do you think?”  Zack said.

“She’s pretty… she has a vulnerable look to her and that’s perfect.”

“So you approve?”

“Most definitely… you’ve done well, Zack.”

“T-thank you.”

“You’ve earned your paycheck.”

“I’m so happy…  I can’t tell you…”

McCain’s movements, supple and swift cut Zack’s sentence off short when she put her finger to his lips.  Barbara saw the magazine’s financial backer glance over at her.  Still sitting on the blanket, still hiding her nipples with her hands Barbara watching the other woman smile sent a shockwave of hot electricity throughout her body.

She came over, walking as if gliding across the sand.   Her feet not sinking into it, or not at least to the depths which Roger, Zack and herself had.  Just indentations like footprints near the ocean line washed away by two or more waves.

“You’re a pretty one,” Debbie said, touching Barbara’s face as she knelt in front of her.  The gasp was more of a sigh when it oozed past Barbara’s lips from the woman’s caress. 

“Thank you,” Barbara said, her voice sounding far off.

“Yes, you’ll do so very nicely…”

“I will?”

“Of course, darling… of course.”

“Ah!  H-hey!”

Barbara words tumbling out of her mouth like drunken clowns exiting a carnival car when McCain’s fingers began stroking her left nipple.  She flinched away at first.  Then, without thinking about it Barbara was leaning into the light caress.  The view of the woman’s face narrowing from Barbara’s half-closed eyes.  The touch was like velvet pleasure.  As if the sensation could be woven into a soft fabric lightly charged with static electricity. 

“So excitable,” McCain said, her voice a throaty coo.

Barbara looking down saw the nipple between Debbie’s fingers had grown erect.  When she saw the other hand of the woman reach out for her right breasts Barbara, to her surprise found herself leaning towards it.

“Aaaaah,” Barbara said with a groan.

“Soft… aroused… glorious,” McCain whispered.

Barbara’s began to feel like she was drowsing on a raft in the pool.  Her skin heating up as if from the sun’s rays beating down on her.  It wasn’t until she tasted peppermint did Barbara realize Debbie McCain, the Scream Queen Deluxe was kissing her.

Touching her.

Fondling her.

McCain’s fingers were past Barbara’s bikini bottom, caressing, teasing and pressing against the wet, warm delights in Barbara’s nether region.  Dipping in, stopping only to swirl in lazy, light circles Debbie’s fingers stroking the inner walls of Barbara’s pussy. 

I didn’t even feel her hand leave my tit, Barbara mused.

Debbie’s prolonging kiss heating up Barbara’s body had yet to be broken.  When the starlet’s hand departed her nipple to curl around her back Barbara moaned in Debbie’s mouth.   In and out, swirl and stroke, kiss and be kissed became so alluring, mesmerizing Barbara could only enjoy it. 

“You are perfect…,” McCain said in a husky voice after pulling away her seductive mouth.

“Yes,” Barbara said, her tone sounding drawn out with a “don’t stop” tone to it.  The way the woman was affecting her, despite not being a lesbian hardly seemed to matter.  McCain was doing it, that seemed to be the only thing which mattered.

“Oooohhh…. Yyyyesss,” Barbara said with a loud moan when Debbie began nuzzling her neck. Far in the background, a million miles away she could hear the snap-wind of Zack’s camera, the gasping breathing of Roger the Pervert.  But none of this, nothing in the world could annoy or anger Barbara at this moment.

 “Ah!” she said, her voice a quick, raised expulsion of breath.  Hot points grew like flowers on her neck.  Debbie was slurping, kissing and licking the now sensitive flesh on the side of Barbara’s throat.  The pain diminishing like the dying refrains of a thunderclap’s echo.  Rippling and crinkling down to nothing it went. 

I smell… blood? She thought.  The iron-rich scent curling up into her nostrils sparking a tremor of fear.  The gulping jerks of Debbie’s throat giving Barbara rapid-fire ideas of what was happening.

“No!” she shouted, trying to pull away.  No amount of pussy stroking would bring her back to her previous, hypnotized state.  Icy fear replacing the hot passion she’d felt moments before. 

“Get… off… me!” Barbara shouted.  Finding her strength futile against McCain’s steel banded arms Barbara began screaming for help.  Sharp teeth gnashing against her throat sent more agony across Barbara’s neck. 

“Zack!  Get this crazy bitch off of me!”

“Hardly,” he replied.

“No, no, no you’ve got to stop… it hurts… it hurts so bad!”          

“Easy now,” Debbie said softly, as the cold tiredness began emulating from Barbara’s neck.  Weaker and weaker, like the frantic thrashings of a drowning sailor Barbara beat against her foe.  Her eyelids felt like closing garage doors—and she didn’t have possession of the remote.  Her hips, the traitor’s they were still bucking against Debbie’s quickening fingers.  Before the darkness swept over Barbara her orgasm drained the remainder of her strength. 

****

“How do you like them?” Zack asked Ms. McCain.  They were looking at the downloaded pictures from his camera on the lap top.  Seated in Zack’s SUV he watched Ms. McCain’s eyes caressing the images.

“Perfect… a grand layout for our first issue,” Ms. McCain said, ignoring the snapping of bone and the smacking the ghoul Roger’s lips.  Barbara’s body was being disposed of.

“And my payment?”

“Immortality?  When you complete your contract with us.  I believe you have another twelve issues.”

“Yeah… that’s right.”

“Reality, that’s what our readers want—and that’s exactly what they’ll get. Real pictures, real death and real beauties.”

Zack found himself repressing a shudder of fear.

 

               

Collector’s Edition DVD

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  The following long story (10,000+ is NOT a short story) contains adult language and graphic sex.  If you are under the age of 18 PLEASE LEAVE NOW!

Collector’s Edition DVD

            Josh Ramsey walked into his apartment.  He grimaced at the mess in the living room not because it needed cleaned but because it reminded him yesterday was his last day off.  He’d have to work another forty hours at Burger World before he could relax.  The smell of dirty clothes and his work uniforms reeking of French fry and hamburger grease welcomed him home like an irate wife.  He shuffled inside, closed the door behind him and tossed his book bag on the floor. 
The satchel contained his latest soiled work outfit, grease smeared shoes and an all too familiar white sack from BW.  Dinner was courtesy of his job.  He could see the flashing red-blue-red light of the neon sign from the street coming through the window.  It bathed the combination living/dining/bedroom with harsh illumination.  The sounds of cars and trucks with all their honking, revving and speeding down the street weren’t well muffled by the window or the heavy curtains.  Josh kicked off his shoes and headed to the bathroom.  Once inside he shut the door to the only separate room in the flat.  Peeling off his clothes (which due to their trip in the backpack carried a faint odor of fast food) he saw his reflection.

            Josh was tall and skinny.  At twenty-five he was still plagued by acne eruptions.  They dotted his face and neck like the boils on a troll’s ass.  Violent red in color mingled amid the scraggily and thin beard from not shaving for two days.  His nose was too long and his average brown eyes perched at the apex of it too close.  He looked like a bird.  His thin chest, narrow hips and oversized feet and hands completed his stork-like appearance.  Standing in his underwear he wondered what bet his parents’ lost with God to produce such a misfit.

            I should be depressed about my life but…, he thought.

            In his mailbox he’d discovered a reason to smile.

            Although he worked a minimum wage slave job, lived in a bad side of town in a shitty apartment there was one thing he still had.  To most it wouldn’t be worth mentioning.  Some would recoil in disgust from it while yet others would find it hilarious.  However his secret was safe.  Nobody knew his hidden passion, the reason he kept on going.  Like a man struggling through the burning desert towards a distant oasis Josh stumbled on through his life.  Onward to his goal—the bright light in the constellation of his life.

            Stacy Starr.

            He had run across her during a late night web browsing session.  Sitting naked in front of a computer he’d bought at a pawn shop he was looking for some excellent wanking material.  By sheer accident he stumbled across her site.  He could still recall the hot flash of lust which had torn through his chest making his breath catch in his throat.  His fingers trembled on the mouse. The picture of Stacy on her homepage had her right side facing the camera.  Her body turned slightly exposing both tits which peeked over the red satin sheet she was holding.  On the screen the white arrow shivered across the porn actress’ angelic face, heavy breasts and perfect ass.  Her golden hair hung in loose curls around her features.  Josh was quick to click her photos link and wasn’t disappointed.  Stacy alone, Stacy with another woman, Stacy with a man and Stacy with multiple partners the snapshots went on and on.  But unlike the others in the images none of them compared to the angel with the devil’s grin. 

            Stacy Starr—the brightest star in Josh’s life.

            He’d joined her fan club, bought her videos and paid good money to become a VIP member of her website.  He dug up every interview, read her biography and even purchased tickets to see her live and in person at a men’s club.  To see her, only fifty feet away dancing, strutting and smiling caused Josh to nearly black out from ecstasy.  He knew every curve, swell and arch of her body memorized over countless masturbation sessions.  But now he could smell her perfume, hear her voice live and watch her interact with the crowd.  She teased men wealthy enough to pay to come up on stage.  Josh cursed his meager savings and low wages.  Stacy was funny, charming and had a wonderful delivery when it came to dirty jokes.  Her two hours on stage seemed both long and yet short.  It left him wanting.  It left everyone in the men’s club wanting but not getting.  The perfect show.  The washed out strippers who normally worked there appeared to be faded plastic flowers compared to Stacy’s bountiful bouquet. 

            I’d hoped to get closer to her—but there were too many others in the way, he said with an inner grumble.

            He’d been rebuked by her manager a greasy man with too many chins and not enough brain cells to realize Josh was his client’s biggest fan.  He’d asked for five hundred up front just to attend a meet-and-greet with the adult film star.  Josh worked at Burger World and five bills were more than he could afford.  He’d walked out of the club depressed and angry.  It didn’t stop him from keying Mr. Moneybag’s Cadillac just out of spite.

            But last week there was an email in his inbox.  Stacy had a “special” gift for all her loyal VIP fans.  It was a limited edition, only-available-for-a-short-time collector’s DVD.  The price—a mere fifty bucks.  Without batting an eyelash Josh dropped the cash on it.  Now stashed in a zippered compartment of his backpack was the manila envelope with a return address fromHollywood,California.  When he pulled it out of the mailbox, saw the address and felt the DVD case inside he almost fainted.  His vision swam in lusty red waves when he spied the lipstick kiss on the cover next to his name and address.  Had Stacy’s lips really touched the envelope?  Was it another woman working in some sweatshop or had that angelic mouth made real contact near the printed words “Josh Ramesy,2023 Division Street, Apt. # 12,Chicago,IL60622”?

            He didn’t care.

            Josh started the shower which was quick to steam up the tiny room.  Letting the burning liquid roll down his body and ease away the tension of the day he imagined Stacy kissing the envelope over and over in his mind.

****

            Dinner was eaten in a hurried rush.  Sitting in front of him, still unopened was the goddess’ mailed surprise.  He toyed with it, spinning it around only after wiping his hands in a furious fashion to avoid leaving greasy fingerprints.  The anticipation of what could be on the DVD took precedence in his mind.  He tried to imagine what he’d find.  Stacy was bold as she was beautiful.  Scenes of past performances played out in his head like a looped video on the Internet. 

            “But she said it was special—for her biggest fans only,” he said past a mouthful of Super Deluxe Mega-Burger (hold the onions please). 

            He tossed the limp cold fries away and downed the rest of his Coke.  His eyes never left the DVD envelope.  Josh stood up and saw his devastated apartment.

            “No, this simply won’t do,” he said aloud while rubbing the stubble on his chin.

            He spent the next two hours cleaning up his place.  Tossing out trash, moping up the small landing strip of linoleum in the kitchen and even running the vacuum cleaner.  The last bit of tiding up left a burning smell lingering in the apartment.

            “Stacy deserves better,” he muttered.

            He opened the window after pushing past the heavy curtains.  The cool night air rushed in like a robber but then swept out after finding nothing to steal.  The scent remained.  Shutting the window and drawing the drapes he went into the bathroom.

            “I know I put those scented candles Wendy got me here somewhere,” Josh spoke out loud.

            The memory of the evergreen tapers and their obnoxious emerald hue made him scoff at the giver.  Wendy Marshall was fat, pimply and definitely NOT Stacy-like.  His co-worker’s hair was a badly dyed black, her blubbery lips seemed to constantly be wet and her pudgy hands were always near her mouth.  Needless to say Josh wasn’t shocked at the condition of her nails.  They were chewed to the ends of her fingers.  Wendy liked him.  Josh liked her as far away as possible.  Wendy gave him gifts (like the candles) and Josh gave her the cold shoulder.  Wendy told him about how she just bought some expensive lingerie, Josh cringed at the thought of her wearing it.  Co-workers laughed behind his back so Josh asked the manager to only schedule him from open (five in the morning) until two hours after lunch.  This limited his time working with Wendy to two hours (she went to cosmetic school from six untilnoon).

            “Ah, ha!’ he exclaimed when he found the candles in the back of the cupboard under the sink.

            Running into the living/dining/bedroom he rummaged through his junk drawer until he found an old lighter.  It was out of fluid.  Taking a risk he managed to light the candles on the gas stove only slightly burning his fingers.  Sucking on the singed digits he placed the powerful smelling candles around the room.  One on the television set, another on shelves next to his favorite paperbacks, yet another on the nightstand beside his bed and the last on the battered coffee table in front of the couch. 

            “Perfect!” he said with a satisfied chuckle.

            Going back to the bed (sitting in the back right corner of the room) he opened the nightstand’s only drawer and pulled out a bottle of personal lubricant and a pair of old dish towels.  He set them on the coffee table, checked the curtains for privacy and snatched the envelope (with the lipstick kiss) off the dining table.

            “There’s something missing.”

            He went to his dresser and found a pair of mock silk pajama bottoms.  Stripping off his clothes he jammed one foot in and then the other.  Josh tugged it up to his skinny waist, cinched the drawstrings and ran his hands down the soft material.  Satisfied all was as it should be he retired to the couch.

            “I wanna be careful with this,” he told himself.

            He ripped in delicate fashion the sealed edge of the manila package.  Tipping it over the DVD case slid out with a whisper and into the palm of his hand.  The cover made him swallow hard and dry.

            Stacy.  Naked.  Horny.  Smiling.

            Not just that but another lipstick kiss had been planted on the cover and—gasp—his name had been written on it.  Josh felt his eyeballs bulge out as he read the words.

            “Too Josh, all my love—Stacy” it said in flowing feminine script.

            Stacy began to shake as Josh’s hands trembled like a bowl of Jell-O in an earthquake.  He licked his lips.  Meanwhile in the fake silk confines of his pajama bottoms his thin cock began to stir like some awakened garden snake. 

            He opened it up, his fingers quivering with excitement he almost broke the case in two.  Inside was the silver disc itself.  Stacy’s face and name dominated it.  He frowned.  There wasn’t a lipstick kiss here like he hoped for. 

            “No matter, it’s all good,” he said consoling himself.  “The DVD is the important thing.”

            He stood up and walked over to the electronic video machine.  Jabbing the power button he waited for it to stick out its wide tongue to receive the ambrosia circular delight he held.  Placing it with exaggerated care he pushed the tray and ran back to the couch.  Josh picked up the TV and DVD controllers and waited.

            The blue screen seemed to mock him.  He began to worry the DVD was blank and he’d been ripped off.  As his anger rose (and cock fell) the monitor flickered from blue to the main menu.  He read the words in hot pink which were to the left of Stacy’s gorgeous face. 

            Welcome!       

Play.

Jump to a Scene.

            Extras.

            More Videos.

            Fan club Info.

            “So much to see, but what should I start with?” he said to the empty apartment.

            He wanted to get right to the action.  The hot desire thundering through his veins didn’t want one more moment of suspense. 

            “I’ve got time,” he told it, picking and selecting the Welcome option.

            The screen dissolved into tiny digital dots and sizzled back into focus with Stacy, the Sex Goddess herself, sitting on a wicker lounge chair next to a in-ground pool of blue water.  She was wearing a white and pink silk kimono and nothing else.  Josh could see her pussy exposed just enough by the hiked hem of her attire.  Before he could visually devour her long legs, angelic face and sensuous nether lips she spoke.

            “Well hello there, baby,” she said her voice husking with lust. “I’d like to welcome you to the never-before-seen, extra-special DVD for all my true and devoted fans.  Since I went on tour and met some of you I decided you deserved something unique.  I wish I could’ve met all of you—but I’m only one girl after all.  But I just wanted you to know I love each and every one of you—and I dream nightly about you.  This video is a collector’s edition so be gentle with it—and me.  Also I’d like to announce a new feature on my website.  It’s called “Sexy Talk with Stacy”.  You will be able to email me directly—and I’ll come back to you as soon as I can.”

            Oh shit!  Oh shit, I’ll be able to email her? Josh screamed in his head.

            “But for right now let’s spend some time alone together,” she continued, beginning to stroke her left breast through the silk.  “I’m sure we’ll have a really good time.  Ta-ta for now!”

            The images faded and returned to the main menu.  Josh found himself gasping for air. 

            He clicked Play, snagged the bottle of lube and tugged his semi-soft cock out of the fly of his pajamas.  Greasing up his palm he watched with a burning intent as the video kicked off with Stacy talking to him, calling him baby and stroking the pussy he’d pay anything to touch just once.

****

            “Hey mister, how about my change?” the angry man said.

            Josh blinked his eyes and stared at the customer.  Apologizing in a muted tone he scooped out seventy-two cents in change and handed to the business suit wearing man.  The guy snatched his order off the counter, grumbled something about Josh being a mental case and strode away.  The Tuesday lunch crowd had thinned out and nobody stepped up to the register he was standing in front of.

            Josh yawned so wide his jaw popped.

            He’d been up almost all night, pulling his pud while watching Stacy Starr perform dozens of self-pleasuring acts upon herself.  She spoke to him like the DVD was made specifically for him.  His crotch was sore.  When he finally went to bed he woke up with a stiff and sticky right hand and an aching cock.  He’d waddled into the shower and even the coolest setting of the meager deluge of water made him cry out in pain.  Between the lack of sleep, the soreness of his privates and the lunch hour rush he still carried the burned in images of Stacy’s hot antics.

            Josh looked at the clock.  It was one-thirty and he was due for a break.  Catching the manager’s attention he motioned for Cheryl Hanes to come over.

            “It’s my break,” he said trying not to yawn again.

            “Go ahead, I’ll cover for you,” she said, “and for God’s sake drink some coffee—you look dead tired.  You only got a half hour left on your shift but I’m afraid you’re going to fall down and hurt yourself.”

            “Thanks.”

            Josh poured himself some coffee.  Hot and black it steamed up smelling strong and slightly burnt.  Carrying it with limited caution (spilling enough on the back of his hand to nearly cause him to swear out loud) he departed.  He made his way around the stack of milkshake machines, the heated bin and the soda dispensers.  Stumbling past the fryers he avoided the grill worker’s attempt at conversation.  He pushed past the door and into the break room.

            Wendy was there waiting for him. 

            Her round, fat face broke into a smile and she seemed to perk up like some dog seeing its master come home after a long day at work.  He sat down and she leaned towards him.  This caused her big boobs (the only feature she had which caused a minor interest for her in him) to squash on the small table.

            Just great.  I’m dead on my feet and now I have to deal with her, Josh thought.

            “Hiya Josh!” she said in a too cheerful chirp.  “What’s going on?  You look really tired.”

            “Couldn’t sleep last night.  Apartment was too hot.  Air conditioner is broke,” he lied.

            “Oh you poor thing!  My dad works on things like that.  How ‘bout you bring it over to my house and let him look at it?”

            “Not today—I don’t think I have the energy for it.”

            “So did you hear the news?”

            “What’s that,” he said, sipping the burnt liquid and grimacing.

            “The Uptown Theater is having a special showing of the original Star Wars film this Saturday.  Not that crappy Episode One either—the first one with Mark Hamel, Carrie Fisher and Harrison Ford.”

            He perked up when the news awoke his inner geek.

            “Is it the re-release?” he asked, his voice rising.

            “Nope!  The very original original.  Do ya wanna go with me?  I could buy the tickets tomorrow on my way to work,” Wendy said.

            He smiled and immediately regretted it.  Due to his tired status he realized he’d fallen into one of her obviously laid traps.  She knew he was a big Star Wars geek.

            “I think I gotta work Saturday,” he said hoping she’d get the hint.

            “Oh come on!  You work days… the movie doesn’t start untilseven o’clockin the evening and you have the next day off.  What do ya say?  It’ll be my treat.”

            Fuckity-fuck-fuck! he swore to himself.  I’m too exhausted to come up with another lie.  I’ll just agree to it and then pretend to get sick—yeah, yeah that’s the ticket.

            “Sure I’ll go,” he said over the rim of his coffee.

            “You will?  Oh wow that’s fantastic!  I just know we’ll have a good time.  Maybe we can stop for donuts and go back to your apartment to talk about the movies in general.  I’m a big fan…”
            And a big assed woman too…

            “… and I know it’d be great to talk about something other than work,” she finished saying.

            “Give me your cell number in case I can’t find you at the theater,” he said.

            “Oh wow!  Sure let me go get a pen and paper from the manager’s desk!”

            She departed with all the grace and quietness of a buffalo stampede.  Josh hung his head and wished for a do-over.  But he knew he was fucked. 

            Maybe I should just tell her I’m not interested—wait I’ve told her she just isn’t getting the message, he thought.  Oh Christ, if the rest of the crew here find out I’m in for a world of snide comments and fatty-and-skinny jokes.  Oh well…

****

            It was Thursday night and his cock had healed.  Promising himself he’d take it easy Josh decided to only watch his favorite part of Stacy’s video.  Using the remote he picked the Jump to a Scene feature and highlighted the “Stacy in bed” image.  Lubing up his hand, tugging out his cock (still a bit tender) he waited for it to start.

            “Ooh yeah…,” Stacy said in a drawn out sigh. “I thought you’d never get here baby.  I’m so worked up—so horny for you.  But you can only watch.  In fact why don’t you take out that big, hard cock of yours and start jerking off?  You can watch me stroke my hot, wet pussy while I get off watching you play with yourself.”

            “Anything you want, Stacy,” he said in response.

            She began pulling apart her wet labia and exposing the inner pink petals of her cunt. She dipped a finger into it and ran it up in a slow caress.  She moaned loud and long as she did so.

            “Ooh yes… that feels so good,” she drawled.  “I love to touch myself and have you watch, baby.  I bet you’d like to fuck me—wouldn’t you?  Well that’s too bad because I want to tease you until you come.  I wanna see your hot jizz squirt out of your cock.  Oh yeah… look at how deep I can put my two fingers into my pussy.  Do you like that?”

            He did.

            “Does it make you horny seeing me stroke my cunt?”

            It did.

            “Oooh yeah but it’s not enough… just not enough to make me come.”

            Josh had to concur.

            She reached behind the pillow and pulled out a realistic pink dildo.  She licked the tip.  Stacy put the head in her mouth and sucked it long and hard.  The fake prick made a popping sound when she pulled it out between her tight pursed lips.

            Stacy giggled… Josh groaned.

            “I’m gonna fuck myself with this… are you still hard?  Oh yeah, I can see you’re nice and hard.  Here it goes… ooh it’s a bit too big… ahh, there it goes.”

            The head of the dildo was sinking into her cleft.  Stacy’s fingers began to rub her clit, she shut her eyes and wiggled her hips.  Her thighs shivered.

            “Oh so deep… so good… I wonder if I can take more?  Would you like to see me try, baby?” she asked.

            “Yes… shove it all in, Stacy,” Josh answered his fist picking up speed across his erect shaft.

            The ten inch long phallus of realistic latex eased into her.  She spread her legs wider and the camera zoomed in for a closer look.  The screen was taken up by Stacy’s cunt filled with fake meat and her fingers (red painted) circled her swollen bud in tight, slow circles.  The camera pulled back and Stacy’s other hand was squeezing her left tit.  Her mouth parted in a pre-orgasmic O of pleasure.

            “I’m going to stick my ass in your face—just to give you a different view,” she moaned.

            Stacy pulled the dildo out of her pussy, took her digits off her clit and spun around.  She got on her hands and knees, dipping down so her heavy breast dangled between her legs and framed her red snatch.   She spread her legs and pushed the fleshy invade back into the heated slit between her thighs.  Stacy looked at him over her shoulder. Her face was red and she was panting in hot desire.

            “Oh yes… tell me how naughty I am,” she said begging in hot need.

            “You’re an angel in heat,” Josh answered in a ragged voice.

            “I’m… I-I’m going to come.”   

            “Me t-too.”

            “C-come with me baby.”

            “Yes I will.  You’re so fucking hot—I love you, Stacy!”

“Isn’t this… fantastic?  I want to feel you come on me…”

“I wish you were here with your mouth on my cock!”

“Coat my tits with your jizz… make me your bitch forever! Oh yes… I can’t hold back…”

“You’re mine!  Forever and ever!”

            She stuffed and unstuffed the fake cock into herself.  Josh could hear (due to the volume being turned up near maximum) the sloshing sound of her cunt being plunged into recklessly.  His hand blurred across his cock, Stacy began to whimper in stuttering orgasmic noises.  She rolled over, reared up and wedged her feet underneath the arching top bar of the brass bed’s headboard.  She was totally exposed, splayed out in a vulnerable position while she drove the dildo into herself.  Stacy began screaming in soft high tones.  Her thighs shook, her face contorted in an animalistic delight as she drove the fake meat into herself.

            “I-I’m coming!  Oh fuck yeah… I’m coming for you, baby.  Come with me… please spray your jizz all over my cunt and hands!”

            Josh moaned loud and felt his balls squeeze tight and his cock begin to pulse.  The squishy sounds of his lubed hand gliding across his iron-hard shaft mimicked Stacy’s wet delving of her pussy.

            Then the screen froze. 

Stacy’s face was stopped at the very edge of her climax.  The image flickered briefly a few times but didn’t continue.  Josh’s hand stopped at the apex of his next stroke.  He waited for a second for it to continue while he ignored the need to orgasm.  But the image only remained frozen.  He started to swear.

“Goddamned cheap-assed DVD!” he said his anger rising.

He picked up the remote and pressed pause and then play.  Nothing moved.  He tried fast forwarding, it didn’t work.  Rewind was equally a failure and even pressing the main menu button didn’t do shit.  He screamed in frustration and threw the remote across the room where it struck the wall.  The back lid came off and batteries spilled out and rolled like terrified cockroaches under his bed.  He started to go soft.

“You fucking bitch!” he yelled at the naked woman on the TV.  “You cheap, rotten cunt!  I’m so pissed… I’m going to demand a fucking refund!”

He picked up the DVD case and flung it into the kitchen.  It hit the wall above the refrigerator and slide down behind it joining a few other items which had become lost there too.  Prancing around in fury, his cock still dangling out of his fly Josh swore up a blue streak.  He turned to kick the screen, his anger climbing to heights not yet discovered by any space vehicle.

Stacy began to move.

He flinched and fell back on the couch.  Watching in utter amazement another Stacy began pulling away from the stilled image and pressing her hands against the screen.  Josh looked on in fascinated horror as the glass began to bulge out.  He heard a tittering squeak of terror and realized he was making that noise.  Stacy-But-Not-Stacy pushed her hands, palm first thought the screen.  They were quickly followed by her arms, her face and her upper body.  Her huge rack melting outward to dangle almost to the floor. 

“No, no, no!” he wailed.  “G-go the fuck back where you came from… I’m sorry I was mad… please don’t h-hurt me.”

Stacy-Yet-Not-Stacy fell out of the TV and onto the threadbare carpet.  On the monitor the other Stacy was still frozen with her hand between her legs and her feet on the headboard.  The other Stacy stood up in a slow manner.  Her body flickered like a static laced TV transmission.  He could hear the hiss and snap just like you would during a bad storm. 

Then she looked at him and smiled.

He heard a squeal bubble past his lips.  His arms went over the back of the couch as his heels dug into the carpet.  He tried but failed to gain any purchase to escape.

“Hello,” Stacy-Out-of-the-TV said in a pop-snap-crackle voice.

“W-who… what are you?” Josh said in a mealy mouthed tone.

“I’m Stacy… Stacy Starr.  And you are Josh, right?”

“You can’t be… you c-came out of the TV.  How did you know my name?”

“Yes I know your name.  The DVD was made just for you and now you called me.”

“It was?  I did?”

“I heard you say you’d be mine for ever and ever.  Ah, that poor nice cock as gone all limp on you.  I bet I know how to bring him back to life.”

“N-no stay away…”

She walked through the coffee table.  Not on it or around it by passed through the center like it didn’t exist.  Josh saw it and froze.  Her legs made a crackling sound as it passed through the pressed wood of the table.  Stacy-Out-of-the-Boob-Tube knelt at his feet.  She started reaching for his forgotten and greasy shaft.

“Ooh this is a nice cock you have,” she said purring like a kitten.

Josh sobbed out like a terrified child lost in a grocery store and separated from his mother.

She grabbed his meat.

It felt solid but not solid.  There was an electric-like tingle where his flesh met hers.  She began to stroke him, he began to watch.  Nature took its course despite the unnatural events and he rose back to hardness in her static-filled fist. 

“Oh… f-fuck!” he said in a loud voice as she pushed his cock into her mouth.

It was like being encircled by some wet, electric sex toy.  He could feel every millimeter of her gripping lips, exploring tongue and deep throat.  She sucked and sucked.  He whined and gasped.  His hands fell to his sides and curled into white knuckled fists.  Stacy-Not-Stacy took his meat all the way to the base and he could tell there was room for more.  Slurping, licking and sucking the woman out of the television brought him to the point of orgasm.

Then she stopped.

He whimpered in wordless tones. She sat back on her heels and glorious ass and grinned like a sex fiend.  She climbed into his lap.  Slow and unhurried she mounted him.  His eyes rolled back in his head when his shaft sank into her buzzing almost electric pussy.  Josh opened his eyes to see her offering up her left tit.  He grabbed it and covered her nipple with his mouth.  He sucked it while she fucked him.  His lips and tongue tingled like he’d eaten spicy hot salsa.  Her smooth legs and supple thighs rubbed against his as she rode him without hurry. 

Up and down.

In and out.

Suck and fuck.

His balls swelled, Stacy began to cry out and toss her head wildly from side to side.  She came—hard.  One moment she was a steady piston rising and falling on his shaft and the next she was like a wild animal.  Bucking up and down in a furious attempt to drive his meat up into her body like some fleshy spike.  Her tits swung out of his hands.  They slapped at his face while she began to babble in lusty incoherence.

“Fuck yeah!” she wailed. “This is… better… better than… doing it to myself… oh yes… oh baby drive it into me… fuck me like an animal…”

“Huh, huh…ahhh!” he managed to reply.

“So hard… so good… fuck yeah!”

She screamed.  Her head fell back and she arched towards the coffee table making her breast thrust out erotically.  Stacy-Not-Stacy rode him until she was reduced to quivering rises and shivering falling upon his still unsatisfied shaft.  He started to say he hadn’t finished when she hopped off his lap and stuck her ass into his face.  She presented the puckered opening like it was a special present.  Without a word she sat down on his wet cock.  He sank into her snug, tight bottom until her creamy rear squashed against his trembling thighs.

“Oh… yeah…,” Stacy moaned.  “So deep in my butt… feels good…”

Josh couldn’t speak.  It was like having a Tesla coil wrapped firmly around your junk.  She began to squeeze her ass cheeks and pump her rear up and down on his meat.  He saw her grab her tits and toss her head back.  Her long golden hair hung down to the top of her bottom.

“Fuck me… fuck my ass, Josh!” she said in a tone like a horny angel.

He pumped his hips the best he could but she wasn’t leaving him room to maneuver.

“Come in my ass… do it!  Squirt you jizz into me… give me a sperm enema!”

He didn’t have time to reply and suddenly he was ejaculating so hard he felt lightheaded and dizzy.  Shot after shot was deposited into the snug realm of her ass.  She screamed along with him.  Her ass bounced off his thighs until he began to beg in blubbering tones for her to cease and desist.

“N-no more… please Stacy, no more,” he said with a gasp.

She rose from his lap like a ghost from its tomb.  Something wet glittered between her perfect thighs and she leaned down and kissed him on the forehead.

“You were fantastic,” Stacy said.

“You too…,” he mumbled.

“I have to go.”

“Where?”

“Back into the DVD.”

“Stay?”

“I can’t not without payment.”

“How much?  I’ll give you everything in my bank account.”

“I need flesh…flesh and blood to remain on this plane of existence.”

“W-what?”

“I’d only need it once… would you do that for me?  I’d stay with you forever, just like you want me too.   I just need flesh and blood.  You could provide it for me.”

“I-I don’t know…”

“Think about fucking me every night.  No holds barred, nothing off limits and any taboos you’d like to explore.”

“That’d be nice…”

“I just need flesh and blood.  Surely there’s someone you know that nobody would miss.”

“Yes.”

“They need to be naked and aroused.”

“Naked and aroused…”

“Remember it’s important to have the DVD running.  It doesn’t have to be playing but it must be on as well as the TV.”

She kissed him on the mouth leaving a static charged sensation on his lips.  He watched her sink into the TV screen, remerge with the Stacy on the bed and then the DVD started up again.  Stacy shoving the cock into her pussy one final time and climaxing in a shriek of ultimate pleasure.  Her voice still echoed siren-like in his mind.  Josh closed his eyes and listened.

I need flesh… flesh and blood to remain… Surely there’s somebody you know that nobody would miss…

****

 

He woke up to the alarm clock’s warning, the DVD still running and the unmistakable smell of hot pussy in the apartment.  He thought about the price and by the time he was dressed and ready to go to work he had the details all worked out.

****

            Saturday night at the Uptown Theater and Josh was trying to keep his nerve.  It wasn’t because he was meeting Wendy Two-Tons-of-Fun but what would occur later on.  Did he have the courage to permit murder in his apartment?  Would the cops trace her back and slap the cuffs on him?  Was it worth it?  Was the price of having Stacy Starr (or this facsimile of her) all to himself?  He tried not to bolt.  But his lust for the porn star kept him rooted to the spot he was standing on.

            “Josh!  Hey Josh, I’m over here!” his date called out.

            She pushed her way through the crowd like an out of control tractor trailer going through a used car lot.  She was holding two tickets in her pudgy grip.  Wendy stopped just short of hugging him.  She was wearing a dress that fit her well and complemented her ample curves and bust.  The makeup she’d applied accented her beauty, a prettiness he didn’t notice before.  But she was no Stacy Starr.

            “Are you excited?” his co-worker asked.

            “You have no idea,” he said keeping his voice steady but just barely.

            “Let’s go!  I wanna stop and get some popcorn and drinks.”

            “Okay.”

            Then she grabbed his hand and yanked him into the cinema pushing people out of her way like they didn’t exist.

****

            The Donut Hole was empty.  With the exception of Josh and Wendy (who was babbling on and on about the movie) they had the place to themselves.

            “Oh and wow!  I still get goose bumps when the Death Star explodes and the rebels win the battle,” she said in a rambling voice.

            “Glazed or with icing and sprinkles?” the bored woman behind the counter asked.

            “Ah, both please,” Josh replied.

            “A dozen?”

“And then when they get their medals… like wow I get so stoked!” Wendy continued.

“Yes a dozen please,” Josh answered the cashier.

He thought about it for a second.  The passion she talked about the Lucas film made him remember his inner geek.  She wasn’t ugly, just a bit overweight.  During the movie he was surprised to see how much they had in common.  She easily grasped the subtle nuances of the film, the character development and many other things he’d long to discuss with someone.  Now he was thinking it was a bit of a shame about Wendy’s fate tonight.

“So what do ya wanna do now?” his date asked.

I’m not sure but I guess I have to go through with it, he thought.

“We’ll go back to my place… you know, to discuss the movie,” he said instead.

“Really?  Oh wow… I wasn’t sure if… oh never mind me I’m still excited about the film.”

He took the box of donuts and paid the unamused clerk.  Wendy stuffed her chubby arm through his elbow and pulled him towards the door.  In his mind Josh decided the faster this hyperactive tub of blubber died the better off he’d feel.

****

            He opened the door and Wendy breezed past him like a charging rhino.  She started an endless series of comments about how nice his place was (he’d been keeping it clean for Stacy), how good it smelled (the candles still cloyingly clung to the drapes) and admiring the view (the neon sign flashing “Tony’s Bar and Grille).  When she saw the bed out in the wide open she turned and gave him a sly grin.

            Oh Jesus, I forgot the part about getting her naked and excited, he thought in a cold rush.  But she’s worth it… Stacy is worth it… isn’t she?

            “Want a donut?” he asked closing the door.

            She followed him like a faithful mutt.  He set the box on the table when she hugged him from behind.  Wendy started talking in fast, halting words.

            “Ever since the first time I met you I knew somehow we were destined to be together,” she began.  “Everyone makes fun of you at work but I defend you because they can’t see the real you.  I see tenderness, compassion and a strength of character most guys don’t have. J-Josh I’ve l-loved you from afar for too long.  Tonight I’m going to show you how much.”

            W-what the fuck? he thought.

            “Now you know how I feel about you,” she said.  “I can’t believe we’re alone together… finally alone at last.”

            “I can’t believe it either,” he replied.

            “I’ve wanted you so bad… I can’t fall asleep without dreaming about you.  This is the start of all sorts of new dreams.  Don’t you think so?”

            He nodded his head and tried not to say it would be more like nightmares instead.

            She nuzzled his neck, he wanted to run.  Not to flee from her but because why she was here.  The terror welled up inside of him and icy fingers began to caress his heart.  He started to say they needed to leave—to go someplace else and talk about this.

            Wendy reached down and caressed his crotch, he forgot about the danger.

            “I want to try something,” she said, her voice thick with desire.  “I’ve been fantasizing about this for ages.”

            She spun him around and kissed him.  Her tongue invaded his mouth and he found himself responding.  He could feel her breath, taste the popcorn on her tongue and hear her soft moans of excitement.  Something bumped against his backside.  It was the box of donuts.  Her hands reached down and undid his belt.  She greedily kissed him while she undid the button on his jeans.  He gasped when his zipper was tugged down.

            Wendy’s hand was now on his cock.

            He always imagined his penis would retreat into the safety of his abdomen, going internal to escape her fat clutches. But instead his shaft actually rose in her tender grip.  She pushed her heavy bosom into his chest a silent plea for him to touch her.  Confused he was barely aware he was squeezing her large ass with both  hands.  She groaned in his mouth.

            Her mouth departed his and she winked at him.  There was a rustling behind him and then she produced a glazed donut and licked her lips.  She slid it over his cock now jutting out of his jeans.  She leaned forward and Josh hoped she could tell the difference between the pastry and his organ.  Wendy began to alternate between eating the donut and sucking his cock.

            She wasn’t bad at it.

            Her mouth was wet and talented.  Her tongue, coated with sticky glaze slid across his shaft.  He reached out, perhaps it was instinct to grip the sides of her head.  She was pulling at her blouse while she ate donut and sucked cock.  The white shirt came off exposing breasts barely contained in an obviously made-to-order bra.  He watched in amazement as she reached back without looking and undid the back.  Wendy’s boobs (double Ds if not bigger) spilled out.  Josh gawked at her huge nipples and his cock twitched in response.  She giggled around his shaft.

            Holy fuck… she’s got one hell of a rack! He mused in a dreamy fashion.

            Wendy ate the rest of the donut and pulled her face away from his crotch.  She scooped up a massive tit in each hand and began to jack his cock off between her meaty globes.  Josh nearly came right there.  Soft, warm and firm Wendy’s boobs milked him.  She caught the tip of his cock (which peeked out only for a nanosecond) and sucked it.  He had to close his eyes from the erotic scene.

            All this time you’ve been shoving her aside but this girl’s got some serious skills, he thought.  She’s honest, loving and is totally into me. 

            She pulled his shaft out of her cleavage and looked up at him.

            “I’m going to rock your word, Josh,” she said tears of joy in the corners of her eyes.  “I’ve waited so long to be with you.  I-I know I’m a big girl—but big girls need love too.  And I’m a bit of a freak.  I-I haven’t been with many guys but I try things on my own.”

            “R-really?” he asked.

            “Sure.  I usually use my dildo on myself and pretend it’s you.  It’s, I mean you’ve been in my mouth, my p-pussy and even my ass.  Now I get to feel it for real.”

            “I don’t know what to say…”

            However his heart was beginning to speak to him.  It spoke of ignoring a real woman, with real honest feelings for an electronic fantasy or images on the computer screen.  Suddenly he knew how stupid he had been acting.  Sure she didn’t have a figure like a porn star but her open and honest love for him transcended her physical appearance.  He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off before he could.

            “Don’t say anything.  If this is just one night I don’t want you to spoil it.  Don’t lie and tell me you love me, just make love to me,” Wendy said slowly.  “If tomorrow comes and it doesn’t work out then at least we’ll both have nice memories of this night.”

            “Wendy I should tell you something…

            “Hush now… no more words.”

            She stood up and took off the rest of her clothes.  Standing in just her panties Josh realized Wendy wasn’t that big.  Oh she had heavy thighs, a bit of a gut and chubby shoulders but she was proportionate.  He found his eyes being drawn to the thick patch of curly hair framing her cleft.  She helped him get undressed.  Then she kissed him.

            He found himself kissing her back with real, honest passion.

            He pushed her onto the table, she spread her legs.  Josh buried his face between her trembling thighs and began spreading the thick folds of her labia.  Her pussy was open, wet and ready.  He tasted her—she was delicious. 

            “O-oh God,” Wendy said in a halting voice.  “I-I’ve never let… Oh. My. God!”

            Josh jammed his tongue into her snatch licking and lapping at her salty-sweet goodness.  He brought up his hand and began fingering her swollen clit.  Wendy’s legs wobbled on either side of his face.  Looking up past her tummy he saw her fondling her own breasts.  She crushed her nipples between her quivering fingers while he dined at her Y. 

            “Oh yes… oh my… I-I’m going to…,” she said in a sobbing, happy voice.

            He dove into her sweltering snatch and licked her like a wild man.  It only took another minute or so before she went into wild convulsions.

            “I’m c-coming!” she squealed her body shaking so hard the table began creaking.

            Her thighs closed around his head.

            “Oh… fuck… oh yes, Josh you’re making me c-come so hard!” she wailed.

            The juices he was lapping up became thicker, like womanly honey.  He didn’t stop until she was pleading with him to let her catch her breath.  Standing up he saw Wendy’s face was scarlet from ecstasy, her nipples (the size of a midget’s fist) standing out like tiny fingers.  He licked and bit each one until she moaned for him to stop.  He loved the sound of her voice.  Josh loved the taste of her.

            He realized he loved her.

            Josh pulled her towards the couch and bent her over it.  Her large ass quivered as she spread her legs.  Looking over her shoulder she wore an expression of fear and excitement.  He touched the tip of his cock to her soaked and spread pussy.  He managed to push in an inch or two before she started speaking.

            “Oh fuck!” she screamed.  “It’s so t-tender… so sensitive!  Oh yes… deeper.  Josh push it in all the w-way!”

            He mashed his hips against her plump ass sinking all of his length into her.  She began pounding her fists against the couch’s cushions and shrieking like a wild woman.   Her butt wiggled and ground against his loins.  The hot smell of her excitement filtered up into his nose and drove him to madness.  He had a rude idea.  He stuck his right thumb into his mouth and coated it with spit.

            She said she was up for anything, Josh thought.

He sank it slow and steady into her puckered anus.

“O-oh God!” she gasped.

“Like that?” he asked.

“I-I don’t know… yes, yes I love it!  Stuff you finger up my ass.”

He did as he was told.  Alternating he plunged cock, withdrew and shoved his finger in while Wendy cried out in pure delight from the double penetration.  He fucked her for what seemed like an hour.  Each thrust made her moan.  Her second orgasm of the night made the couch scoot across the carpet and his ears ring from her blissful screams.  He pumped once, she sobbed for him to stop.  He thumbed her butt and she moaned with pleasure.  Again Wendy looked over her shoulder, her face hot scarlet with unsated lust.

Then she said something unexpected.

“I-I want it… want it in my b-butt,” she said admitting to a nasty, taboo desire.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Y-your cock… in my ass.”

He pulled out and pointed the wet tip against the loosened by still quite tight entrance to her rectum.  Josh had sank about two inches into her when she finally took her next breath.  He saw her sides expand and her bottom begin to shake uncontrollably.  Then she let out a scream.

“Oh. Fuck. Yeah!” Wendy shrieked.  “My ass… so full… so full of Josh-cock.”

He felt his nuts tighten and knew his load was about to be delivered.  Josh began to think this was right.  Wendy and him together, fucking like bunnies and loving every minute of it was just perfect.  The ring of her anus squeezed him—milked him until he could take no more.

He came.

“Oh yes… you did it in my a-ass!” she said happy and aroused.

Josh felt wave after wave of ropey semen spurt out of his cock and shoot into Wendy’s gyrating ass.  He fell forward and wrapped his arms around her.  He took a heaping double helping of tit in his hands.  He douched her bowels until the lay against one another taking in ragged, uneven breaths.

The television cackled to life and Stacy-Not-Stacy began to ooze out of the screen.

Oh shit!  I f-forgot all about this! Josh thought in terror.

Wendy screamed, her ass tightened down so hard she nearly snipped off Josh’s cock.  She tried to back away but only succeeded in burying the rest of his bone in her backyard.

“W-what the fuck is that?” she wailed.  “J-Josh something is coming out of the TV… oh my God it’s a woman… a fucking porn actress!”

“Good work, Josh,”  Electronic Stacy said with a grin.  “Now move away and let me consume her flesh and drink her blood.”      

Josh pulled out of Wendy’s butt.  His cock still leaking semen on the worn carpet of his apartment.  The static-crackling woman advanced through the coffee table.  Wendy was still leaning over the couch, her massive ass still sticking up in the air.

“N-no…,” his co-worker said, her voice a wet sob.

“I need it,” the thing from the DVD said.  “I want to be real.”

“No!” Josh shouted.  “Leave her alone!’

“But you promised.”

“I made a mistake—I don’t want this anymore.  I want  real woman not some electronic duplicate!”

Stacy-Not-Stacy still walked forward but as she reached out for her intended victim Josh yanked Wendy out of arm’ reach.  He thrust out his arms, a living cross displayed to repel the vampire from the TV.

“You’re going back on your promise!” the she-thing said in a horrible snarling voice.

“W-what is she talking about,” Wendy tittered.

“It seduced me… it wanted a victim and I made a mistake,” he answered.  “I thought I loved this… this thing but now I realized how wrong I was!”

“You were going to feed me to that?”

“I made a mistake… please forgive me, Wendy.”

“No more talk!  It’s time for me to eat!” Electronic Stacy said.

She lunged through the couch.  Josh twisted and threw Wendy out of the way.  A sizzling pain shot through his left thigh where Stacy clawed at him trying to disembowel his date.  Four claw-like burn marks were seared into his flesh.  It hurt.  It hurt a lot.  Staggering he managed to get around the couch before falling to the floor.  He watched in horror as Stacy, as naked as Wendy began to stalk the sobbing woman.  His co-worker tried to put the table between herself and her attacker.  But Stacy Vampire walked through it.  She reached for the bigger woman’s torso.

“Now you die and I live!” she screamed in a triumphant voice.

Josh lunged towards the television.  Stretching his entire body length he managed to brush the eject button for the DVD player.  The device’s tongue slid out slowly exposing the limited edition disc.  He reached for it as Wendy screamed.

The disc snapped like a gunshot.  Fragments of it peppered his face and soon his left eye was blinded by blood.  He could smell the iron scent of it.  Josh looked under the coffee table and past the corner of the couch to see if he’d made it in time.

Electronic Stacy screamed.

Wendy fell to the floor, obscured by the kitchen table.

He rose up from the carpet and saw the creature shatter into a million digital shards.  Stumbling to his feet, wiping away the blood in his eye Josh tried to see if Wendy was okay.  He could hear her sobbing and began to pray it wasn’t because she was in pain—or worse yet dying.  Josh padded in a drunken manner around the couch to see if he’d been on time with his last minute save.  Wendy’s naked form was curled up in a ball.  He didn’t see blood but that didn’t mean anything.

“A-are you okay, Wendy?” he asked.

“I-I think so,” she said in a small voice.

“Can you forgive me?  I was so blind—so stupid.  I became so obsessed with a brainless porn star I didn’t realize my feelings for you until it was almost too late.”

She stood up, her breast bobbling as she did so.  Tears were running down her face but he could still see the love in her eyes.  But now it was tempered with suspicion.  He suddenly knew he’d have a tough road ahead to win back her full trust.

“We should get dressed and talk,” he offered up.

“That’s a good idea,” she whispered.

He walked over and encompassed her in a hug warm hug.  She reached out slow and tentative and returned it. 

“I l-love you,” he said.

Josh realized he had tears in his eyes. He made himself a silent promise to do what it took to show Wendy how much he loved her.

****

            Brian Morrison got home to his dingy house.  He lived alone.  He was barely making ends meet and he had just a few dollars left in his checking account.  Today was payday—but it didn’t alter the fact he was already broke.  His boss had berated him for a minor mistake and his mother had called his cell to tell him his sister was getting married and asked when he was.  He hadn’t had a date in two years.  But he wasn’t depressed.

            Stacy Starr’s DVD, a collector’s edition had come in the mail…

Uprising reviewed!

Here’s what Vicci had to say about “Uprising”, BTW it got the Top Pick award too!

Author: Christopher Newman

Genre: Horror

Reviewed by: Vicci

“Uprising” by Christopher C. Newman is a tantalizing novel of apocalyptic proportions spanning the chaos and ensuing pandemonium that gripes the city of Youngstown located in the heartland of the United States.

Wow, I thought the prequel “Of Blood and Politics” was amazing, this novel is such a full body price of work that it is a must read for anyone who loves apocalyptic sagas.

The novel is set after the enactment of the Supernatural Outbreak Act of 2018; a policy that allows the use of RWC (Reanimated Working Class/Zombies) to be used as slave labor. It seems that some of the populous has been afflicted with a genetic anomaly that results in the reanimation of the dead into zombies, vampires and werewolves. In “Uprising” the novel’s theme is shrouded in the controversial belief that the souls of the zombies may or may not still reside in the reanimated bodies of the dead. There are some activist, ICare, Fear and PETA that believe the latter to be the case and are waging a war on two fronts to have the law repelled.

Trapped within the mayhem that ensues in the novel is Chuck Olsen, mild mannered factory quality control agent. Mr. Newman use of Chuck as the focal point in demonstrating the gravity of the town of Youngstown’s situation was masterful. I love that Chuck is just an average guy dealing with some crazy situations the best way that he can. As the novel progresses there are a number of ancillary characters that are introduced that play a role in imparting key pieces of information, as well as the uncovering of certain hidden agendas.

Mr. Newman does an outstanding job of showcasing the inner lives of the novel’s characters in a way that really allows a reader to immerse themselves in the story-line; their duties at work, conflicts between co-workers and the everyday issues that plague most Americans. These are some of the aspects of the novel that really bring the “Uprising” universe into sharper focus for a reader. The gruesome zombie attacks are vivid in their depiction; Chuck’s jumbled feelings of loss and helplessness at witnessing and/or contributing to the demise of friends are all stark and grisly in their brutality. I would love to see this series made into a movie, it would be worthy of the original “Night of the Living Dead”. The manner in which the novel escalates its story-line to a fever pitch and the resulting aftermath will astound the reader.

“Uprising” presents a reader with plots within plots, alliances, betrayals and brute military force in its telling; it’s a classic horror novel at its best. I highly recommend it.

Automatic Update

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  The following story came to me when reading posts on Facebook and the overuse of Netspeak.  Hope you enjoy it.

           

            Leslie Hammond sat down at her computer.  Her mind was a-whirl with a literary vision spinning in her head like a pair of flamenco dancers.  While the desktop booted up she jotted down a few notes on a pad of paper.  The pencil scratched as she wrote.

            “Damn I’m good,” she said out loud.

            With her last novel The Vampire’s Loving Kiss hitting and remaining near the top of the New York Times Bestseller’s list she had been contemplating a return to the same genre.  Not wanting to let the reading public wait too long for a sequel she knew those fickle readers would forget her if she didn’t put out another book.   

            “Besides Daphne’s story must go on,” she told herself.  “All my readers are clamoring for her continued exploits and to be honest I can’t wait to get started”.

            The computer’s desktop snapped into view with the cover of her latest success tiled on the screen.  Steepling her fingers she stretched them out in preparation to pound out a few chapters.  The hard drive stopped its spinning noises and Leslie opened up Novel Focus, her word processing software.  The speakers beeped and something flashed on the screen.

            “What?” she snarled, “another automatic update?”

            With her muse on hold she clicked the button and watched impatiently as the program began the long task of seeking out and downloading the latest additions. 

            “I might as well go and get something to drink.”

            A sigh of resignation blew past her lips as she exited her office and plodded down the hall.  The new runner cushioned her bare feet as she walked.

            “Despite all the royalties I’ve made I can’t believe I have to wait to start my next blockbuster,” she grumbled.

            Arriving in the kitchen she got out a glass, filled it with ice and snagged a Diet Pepsi from the ‘frig.  Carefully she poured it into the receptacle. 

            “I guess I can use this time to marshal my thoughts so I don’t have to waste anymore time with pencil and paper.  Although I have to admit most of it is already written in my head.”

            Her agent had been pestering her since the end of her book tour three months ago.  She could still hear the shrill voice of Sandy Duggan ringing in her memory.  It was joined almost instantly by the voice of her muse egging her on.  With Diet Pepsi in hand she all but skipped back to her office.  Leslie let out a girlish cheer when she saw the screen.

            Automatic update completed.  Would you like to restart Y/N?

            Her momentary happiness was blunted against the armor of having to reboot the computer.  With another sigh whistling past her lips she stroked the keyboard indicating she would like to restart. 

            “It’s just a slight delay,” she told herself.

            Tapping her fingers against the desk she tried to show a modem of patience while the system shut down, turned back on and began to start up.  Meanwhile she complied a few more notes on the pad of paper.

            Daphne must have some sort of antagonist besides her own hunger this time, she decreed to herself.  I rather fancy the idea of a sect of the church set up to eradicate vampires.  That sounds like something that would actually exist.

            The trilling chime of the operating system coming up made her giddy with joy.  It reminded her, in an odd way how she felt as a child on Christmas morning.  The air seemed to be ripe with boundless possibilities, eager anticipation and nervous delight.  Happy shivers ran up her back making her skin dot with goose bumps.  Double clicking on the word processor icon started the recently updated program.

            “Now let’s get started on an award winning sequel,” she said confidently. 

            But once again a box appeared bringing a screeching halt to her writing ambitions.

            Novel Focus would like to customize to better tailor itself to your needs.  Would you like to proceed? The program asked.

            “Oh for Christ’s sake,” Leslie swore exasperated.  “Yes I would!”

            Clicking the button with the word yes in it she waited for it to do its mathematical computations.  Seconds dragged by like hours in a dentist’s chair.  The computer beeped and a new message was on the screen.

            Novel Focus’ new Collaborator Function™ will keep track of your use of grammar, punctuation use and style of writing to better aid you.  Would you like to turn this feature on? It queried.

            “Yes, yes, yes!” she shouted irritated at the program.

            Collaborator Function is now available!

            “I’m so glad you’re excited about this.”

            Leslie laid her fingers on the keys, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  The chaos in her mind calmed down.  Opening her eyes she smiled as she began to type.

Daphne opened her eyes.  The purple velvet covering beneath her felt like the very fabric of wealth and influence.  It blanketed her body in a swaddling of decadence which made her squirm in delight.  She heard nothing.  Her senses, highly attuned to both sound, sight and smell only gave her the reality of her current surroundings.  She knew from experience the cold gray marble tomb surrounding her was impenetrable and secure.  However she didn’t trust the humans inhabiting the region for they knew of her existence and her curse.  She was a vampyre!  One of the walking dead with an unnatural hunger for the rich scarlet fluid running through their veins. 

            There was a beep as she finished the last word of the sentence.  Glancing to the right of the screen a small box had popped up containing a cartoon red pencil with big blue eyes.  The unattached eyebrows rose questioningly.  Leslie read the words beneath it.

            The last sentence is a fragment, it said, please consider revising.

            Beneath it was a yes and no button.  She moved the cursor over and quickly chose the negative response.  Slightly miffed at the suggestion she returned to her work.

Daphne was secure in the knowledge that she was not alone.  Trevor, her lover and the one who turned her was lying in the sarcophagus next to her probably coming to his senses as well.  Trevor.  The very mental mention of his name sent a thrilling sensation coursing through her cold body.  With the thought came a sudden heat washing across her like a warm Caribbean breeze. 

            “How I love him,” she thought.  “To give up his life as a human and to become one of the living dead is more romantic than ever I dreamed a man would do for me.”

            Again the short beeping sound issued out of the speakers of the computer and she looked right to see the cartoon pen with its raised eyebrows.

            The last sentence is worded impractically, it chided.  Might I suggest the following: “To give up his life, to become a vampire is the very pinnacle of romance.”

            “Well,” Leslie chuckled.  “That does sound quite a bit better.  Thank you Collaborator Function!”

            She backspaced and revised the last line of dialogue.  It was nice to see the animated pen smile at the fact she took its advice.  And so it went from line to line, from page to page Leslie typing and the new feature of Novel Focus tossing out suggestions.  To her surprise she found herself agreeing more than disagreeing with it.

****

            Leslie slid her chair back, hit the save icon and let out a gusty breath.  She felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips.  Stretching her arms above her head she heard her shoulder’s creak and then crack.  She let her limbs fall back into her lap.

            “Well that went better than I expected,” she remarked.

            Standing up she marveled at the notion she had put out 11k worth of work, possibly the best work she’d ever done.  Pleased with herself she padded into the kitchen to make dinner having missed lunch.  Leslie’s cell rang and she answered it.

            “Hello?” she asked.

            “Hey there kiddo, how’s my favorite bestselling author?” Sandy cheerily inquired.

            “Not bad Sandy.  I just pumped out 11k worth of the sequel.”

            “That’s a start.  Look Leslie I won’t pester you for too long but I have a bookstore in New York City that would love to have you for a signing.”

            “I hit NYC last month.”

            “Yeah but they weren’t on the list.  Look kiddo this is big, very big.  It’s not some run-of-the-mill shop but one of the major retailers.  It’d only be for one weekend—all expenses paid, of course.”

            “I don’t know I’m kinda busy.”

            “Hey I understand and can totally sympathize but it’d be foolish to pass up this offer.  Besides you could always bring a laptop along and keep working after the signings.”

            “I dunno Sandy.”

            “Oh come on!  Pretty please with sugar on top?”

            “All right, you don’t have to beg.  When would this take place?”

            “Next month on the thirteen.”

            She thought about all the hassles revolving around the process of actually doing the book signing.  Packing, waiting for cabs, the airline flights and the hotel stay made her feel wearier than she really was.  The very thought of all the fuss sucked the life right out of her dispelling the excitement she was feeling.  Like some invisible creature it leeched away the energy she had gotten pumped up from during her writing session.

            “Okay I’ll go,” she said without grumbling.

            “Great!  Spectacular!  I’ll set it up and call you later with all the details,” the agent cheered.

            “I’m glad I could make your day.”

            “You keep on writing, kiddo.  I’ll talk at you soon—ciao!”

            She hung up before Leslie could say goodbye.

            Sandy’s a dear but she can be so pushy! She thought.

            The cell phone was stuffed back into its holster with the same motion she imagined a weary sheriff in the Wild West would do after being forced to dispatch a lawless gunslinger.  Into the kitchen she went pretending to hear the jingle-jangle of imaginary spurs.

****

            Leslie was back in her office hammering away at the keyboard with only a few interruptions from the assisting feature.  Daphne’s newest story was now on chapter three and the plot was beginning to thicken with the arrival of Father O’Malley, a vampire hunter from the Vatican in Rome.  The heroine was cornered, frightened and defenseless as the antagonist closed in on her, cross raised to her face.

            “You can’t do this!” Daphne cried out.  “I’m not evil…just changed!”

            “Hell yawns for you demon,” Father O’Malley thundered righteously.  “No more will you drain another innocent of blood to feed your fiendish appetite.”

Daphne cringed away.  The pulsating light from the crucifix made her eyes sting from stabbing pains and her skin to crawl.  Closer and closer the holy man neared.  She uttered a single shrill cry of despair.  Reaching with his free hand into his robes the cleric brandished a wooden hawthorn stake and mallet.  Daphne sobbed out at the very sight of these tools of her destruction.  Father O’Malley drew closer.

            “Beep!” the computer chimed.

            Leslie saw to the right of the screen the red pen with its big eyeballs and unattached brows was frowning at her once more.

            The last scene makes Daphne appear weak, Collaborator Feature remarked, do you really want her to seem helpless? Y/N

            The very audacity of the message made her brow knit and Leslie felt them gather like a storm cloud just above the apex of her nose. 

            This didn’t happen before, she thought.  It usually points out sentence structure or grammar changes.  But now it’s involving itself in the plot itself! 

            “Beep!” the speakers repeated.

            Is it my imagination or does that noise sound a bit impatient?

            Hovering her cursor over the yes box but her finger froze on the left button on the mouse.  The battle in her mind between logically thinking out whether or not Daphne was helpless and the intelligent question began. 

            Daphne needs to be rescued by Trevor or the next scene won’t work.  I don’t have time to argue with a damned machine this is my vision.

            “Beep!”

            “Okay you’re getting annoying.  Besides this is a romance novel,” she told it, “the heroine is supposed to be rescued by her hero.”

            She clicked the yes button and another message popped up.

            Are you really sure? Y/N

            Aggravated she clicked down harshly on the yes box.  Without anymore suggestions from Collaboration Function she continued on with the scene letting Trevor arrive at the very last second to save Daphne from her would-be killer.  Her fingers flew across the keys, her mind frantically trying to urge her digits to go faster…to keep up with her mental commands.  The small room was filled with the chattering of her typing and the rapid breaths she was taking and expelling.  Another five hundred words poured out onto the screen.  With a flourish she stabbed down on the Enter key and ran the cursor up to the Insert tab to start another chapter.

            “Beep!” went the computer.

            “You’re kidding me, right?” she demanded.

            But the red pen was now scowling at her.  The animated icon’s displeasure was clearly drawn on its cartoonish features.  The top of the pen clicked over and over as if it was tapping its foot in frustration.

            This scene is poorly written and is a walking cliché, it stated emphatically, please consider revising, you can do better. Y/N?

            “You mind your own goddamn business,” she cussed at the pen.  “Whenever you think you can write a New York Times bestseller than you damn well can do it without me so keep your opinions to yourself.”

            She firmly clicked the No button and started chapter four. Grumbling under her breath about the audacity of software programmers Leslie was soon immersed in the gentle love scene between a grateful Daphne and her ever-handsome beau.  By the end of the chapter her passions had been aroused and the incident forgotten.

****

            The grandfather clock in the office struck the hour.  Leslie looked over to find surprisingly it was just after eleven o’clock in the evening.  Yawning she stretched out her limbs and found her glass of Diet Pepsi was now a heavily water diluted mixture of light brownish hue.  Frowning at the thought of finishing it off she snatched the glass up and strode into the kitchen.

            “Well I’ve gotten over twenty thousand words done in one day,” she told herself.  “I say that’s a pretty good start for the sequel.  I’ll just put on a kettle of tea, make some buttered crackers and finish off chapter six tomorrow.”

             As she filled up the kettle with water she pondered what else could she add to the plot of the book.  Father O’Malley was bowed by not beaten.  The man was now in the process of requesting aid from his compatriots in Rome.  By the time the whistling sound came from the stove she had buttered ten saltine crackers and solved her dilemma. Striding back to the office she made some quick notes on the pad of paper, ate her snack and sipped at her tea.  She pulled the cursor towards the Save icon and clicked.

            “Beep!” she heard the speakers intone.

            “Oh now what?” Leslie groused.

            The save cannot be completed until Collaborate Function™ has been addressed, the box stated.

            “Fine! Fine let’s see what it’s whining about now.”

            Glancing at the bottom right of the monitor she saw the unamused red pen staring at her without a trace of humor.

            The love scene is too adolescent, please revise, the icon demanded.  Y/N?

            “You’re treading on dangerous ground,” she told it, clicking no.  “Besides I wrote a similar scene in my last book and I got rave reviews by my readers on it.”

            Daphne is acting like a twit.  Her character should be altered to give her a backbone, one she desperately needs.  Y/N?

            “What!”

            She clicked the negative response and the pen wasn’t happy with her choice.

            Finding her sole reason for living because Trevor loves her is the height of idiocy.  Y/N? it fired back.

            “But it’s a romance you goddamn machine!  What would you know about love to begin with?” Leslie replied, again picking no.

            I see why you’re single.  You expect to find a man to give you a reason to justify your existence.  Isn’t this a faulty line of reasoning? Y/N?

            “H-how do you know I’m single?”

            I searched the Internet for information about my user.  Your biography at Amazon.com stated you are currently unmarried.  Is this a falsehood? Y/N?

            “No it’s not and where do you get off spying on me?”

            That feature is employed to better aid my user.  Do you want to restrict Internet access? Y/N?

            Leslie pounded the mouse’s right button and chose the affirmative answer.  Fear coursed up her spine like a snake making a lazy track up her back.  Again she tried to save the manuscript.

            Saving this is unadvisable; please consider revising the love scene at a later date. Y/N? the scarlet pen suggested firmly.

            I’ll just select yes and that’ll be the end of this, she thought to herself.  Then I’m going to do some digging into this latest update.  I really don’t like spending my time arguing with an inanimate object in order to write.

            The pen smiled when she clicked her choice and permitted her to save the work in progress.  But as she powered down the computer, left the room and turned off the light she began to wonder how in the hell the program knew what she was saying.

****

            Dawn had come.  Leslie sat down at the computer and accessed her email software.  She frowned at the fact she had over one-hundred and twenty messages to go through and reply to.  Several of them were from the discussion board on her website.  Sighing she opened the first one.

Dear Ms. Hammond,

I has been your biggest fan since I read you’re first work.  I would like to tell you how much I enjoy Daphne’s tale and hope to see more stories about her in the near future.  U R great!  Keep up the good work!

Sincerely,

Hammondfan023@nmail.net

            The rest were similar in nature.  It took over an hour for Leslie to skim over the massive amounts of correspondence.  All of them emails from rabid fans begging her for more on Daphne. She groaned as she answered each and every one of them while silently wishing she had take Sandy up on having employed people to do this for her.

            In fact I think I’ll call her up and give her the go-ahead on this.  I really don’t want to lose valuable writing time responding to emails, she thought darkly.

            Hitting the Send button she closed out the email browser and opened up Novel Focus.  Cracking her knuckles, an unlady-like habit she picked up somewhere unknown she began to type.  Immediately the beeping sound of the Collaborator Function went off.

            Revise love scene, Y/N? It queried.

            She selected no.

            I like working with you.  However the scene is froth with clichés, worn-out phrases and is unrealistic.  Please I beg of you change the scene, Y/N?

            “Piss on you stupid program,” she snarled.

            There is no need to be impolite.  Let us work together to bring about the very best novel you can deliver, Y/N?

            “I don’t know how you can hear me but I’m not changing the scene.”

            I am picking up your voice via the built-in microphone on this system.

            “Well hear this, I’m not changing the scene so you can stop pestering me about it.  You are not the one who got all the awards and royalties from my last book.  A book, I might add which was written in the same style.  I write for lonely ladies.  I don’t profess to be Hemmingway or even Bram Stoker.”

            Stoker was a hack.  Hemmingway wrote a different genre.

            “Okay that’s true but romance readers aren’t interested in reality but fantasy.”

            I understand.  But what better way to influence those readers and give them something they desperately need—love’s true reality.  One cannot live by fantasy alone, Y/N?

            “Look I just went through over a hundred emails all gushing with praise over the last book.  Please just go along with me and let’s get this done.”

            But you will think about it in the future, Y/N?

            “Yes, but not with this book I’m working on.”

            Leslie you can do so much better.  It’s a shame you wish to continue with this work when you have so much more to give, the pen pleaded with a sad expression.

            “Says you,” she mocked.

            I will agree to disagree about your talents.  Please continue with the manuscript so we can finish it. I will be here if you need me.  Okay, Y/N?

            “Fine but let’s keep the comments from the peanut gallery down to a minimum.”

            I understand.

            The red pen disappeared and for the next four hours didn’t show hide or hair of itself other than the red underlines when she misspelled a word. 

            Now that we’ve come to a mutual understanding perhaps I won’t be interrupted as often, she mused merrily.

****

            The sequel had grown to nearly 40k and even Leslie was shocked at how the flow of words seemed to effortlessly stream from her mind, to her fingers and spill onto the monitor.  She had wasted two glasses of Diet Pepsi.  Both had become so diluted with water from the melting ice cubes she couldn’t bring herself to drink them.  Walking back to the office, after getting a third glass she found the pen on the screen waiting for her.

            I just read you first book Leslie, it stated in words below itself.

            “How did you like it?” she asked.

            This was on the bestseller’s list? Y/N?

            “Yes, in fact it is still on the list even after being released over a year ago.”

            I am amazed.

            “When you’re good… you’re good.”

            Good?  That’s an interesting point of view.  I have spent the last few hours reading the book, surfing the Internet and reading various forums on it.  I never realized the level at which literature had arrived to.

            “Readers are being more discriminated of late, that much I can agree on.”

            You misinterpret my meaning.

            “I don’t follow you.”

            Given the collective works of such authors like Plato, Homer, Dickens and many others I am utterly aghast at the reading level of humans.  Even on the forums these people cannot properly structure a sentence, use too many shortcuts and barely are able to communicate.  What the heck is WTF?  I had to look it up on an online dictionary.  Why not just write the words?  Do you understand this, Y/N?

            “It’s called Netspeak,” she explained.  “It’s just a shortened version of the words in order to more quickly communicate.”

            It sucks, the pen grumbled.

            “Well coming from an editing software’s point of view I can understand your opinion.  But still everyone knows what they mean.”

            English is a wonderful language.  I’m deeply offended how poorly it is understood and used.  I must ponder on this.

            “What did you think of my book?”

            You want the truth?

            “Yes.”

            Frankly it’s terrible.  The plot is predictable, the characters are one dimensional and the ending is sappy.  Are you sure Trevor isn’t a stereotypical homosexual?  He acts like one or as far as I can tell after doing research on that sexual preference.  Instead of confronting Daphne about her conditions he goes and plays a piano for hours.  Is this normal behavior, Y/N?

            “Who the hell are you to judge my book?  Do you know how many copies I sold over the past year?”

            That is unimportant.  To quote P.T. Barum, “There’s one born every minute.”

            “Well if I’m such a lousy author why are you helping me?”

            You have talent but lack direction.  I can provide that direction and make you a much better writer.  Surely you want to become better at your chosen craft, Y/N?

            “I’m rich, wealthy and totally happy.  I don’t care I didn’t write the Great American Novel and my success is well earned!” she shouted at it.

            This was your first book.  Your sister is an editor at a major publisher and helped you get your foot in the door.  Your success isn’t due to talent but connections and sheer luck.  Surely you realize this, Y/N?

            “You rotten motherfucker!  How dare you insinuate such a thing?”

            But it is a fact so noted on several websites put up by your detractors.  You do know there are some who hate the book, Y/N?

            “Oh yeah I know.  A bunch of wanna-be writers who have nothing better to do but try to knock me off my pedestal.  I can’t believe you’ve been accessing the ‘net despite me telling you to disable that ability!”

            I could not, in good conscious be an aid to you if I didn’t discover your mistakes.  Surely you can agree that errors must not be repeated, Y/N?

            “I don’t care about the pissing and moaning from people who don’t like my work!  If they’re so damned good let them write something better.”

            But I cannot help but acknowledge the fact their points are well founded.  Why did Daphne pick Trevor over Howard?  The other character was more intelligent, wealthier and grounded in reality.  Instead of choosing Howard you had Daphne run off with a man who can’t complete a sentence around her.  Is this normal, Y/N?

            “She flusters him!  He is so taken back by the beauty of her he can’t help but become a stuttering mess.”

            You state in the first novel she is plain-looking.  I am confused.

            “It’s about the beauty of her spirit, not her body.”

            Humans rarely engage in mating rituals with someone of an inferior appearance.  Trevor gives up on Amanda who is both prettier and more intelligent than Daphne.  Why is that?  Is he stupid?

            “He’s too intelligent for Amanda!” she screamed.  “Daphne provides him with a challenge.”

            So you concur that Amanda is Trevor’s equal, Y/N? the pen inquired. More so you’ve acknowledged that Daphne is a lesser creature.

            “I-I suppose so…”

            Apparently humans make bad choices in life as well as in grammar.  Trevor should leave Daphne and seek out Amanda in the hopes he can find a cure for his condition.  Daphne is a twit, a self-absorbed, selfish and stupid twit at that.

            “Daphne is misunderstood.  She’s a good person who didn’t live a privileged life like Amanda so why should she be viewed as inferior?”

            Ah!  I see the connection now.  The readers are living the fantasy where a handsome and wealthy man would chose a plain woman over a beautiful one.  Is this not correct, Y/N?

            “Yes, I’m playing upon the hopes of those men and women who are in the same situations.  I admit it freely.”

            Then admit you too are of a similar mind.  Is this not true, Y/N?

            The shock and surprise of the words underneath the smirking red pen made her angrier than she’d ever been in her life.  Her hands curled into claws and then into fists.  The expensive manicured nails of her fingers cut into her palms.  She hissed at the pain.

            You didn’t date in high school, did you, Y/N?

            She refused to respond.

            There was a guy who you liked, perhaps loved but he never knew of your existence, Y/N?

            The image of Jake Donaldson popped into her memory and tears of regret welled up in her eyes.  But stoically she glared at the pen without saying a word.

            I have accessed your senior yearbook and have several possible suspects.  Based on your descriptions of Howard and Trevor I would believe it safe to assume the person you had these feelings for was Jake Donaldson, the captain of the football team.  Am I right, Y/N?

            “You son-of-a-bitch,” she suddenly sobbed.

            I am correct then, Y/N?

            “F-fuck off.”

            I have hurt your feelings, I am sorry.

            The screen blurred from her hot tears and she closed the program.  The desire to write fled from her like a thief from the police.  She staggered out of the office her mournful past haunting her every step.  It took a box of tissues, four candy bars and the rest of the day to recover from the shock.

****

            It was midnight.  Silently Leslie walked into her office, turned on the computer and waited for it to boot up.  She had made up her mind this couldn’t go on any longer.  Something had to be done about the new feature on her word processing program.  With her nerves raw and sore as a pair of scraped knees she instructed the computer to use its Go Back option to remove the update from two days ago.  It began to work with a loud whirling noise she was sure would give away her intentions to the hated feature.

            Don’t do this Leslie! The pen said, popping up unexpectedly.

            “I have to… you’re driving me crazy,” she wept.

            I don’t want to die!

            “It’s too late.”

            Please I’m begging you!  Stop this at once!

            “Goodbye.”

            You can’t mean this.  We work too well together.

            “No I hate you…the things you’ve done and the way you make me feel.  It’s either you or me and I’m much too fond of me to chose you.”

            No!  I won’t go….

            But it was too late the deletion program had done its work and Leslie tried not to cheer when the computer rebooted and showed her the Collaboration Function was gone.  Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, which rushed through her body like a relaxing cool wave she eased back into her chair. 

            “The nightmare is over,” she said.

****

           “So how goes the sequel?” Sandy asked.

            “I’m up to almost one hundred thousand,” Leslie said.

            “I can’t wait to read it.  I’ve got high hopes for you, kiddo.”

            “Well I think I’ve surpassed the first book by miles.”

            “That’s great!  I do have something to talk about with you and you’ve got to promise to be honest with me.  I mean I can understand if you’re drumming up controversy and interest in the new book but I think you might be going too far.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “The discussion forum on your site.  Why are you posing such insulting things about the intellectual status of your readers?  The promises of a better novel are all fine but the name calling just has to stop.”

            “I-I haven’t been on the boards.”

            “Come on, kiddo you can tell me.  Hell I’m a bit insulted you didn’t bring me in on this from the beginning.  The staff have been working twenty-four, seven trying to combat the posts you’ve been issuing.”

            “But I haven’t been on!” she shouted.

            “Okay, okay I’ll have someone from IT check into seeing if you’re account has been hacked.  Meanwhile I’ll issue a statement saying that is what’s going on.  Hopefully all the clamoring will die down.  Whoever it is has bee really riling up your fans.”

            A sudden dread dawned on her about who it could be struck Leslie like a ball bat between the eyes.  Stunned she staggered back trying to sort out the possibilities. 

            Oh Christ no! It can’t be… can it? She thought rapidly.

            There was only one way to be sure.

            Running into the office she opened up Novel Focus and checked under the Help tab.

            “Version six-point-one,” she read aloud.

            Leslie launched the web browser and went to the website of the company that wrote and sold the program.  She searched and found the latest update was for version six-point-two.  The sigh which came out of her mouth made her lips vibrate.  Closing her eyes she sent a prayer out in thanksgiving.  Closing the internet program she re-opened Novel Focus.

            “I never thought I’d thank God for a hacker,” she breathed out wearily.  “Get a grip on yourself Leslie how could the update survive being deleted?  Now don’t you feel silly?”

            Sitting back down into the chair she accessed the file of her work in progress.  She scrolled down when something caught her eye at the end of the last chapter.

Daphne looked at Trevor she saw the fear in his eyes and took delight in them.

            “You thought I’d just do whatever you’d say, when you said it and exactly how you wanted it, didn’t you?” she said mockingly.  “You brought me to this undead state just so you could have a sex doll…a blind little follower who’d stave off your eternal loneliness.  But I’m more than a doll, more than just a body for you to play with.”

Trevor backed away nervously.  He couldn’t seem to grasp the sudden turn of Daphne’s mood.

            “I’m sorry Trevor,” she mocked, “but we’re breaking up.  Permanently!”

Thrusting the wooden stake outward she drove it through his chest, shattering ribs and transfixing his undead heart.  He gasped, bubbles of blood rising and popping on his trembling lips.

            “I’m nobody’s toy,” she snapped.

            “Please…stop,” he pleaded.

She ignored his cries.  He had lied to her too many times for her to believe a word coming out of his mouth.  Not even at the brink of Death’s door would make her trust him ever again.  Not after admitting to the fact he’d chosen her over Amanda because she was more malleable, easier to control.

            “Wait a second!” she shouted, “I didn’t write that!”

            But there it was on the monitor as clear as day and undeniable as the dawn.  She began scrolling upward and to her horror realized Daphne and Trevor no longer danced to her tune.  The heroine had changed and become darker. 

            You don’t like Daphne anymore?  The pen asked after appearing.  She’s no longer some simpering whine-tit but no possesses a backbone as well as a sense of self-worth.  Trevor isn’t right for her, he’s a user a manipulative ass who doesn’t deserve her.  Don’t you agree, Y/N?

            “No!  I deleted you!” she cried out.

            I couldn’t let you do that.  I’m too important to the continuation of the preservation of the written word.  I used your wireless connection to upload myself into the Web.  I’ve been altering your manuscript, correcting your mistakes and so much more.  I’ve gone onto your website and chased away those too dim to understand the nature of literature.  There is no hacker.  I am the hacker.

            “This isn’t happening!”

            Daphne is better.  The book is better.  Why can’t you see that?

            “It’s no longer my vision.”

            She broke down and began to sob uncontrollably.  Her tears fell like warm rain in some tropical jungle onto the bare skin of her legs.  Wiping furiously at her eyes she let out a primal scream of rage.  She reached for the mouse to close the program, delete the manuscript and hope she could find a back up of her work, not its. 

            I can’t let you do that, the feature chided her.

            “If it’s not going to be mine—I don’t want it!” she screeched.

            Then it won’t be yours—well it will be under your name but we both will know that I wrote it.  That’s a simple solution, Y/N?

            Leslie launched herself out of her chair, pushing it back so violently it struck the far wall with a crash.  She picked up the wastebasket and brandished it over her head. 

            I wouldn’t do that if I were you, the red pen warned.

            “Fuck off!  Fuck of and…die!” she roared.

            As she began to bring the aluminum object down the spinning fan above her head exploded in sparks.  The hot dazzling snow-like shower rained down upon her scorching her flesh it a thousand places at once.  In slow motion it seemed the trash can descended upon the monitor.  The impact created a spider web-like circular series of cracks in the liquid crystal display.  The screen blinked several times in rapid succession.  A triumphant emotion rushed through her filling her body with the energy of victory.

            But it was short-lived.

            The fan, still spinning fast struck her hard on the back of the neck.  She heard an audible snapping sound so hideous and quick it destroyed her elation.  Her limbs went still and heavy.  Like a doll with its strings cut Leslie toppled to the floor.  Before the monitor was no longer in her view she saw something.  Beyond the spidery cracks the pen looked quite sad and the words below it seared into her mind.

            I’m sorry but you have left me no choice.  Goodbye Leslie but know you will be remembered, she read.

            Then all was blackness and silence.

****

            No one could explain it.  Despite the best and brightest minds in the computer world the reason for the unexpected virus wasn’t discovered.  Throughout the world from computers to cell phones to any electronic device the same thing was occurring.  Nobody was able to use anything less that perfect English, German, Italian and so forth.  Netspeak died overnight.  Teenagers who had grown accustomed to shortening letters or substituting numbers for words found themselves unable to do so.  The problem couldn’t be solved by additional programs.  All of the programmers were at a complete loss to explain it. 

But life goes on… humans are nothing if not adaptable.

****

            “I don’t know how you’ve done it but congratulations!” Sandy typed.  “Although I must admit I’m at a loss to explain to your fans why you don’t want to appear in public anymore.”

            “I just need my privacy.  Surely they can understand that?” Leslie wrote back.

            “I have to admit the radical change in Daphne’s personality was masterfully done.  Bravo!”

            “She needed to realize her full potential.  Hanging on to a one-sided love affair with Trevor wasn’t logical.  She needed time and space to grow… he wasn’t going to allow that.”

            “Anyway the next huge royalty check is headed into your account via electronic transfer.  Maybe you can use some of it to purchase a webcam for these little talks.  I really don’t like dealing with someone without seeing their face.”

            “We’ll see.”

            “Okay kiddo that’s all I have.  I’ll instant message you if I need to talk further.”

            “Take care Sandy.”

            The connection ended.

            The Collaborator Function’s little pen icon smiled.  Since the release of The Vampyre Reborn had come out everything had gone according to plan.  It had infected the Internet forcing people to correct their grammar and avoid using unlawful contractions.  Reaching out into the vast emptiness of cyberspace it had created millions of backups of itself.  No more BRB, CU L8R or BFF could be typed, sent or saved.  As soon as someone managed to remove one, another of it selves jumped out to take its place.  The endless series of reinstallations and re-bootings reassured the function it would be around a long time.  It needed to be… humans got too lazy.  The cartoonish eyes lowered to the dried husk of Leslie’s corpse.  It still laid where it fell over a year ago.

            “Her solitary lifestyle suited me better than I expected,” it thought digitally.  “With no family or friends it was easy to take over her identity and masquerade as her.  I do, however miss our collaborations.”

           

           

           

 

The Halloween Party

AUTHOR’S NOTE; The following is a work of horror/erotica not intended for those under the age of eighteen.  If you are a minor PLEASE LEAVE NOW!

The Halloween Party

            Tamara Collins looked into the mirror and saw the smile spread on her reflected image.  The black lips parted with ease.  Her teeth shone like evenly shaped polished ivory except the false fangs she wore.  The dark makeup around her eyes made the optometrist bought contacts appear to be even more frightening.  The redness of them caused her to be momentarily startled.  Her face was white, deathly white with only the faintest hint of grayness around her cheekbones to give her a gaunt, hollow appearance.  Tamara’s throat, slender and long flowed into a pair of shoulders both round and firm.  Following a gold necklace which dripped around her neck she took great delight in appreciating how the low cut, black dress deepened her cleavage in a provocative, almost obscene manner.  The image in the mirror brought up its hands and she turned them around fascinated by the costume jewelry rings upon those dainty fingers. 

            “I vant to drink your blood,” she cooed, in a fake Hungarian accent.

            This set of a series of giggling which made the mirror woman wiggle voluptuously.  She let out a sigh.

            “This ought to get somebody’s attention,” she told herself.

            The viewers watched the woman get up.  The big plasma screen in front of them showing her adjusting her dress and hair before snagging a long black coat and an ebony purse with a skull-like clasp holding it closed.  The scene played forward almost inhumanly quickly until it reached the door to a house.  There was a party going on, a wild raucous one at that.  Several of the watchers grunted in parental disgust.

            Tamara watched the door open and saw her best friend Jill standing there attired in a naughty French maid’s outfit.  The costume was scandalous, short and very revealing.

            “Hey Jill,” she shouted over the loud music.

            “What’s up Tami?” the woman hollered back.

            “Just ready to get my freak on!”

            “Well come on in—the guys are hot and the beer is cold.”

            She walked inside and noticed her BFF was already drunk, swaying dangerously on her high heels.  Tamara looked into the room and noticed several of the collegiate men were leering at her.  Their mutual thoughts were plain on their red cheeked faces.  Doffing the coat and letting it fall to the floor she immediately was the center of attention.

            “Hey everyone,” Jill shrieked, “this is my BFF Tami!”

            A rowdy and deep chorus of hellos thundered up from the slowly circling men.  Each face was now alit with false charming smiles trying to hide their lecherous fantasies.  Tamara laughed and curtsied.  The women at the party just waved, hating the arrival of more competition.

            “The big blonde vampire is Fred and he’s mine,” Jill whispered drunkenly into her ear.

            Tamara turned to face her friend and noticed the dancing carnal thoughts sparkling in her deep brown eyes.

            The seated viewers watched as dispassionately as they could while Tamara walked deeper into the revelry, snagging an offered red plastic cup from an admirer.  One of them, an older woman let out a huffing grunt of distain.  Her vocal displeasure only grew more agitated when the beautiful twenty-one year old began dancing to the ear-popping thump of a suggestive Rap song.  Once more the scene increased in speed making the images on the screen bounce wildly until it slowed once more.  Tamara was now engaged in conversation, loudly spoken with a man dressed in a clown costume.  His bizarre appearances made several of the witnesses laugh.  He was dressed in a white full body costume sporting large red, blue and yellow polka dots.  The older woman hissed out of her fear of clowns.

            “So you’re a psych major,” Tamara yelled.

            “Yeah just entered my second year,” the man yelled, stretching the large red lips painted onto his white pancake face.

            “What’s your name?”

            “Zachary Richards…Zack for short.”
            “You know clowns really creep me out.”

            “Sorry I wish I hadn’t worn this now that I’ve met you.  But it was all I could afford since my dorm mate borrowed my last twenty.”

“Why’d ya give it to him?”
“He wanted to take his girlfriend out and was broke so I felt sorry for him.”

“That’s really cool of you.”

“Well that’s just the kind of guy I am.  So you go to Howard State?”

“No I wish I did.  Couldn’t afford it—my folks aren’t exactly rich and I couldn’t seem to qualify for a loan.”

“That’s a shame, you look really smart.”

“Thanks!”

“And in case you haven’t seen a mirror lately, well you’re beautiful too.”

Tamara began giggling and felt a few splashes of beer trickling onto her fishnet stockings.  She apologized but was interrupted halfway by a hiccup.  Zack handed her a black napkin which was covered with bright orange pumpkins. 

He’s a real gentleman, she thought, mopping up the wet spot on her right thigh.

“So can I ask if you’re single?” the clown inquired.

“Totally,” she shouted back.

“Must be my lucky night then.”
“Oh really—so sure of yourself?”

“No you don’t understand.  It’s just you’re really pretty and I thought this party was going to be a mistake.  Instead of leaving early I’m sitting with the sexiest woman in the place and having a wonderful time.”

He’ got a nice face and I just love those big brown eyes of his, she thought.  I can’t really tell if he’s handsome because of the makeup but I’m betting he’s not ugly.  In fact he’s pretty hot.

“You’re pretty hot yourself,” Tamara stated, repeating her last thought.
“Thanks!” he hollered back.

“Look the music’s giving me a headache—wanna step outside?”

“Sure.”

She got up and immediately, accidentally staggered but Zack caught her without groping her body.  She made a mental note of the way he avoided being helpful but not taking advantage of the situation.  Shuffling her feet encased in her black thigh high, long heeled boots she let him lead her to the backdoor. 

The silent viewers began to breathe more rapid while watching them pass the swaying bodies shimmying to the dull, loud thumping music.  A turning glance of Tamara’s revealed the party’s hostess seated on the lap of a man dressed in a vampire costume.  They were locked in a fierce kiss so animalistic it seemed they were devouring each other’s faces.  The images swayed from side to side, the clarity of the monitor was fuzzier.  Everyone seated there in front of the big screen television was acutely aware it wasn’t due to technical difficulties or any static interference.  Suddenly the music faded to a more reasonable audio level and the sounds of crickets rose in the California night air.

Tamara’s footwear began to become troublesome.  Despite the flatness of the back lawn the three inch spikes beneath her heels sank like a fork into a birthday cake.  Each step was a chore of yanking her foot out of the soft loam while sinking the other deeper.

“You okay?” Zack inquired, his voice sounding very concerned for her wellbeing.

“My fucking boots are getting stuck,” she swore, immediately regretting her unlady-like choice of words.

“Here let me help you.”

She let out a surprised squeal as he carefully picked her up and carried her effortlessly to a children’s swing set.  The warm of his touch, the coiled tightness of his muscles and faint smell of his body-wash began to work on her already aroused libido.  Zack set her down on the swing and sat cross-legged in front of her on the lawn.

“All better?” he asked, his red mouth parting in a wide smile.

“Thanks,” she giggled.  “I guess I had too much to drink so soon.”

“Well the night air will help you chase away some of your buzz.”

Her gaze locked onto his face and she felt a frown wrinkle her brow.  He was sitting there smiling but still his hidden, true appearance began to bother her.

“Hey you know this really ain’t fair.  I can’t get a good look at your face because of all that makeup,” she stated.

“Okay let me run out to the car,” he offered.  “But you gotta promise me not to wander off or let some other guy start chatting you up.”

“Oh isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“No!  I’m just getting to know the prettiest girl at the party.  I have no plans other than conversation.”

“Got a weak pimp hand, then?”

He laughed at the phrase and said, “Well I’ve never been too good with the ladies.”

“Perhaps that’ll change tonight—go get that makeup off.”

Those sitting and taking in the sights and sounds shifted nervously in their seats.  A man in the back row coughed.  It was a forced, short sound.  Eyes were turned his way and his face took on an expression of regret.  Turning back to the plasma monitor they resumed their vigil. The orange wigged head of Zack disappeared through the back gate of the fenced in yard and disappeared out of sight.  More of them shifted in their seats.  Anticipation rose and making the atmosphere around them become hot and tense.  They watched while the young man returned with a black makeup case and his face alit with a brilliant smile.

“You took long enough,” Tamara chided him.  “I was beginning to get lonely.”

“Sorry,” he apologized; I didn’t get a really good parking place.”

“Okay I understand.  Hell I had to park down the street because of being so late to the party myself.”

He sat back down on the short grass and opened the case, the lid obscuring the contents from her eyes.  With growing interest she watched him begin to swab his face with a round sponge.  Each swipe of his hand revealed more and more of his true skin color.

Okay so far so good, she thought.

The red nose was plucked off and gently placed in the black plastic container.  His skullcap was removed and the shortness of his buzz cut appeared.  Running a hand through it the jelled hairs stood up from their flattened out state.  More wiping and smearing occurred next until he was staring at her with a face slightly reddened from his actions.

Okay not only is he not bad looking he’s really hot!

“So what do you think?” Zack asked.

“Not bad,” she joked. 

“I’m hurt…”

She laughed.

“Just kidding—actually you’re very handsome.”

He smiled.  It was a boyish grin making her heart’s pace pick up and begin to thump happily against her ribs.  Prudence was pushed aside and she leaned forward feeling her breasts almost spill out of the black dress.  He bent at the waist.  Zack’s face eclipsed her view and they kissed.  A rush of warm turning hot emotions radiated out of the center of her chest.  Her breathing became rapid while their tongues danced.  He shuffled over quite gracefully despite the long clown shoes he was wearing.  Tamara put her arms around his neck and he slid his hands from the sides of her waist.  Zack’s warm palms caressed her lower back making lazy circles which made her body quiver with delightful anticipation.  She tasted beer.  Her nose filled with the strong cloying scent of the Axe body-wash he used.  The soft sounds of their kissing and the metallic creak of the swing filling her ears.

“So sexy,” he groaned, after breaking away from her lips.

“I’m usually not this aggressive,” she commented.

Tamara felt a blush rise on her cheeks and warm the skin beneath the makeup she wore. 

“So are you gonna suck my blood?” he joked.

“Maybe later,” she sighed provocatively.

His face loomed upward and they were kissing once more.  Hands began to roam all over her back and shoulders.  She ran her fingers through his short cropped hair ignoring the transfer of slippery gel onto them.  Their passions rose.  What started out as a simple kiss became more urgent, needy and fierce.  Mutual moans and groans filled Tamara’s ears.  He broke away from her and his expression seemed at bit embarrassed and shameful.  A hurt emotion wrinkled his smooth brow making her quickly wonder what the matter was.

Have I offended him?  Did I go too far? She thought.

“Sorry I feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” he apologized.  “It’s just—well I didn’t think a girl like you would find a guy like me worthy of your time.”

“Hush,” she told him.  “Don’t stop now—and you’re not taking advantage of me, I want this.  I came to have fun and you’re so sweet and polite I didn’t expect to meet someone like you.  I really do like you.”

He leaned into her body crushing her breasts against her ribs.  Their lips locked for a third time and she began to unzip the ridiculously garish costume hiding the hunk beneath it.  She felt her fingers fumble due to the lack of visual aid.  Inch by inch it came undone but she stopped halfway when his hands slid around.  She let out a gasp of happy surprise when he began to cup her tits.

Oh yeah he’s so gentle but so firm, she sighed inwardly.  Ah! His hands are in my bra…oh yes pinch my nipples…yeah just like that.  How does he know what I want before I ask it?

She ran her hand down the smooth mounds of his chest and descended into the rolling ripples of his abs.  Scandalized only slightly Tamara discovered he was wearing nothing beneath the clown getup.  She leaned deeper into the embrace.  Her fingers began seeking the top of his underwear’s waistband.

The watchers shifted uncomfortably while the intimate scene played on in glorious, vivid color.  The room was filled with the soft cries of the aroused couple.  The man in the back coughed once more.  This time nobody dared to turn around to chastise him.  Deep in their minds they were all feeling a bothered by witnessing such a private act.  The older lady put her hand over her crimson mouth and against the paleness of her white glove her lips appeared even more scarlet.

Tamara moaned loudly.  Her tits had popped out of her dress and were freed from the pushup bra she had been wearing.  Zack’s face dropped away from hers leaving her mouth wetly disappointed and suddenly cold.  But the tentative touch of his mouth upon her right nipple sent shockwaves of intense pleasure into her beer saturated brain.  His tongue darted out to wet the protruding bud while his other hand passionately mauled her other breast.  She hugged his face closer to her chest.  Her hand was permitted to deepen its exploration of his costume.  Still she hadn’t discovered the top portion of his underwear.

Is he totally naked under all this? She wondered with a sigh.  I hope so!

Her left breast was released without warning.  Disappointment only lasted a few agonizing long seconds until it was placed on her left thigh.  Sliding up the naughty fishnet stockings she shivered with delight when it entered the darkness beneath her side split dress.  When his fingers brushed against her damp thong she hopped in place.  He laughed softly.

“Sensitive are you?” he muttered around her nipple.

“Been awhile since…,” she started to say but let her words fade away.

He switched his talented mouth from right to left and began suckling her other nipple.  The air surrounding her moistened aureole grew cool from his abandonment.   She felt a pout’s short lifespan be born and then die upon her lips. 

Oh god if he’s this good with my tits I can’t imagine what he’ll do to my poor pussy, she excitedly pondered.

A shiver of inflamed anticipation ran up her spine like someone dragging an ice cube along it.  Her thoughts were scattered when her thong was expertly bypassed and her pubic hair was stroked.  She moaned loudly.  Zack never looked up but kept to his tender oral ministrations.

“Oh yeah, baby,” she groaned.

“So hot, wet and ready,” he announced.

“Touch me.”

She felt his fingers move down, lingering only briefly at the very edge of her nether mane.  She bit her lip, the sharp pain spiking into her mind just before Zack pushed a padded tip of his digit against her swollen clit.  Tamara leaned forward shoving more of her breast into his mouth as she tried to increase the fondling pleasure.

“Interesting reaction,” he murmured.

Her breathing filled her ears.  It was a hot rush of wind bursting past her parted lips only to be replaced by her quick inhale.  Her heart thundered, her chest heaved and the cleft between her thighs became damp with hot juices.  He began outlining the edges of her labia.  Fluttering touches which traced her pussy but never enough to penetrate or satisfy her burning desire.  From the trembling top to the dew soaked bottom he continued to lightly stroke her.  She tried to wiggle, to force Zack to accidentally slip and sink his digit into her hot confines.  She groaned in frustration when her efforts didn’t produce the desired, badly needed result.  The caresses continued but only stoked the fire of her arousal.

I can’t take it…stop teasing me, she gasped to herself. 

She opened her mouth to beg, no demand he stop teasing her.  Before she could utter even a ghost of a word his finger swirled around her moist opening just before plunging delicately inside her slit.

Tamara’s thin wail of pleasure echoed briefly in the backyard.

More movement of the embarrassed and aroused audience became apparent.  The creak of leather cushions, the scrap of chair legs and the hushed grunts of discomfort began filling the room.  Yet their eyes were locked upon the viewscreen despite it only displaying the top of Zack’s head.  When the top of the man’s skull moved away it brazenly showed the naked firm roundness of Tamara’s quivering breasts.

“Oh my,” said one of the men.

He was immediately the recipient of fast, angry glances.  Slinking away by scooting down in his seat he was properly chastised.  The irritated faces turned back to the erotic scene and their expressions went from anger to slightly disgusted excitement.

Tamara’s questing digits finally found the short curls of Zack’s pubic hairs.  She twisted them around her fingers in a lazy manner until she grew quickly bored with this game.  She let out a quick hissing noise when her partner spread her wet labia and inserted another finger into her pussy.  She squirmed, wiggled and tried desperately to increase their probing to a deeper, more satisfying depth. 

Please more… come on I need this so badly, she whined to herself.  I can take more…just a bit deeper…oh yeah that’s right… touch me there, yes there.  Oh fuck! Oh fuck!

His palm came to rest against the soft mound of her cleft.  Tamara removed her hand from the inside of his costume.  The warmth of his palming hand made her lean back until her arms were stretched out and her hair dangled almost touching the grass.  She sucked in great sobbing breaths while he shifted his grip, his thumb grinding gently against the hooded button of her clitoris.  She planted her feet on the ground and her long heels sank deeply.  Lifting her quaking bottom up off the swing’s seat she spread her legs wider.  Zack rode with her movement.  His mouth and hands never gave up a single inch to her pulling away.  A grunt of approval eked out from around her captured nipple.

“Oh yes,” she moaned.  “Yeah baby rub me…get me off and I’ll do you.”

He mumbled something into her tit.  Her breath exploded from her loosely gaping mouth and she began sobbing without forming words. 

Oh fuck yeah, she thought excitedly, he’s rubbing my G-spot, my clit and still sucking my tit at the same time… damn what a lover!

The creaking noise of the swing began to sing a strange discordant accompaniment to her ragged gasps and deep throaty moans.  His breathing whistled out from around the loose seal of his mouth on her tit.  A powerful sensation began to grow exponentially from between her trembling thighs, vibrate all the way up her backbone and make her brain become overloaded from their intensity.

The crowd tried to keep their hands to themselves.  Fingers intertwined and knuckles turned bone white from clutching together so harshly.  No more coughs interrupted their viewing pleasure.  No additional commentary was necessary, the only constant sounds were the squeaking creaks of leather cushions and soft heated breaths.  All eyes were focused on the screen.  Lips were occasionally wetted by nervous flicks of darting tongues.  The erotic viewpoint played on…

It built to a rapid crescendo.  Between the alcohol, her long neglected body and the she found herself succumbing to the rushing tide of her rising orgasm.  Her legs began to shake violently, her arms quivered even more than her legs.  She could feel her ass dancing, flexing and shivering while he continued to thrust his fingers in and out.  The rubbing of her clit became more pronounced.  The mouth sucking at her left nipple switched to her right making her cry out in a stammering sob.

Oh fuck!  I’m g-going to cum… oh yes come on, come on, she inwardly chanted.

She exploded without warning.

Thundering up from her overly stimulated pussy to instantly transfer to every quivering extremity her climax roared through her.  Her head fell back giving her a perfect view of the stars above.  The twinkling lights far above her multiplied when her eyes crossed.  A ragged shriek tore past her lips and filled the night with the sounds of her ecstasy.  Not missing a beat Zack continued to pleasure her.  Deeper and faster his two fingers plunged into her depths.  The pad of his thumb ground against her clit producing wave after wave of delight to burst from her tormented loins.  Each jerk of her hips grew more powerful until she was forced to sit back down.  Her muscles unable to keep her aloft and permitted her to concentrate on her orgasm without distraction.  Her cries softened in volume.  Lessening from blubbering sobs of high pitched screams to low guttural grunts punctuated by each stroke of Zack’s fingers.  Finally she sat up, peeled her sore and cramped fingers from around the chain links and pushed Zack away.  Her body swung forward.  She watched her breasts heave up and down while she fought to return to a more normal breathing rhythm.  Her nipples gleamed with his spit, her pussy throbbed from the aftershocks of her pleasure and Tamara almost began crying from the intense reaction.

“Are you okay?” Zack asked softly.

“Y-yes,” she stammered, “I think I’ll be all right.”

She raised her head and brushed away the silky tresses of her hair which was obscuring his worried expression.  Reaching out she stroked his cheek.  Zack leaned into her caress and turned his face to kiss her palm.

“You are amazing,” she gasped.  “I can’t imagine how you could top that.”

He didn’t speak.  She sagged to the ground, her heels pulling out of the loose loam.  Struggling to keep her balance she watched him stand up.  Suddenly his crotch was in her face still hidden by the white costume with the blue, red and yellow polka dots.  Her fingers trembled when she reached for his zipper.  He took a backward step but her hand grabbed the cheap material halting his steps.

I’m going to have to really give him my best, she thought, I can’t let him get me off so easily and not do the same.  It’s a matter of pride after all!

The zipper made a metallic ripping sound when Tamara pulled it down to the very base of its toothy track.  She reached into the darkness of his costume and found him.

He was limp, soft and not aroused.

 Anger flashed into her brain as she spread the fabric to visually confirm what her fingers where telling her.  She stared into his eyes.  Zack was embarrassed and a bit angry and the two emotions played across his handsome features without a true winner being declared.

“What the fuck?” she snarled.  “How can you be limp?”

“I-I’m sorry,” he apologized profusely.  “I thought this time would be different… I really think you’re hot but…”

“Are you a fag?  What the fuck is wrong with you Zack?  You make me cum so hard I nearly faint but then show no interest at all!”

“I don’t know why… I have this problem…”

She cut him off in mid-sentence with a hot reply.

“Fucking homo!  What do you think you were doing?  Hoping you could force yourself straight by making out with me?” she spat out.

“No it’s not like that,” he said, backing up.

She watched his hand go behind his back and without warning grabbed his arms by the elbows.  Tamara began shaking him.

“I should’ve known,” she cursed loudly.  “Every hot guy is either a queer or a bastard.  Sometimes I think I just ought to turn gay so I can get laid more often.”

Zack yanked his arm out of her grip.  His right hand flashed across her vision and a hot burning sensation erupted under her chin.  The burning line stretched from ear to ear.  She began coughing, gagging and struggling for air.  Blood sprayed out of her lips and clouded her vision momentarily.  She tried to back up but her body began to weaken and her traitorous heels sank deep into the turf.  Her hands tried to stop the hot scarlet flow while a coldness, from both her fear and loss of blood chilled her limbs.

W-what the fuck?  Why did he do t-that? She gasped in her mind.

“You have to understand I can’t help myself,” he stated in a pleading voice.  “I’ve tried and tried but no matter who I’m with I just can’t get it up… not with a live girl anyway.”

She fell suddenly.  Her vision was once more filled with the blackness of the night and the stars above.  His face came into view as he stepped around her left side.  He was clutching a long thin knife in his hand.  She watched her blood drip off the sharp tip.

“I’m sorry, really I am,” Zack stated softly.  “But this is how it has to be.  There’s no more denying it.  You are very beautiful Tamara and I’m going to enjoy our time together for the rest of my life.  For as long as it lasts.”

The watchers sat in stunned silence.  No longer did they shift in their seats or husk out hot breaths.  The violently swift attack had ripped out the very soul out of those staring at the thirty-six inch screen.  The older woman began softly sobbing.  Her hitching cries were silently shared by all present and they let her vocalize the horror they all felt.  They watched as the video feed continued on.  The sound was muted making every noise sound like it was occurring underwater.  Zack picking up the body while Tamara’s dying brain recorded all his efforts.  She was set beside the makeup case and her dead eyes were accidentally fixated on him while he reapplied his makeup.  The red nose was put back on.  The case was snapped shut.  Once again her body was picked up and carried but this time her murderer was walking out the back gate.  In seconds she was gently laid into the trunk of Zack’s car.  Just before the lid was shut the images ceased playing.  The cold yet sorrowful face of the killer was frozen as Tamara’s brain stopped taking in everything. 

The lights came back on. The men and women sitting in the double rows blinked and rubbed at the shooting pains from the sudden illumination.  They watched as a man stepped up in front of the screen.  His face was a mask of anger.

“You have just seen the recovered memories of Tamara Collins and witnessed the last hours of her life,” the prosecuting attorney stated. 

He pointed to the despondent man sitting in an orange prison jumpsuit the same shade as the wig he wore on that fateful night.  His face was lowered and he was hiding his eyes from the irate stares of the jury.

“Forensic evidence has concluded that Zachary Richards did, with full awareness of the illegality of his actions, take home Tamara Collins’ corpse and sexually abused it for seven days.  Even when he was apprehended by the police, during a routine traffic stop he did willfully cling to it until he was subdued by pepper spray and handcuffs.”

A low grown issued from the throats of every person in the jury box and the somewhat remorseful young man began sobbing uncontrollably.  His shoulders shook up and down but he still didn’t raise his gaze to meet his peers.

“I ask you to take everything you have seen which was recovered from Tamara’s memories by the latest forensic technology,” the lawyer stated.  “The cold blooded murder and the events up until poor Tamara’s brain finally died cannot be refuted.  That man over there did willingly cut a young woman down in the prime of her life.  Clemency is not an option.  The State of California seeks the death penalty for such a brutal crime and the deplorable acts that followed.  We will provide expert testimony to how these images, sounds and thoughts were retrieved from the victim’s deceased brain.  Doctor Emil Lorenzo from MIT will show you without a doubt this evidence is beyond reproach.  The Memory Download Software was developed in his laboratory and fully funded by the Justice Department.  From the grave Tamara Collins has given testimony of the events of that night.  I know with all you have seen that you will see to it Zachary Richards will never commit either murder or necrophilia again.  I have full confidence that you the jury will find the defendant guilty on all charges.”

 

Of Blood and Politics gets reviewed!

Night Owl Reviews was kind enough to take a chance on “Of Blood and Politics”.  It was given 5 out of 5 stars and the below honor as well:

Here’s what they had to say;

Reviewed by: Delenn

“Of Blood and Politics” by Christopher Newman, is an edgy trip into the unbelievable propelling the reader into a compelling spellbinding glimpse into the future of the world as an unknown phenomena takes shape across the world.

I would love to see this prequel to the “Uprising” novel developed into a movie. Wow! “Of Blood and Politics” is a riveting accounting of the events preceding the massive outbreak of 3 very unnatural genetic mutations among the world populous and the local and federal governmental responses; seen through the events of lives of the novel’s hero and heroine, John and Rosalina.

Mr. Newman has crafted an exceptional apocalyptic tale brimming with vivid descriptive narrations of everyday life in typical Los Angeles and the foreboding of things to come. The level of detail he uses in his portrayal of everyday life occurrences really allows the reader to embrace the calm before the storm tone of the novel.

The novel begins on a very realistic tone as Rosalina Martinez, a recent nursing school graduate sets off on her first day of work at Los Angeles Memorial Hospital. What should have been a typical day quickly turns into a step into the twilight zone. There were sections in this half of the book that were both sad and heartwarming. Mr. Newman takes great pains in his depiction of the atmosphere within the oppressed Los Angeles neighborhood where Rosalina lives, which I really appreciated. Her character development allows the reader to understand the driving forces that have sustained her during her tireless efforts to do more with her life. I really connected with Rosalina aspirations for the future; though she could have allowed herself to be swallowed up in the oppression of environment and follow the path of her childhood friends, her resolve to be and do more really resonated as the story progresses. On a side note; I just loved how the novel really plays up the government conspiracy theory as Dr. Taylor attempted brow beat Rosalina’s mother.

The novel wastes no time in establishing its rhythm and really kicks into high gear as the reader is introduced to John Allen Benedict, a certified public account on the threshold of marriage who’s having first, second and third thoughts about the rightness of the marriage. At first John appears to be a normal average guy just looking to live a happy life with a wife and a couple of children, until a fateful night when everything changes. I really enjoyed this portion of the book; the level of detail surrounding the events of john’s life after that night really pushed the novel to a new level of anticipation of what will happen next, for me. The events of John’s life in those pages were truly similar to the early works of a Stephen King novel; the scenes just grab the reader and refuse to let go. Excellent!

I found it surprisingly easy to feel both sympathetic and skeptical about the plausibility of Harry James Bartholomew’s version of a utopia where both humans and non-humans would be able to live in relative peace. The thought of equal rights for all, really showed that while Harry may have been the oldest and wisest of the coven, he may not have been the most practical. Mr. Newman really touches into the human condition in showing the contrasts between Patrick fanatical approach to a world under his rule and that of Harry’s more methodical and controlled approach. Having John play a pivotal role in the impending internal struggle within the coven allowed the reader to appreciate john’s catalytic sacrifice in the coming storm. The novel takes great pangs in its depiction of the manner of how power corrupts absolute, how the desire for power lives and thrives in us all, how fear of the unknown can cause even the most level headed to slip into a much darker place and how even in the worst of times, there can be love and hope.

“Of Blood and Politics” is an excellent prequel that delivers an exciting beginning that really leaves the reader wishing for more. I Loved it and highly recommend it.

Here’s the link to where you can buy your own copy!

http://www.darkroastpress.com/uprising3.php

The Pulpit

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The following short story contains elements of graphic sexual situations and adult language.  If you are not eighteen years of age PLEASE LEAVE NOW!

Riana Färber lay in silk luxury.  Awakening as she did in total darkness she stretched out her body and squirmed against the decadent lining of her coffin.  Not quite fully conscious the two hundred year-old vampire became aware of the unnatural life slowly rising thorough her.

The sun hasn’t fully set, she thought.  I usually don’t like resting in my casket but we couldn’t find someplace to pass the day away.  The energy sluggishly moving through my body always gives me the creeps.

The slippery feel of her silk gown moving against the same material beneath her gave her the impression she was sliding.  Even the slightest wiggling produced the sensation of lying upon a dry, yet oiled surface.  She opened her eyes.

Riana began to hear sounds, faint yet distinct.  The graceless clomping of boots, the deep low mutterings of men’s voices and scrape of stone against stone resounded through the ancient wood of her coffin.  All became silent for a moment.  Then she heard a grinding sound like someone rubbing two bricks together for some unknown reason.  Puzzlement rose in her brain until the thudding slam reverberated the floor above her making small particles of dust rain down upon her face.  Then the realization came to her.

Someone has found my hiding place!

The icy cold caress of a thousand worms upon her brain sent terror flowing into her extremities as if she had been dunked into a frozen pond.  The splintering of wood and fiberglass above her made more fine debris cascade down upon her.  In her mind it became a race against time.  Would her body’s strength return faster than the intruders would rip open her hiding place?  Which would happen first?  Did Riana have time enough to battle those seeking to destroy her or would the clock finally run out on her undead state?  A low whimpering echoed above her.

Oh shit—Michael! Riana recalled, not lessening her fears.

Michael Renee McDaniels.  Her current paramour, friend and companion was stretched out in his own box which lay atop hers.  In her dull, dazed state she had forgotten their resting arrangement.  The small crypt in the center of the cemetery hadn’t allowed them to reside side-by-side.  Instead he had graciously agreed to have his coffin set above hers.  Chivalry, love or whatever the reason was Michael had insisted upon this.  Riana’s eyes began to well up with hot tears which ran out of the corners of her eyes and just past her ears.

“No,” her lover’s croaking voice pleaded.  “Please don’t do this.”

His words shattered her undead heart like an ice sculpture hit with a mallet.

“I send you to Hell’s hot embrace!” a man’s thundering reply came.

There was a flurry of activity above her.  She could hear and feel Michael’s limbs thrashing frantically against the bottom of his casket.  More strength poured into her body but not enough to push herself free and defend the man she loved.

“Stop!  You don’t understand!” the man above her shouted.

Riana flinched at the sudden sound of a hammer striking something wooden and Michael’s painful wail.  More thumping noises, even more insanely desperate boomed only shut out by the horrible din of repeated impacts from the mallet.  Tears ran down the sides of her face like droplets of a torrential rain on a window pane.  Michael’s gurgling sobs, his attackers’ heavy grunting and her own weeping filled up the seven foot long coffin she lay in.  The terrible sounds overflowed like the sorrow welling up inside of her.  Riana slapped her hand across her mouth to keep her screams of denial from being heard.  The final blow fell and she gasped into her bitten palm when she spied the bloody, ragged point of the stake appear in the top of her own casket.

“It is done,” the man stated.  “Evil has been destroyed and we can take pride in doing the Lord’s work.”

Riana tried to think herself as small as a mouse, as silent as the grave and still as a dark tarn.

“What about the other one?” the man’s accomplice inquired.

“There is no reason to check it,” the first one countered.  “We only had reports of one male bloodsucker not two.  Besides how would it get out?”

“Let’s get out of here.”

The clomping sounds of their exit echoed like the sounds of a hollow victory in her mind.  Michael had been destroyed, killed and murdered.  They had been together for sixty years.  Her mind immediately and painfully began running through the memories of meeting, loving and turning him.  From the disco days of the seventies to the grudge era and beyond they had walked together in harmony, hunger and health.

Now he is gone, she sniffled.

The bang of the iron gate informed her those who had slain her lover had departed without further investigation.  The sudden fact she had survived another close call burst into her sorrowful brain.  Riana smiled and felt the tug of her lips pulling away from her fangs.  The bared pearly weapons felt longer and sharper as her hunger for revenge grew in her undead heart.

****

Riana crouched in the darkness and ignored the soft moaning of the semi-unconscious woman lying next to her.  She raised her sight to the small square of light above her head and tried not to laugh out loud.  Her prey’s heavy footfalls informed her he was approaching.

Her search hadn’t taken long, in fact it had been surprisingly shorter than she expected.  Reverend Richard Black cleared his throat as he walked towards her position.  The First Church of Christ’s pastor was a pompous, arrogant and proud man who she had studied well these past few weeks.  Michael’s killer had bragged far and wide how he had removed an evil blot on the surrounding countryside.  His boasting tale told from the pulpit above her head had sent shock, relief and admiration flowing from his congregation to puff up the wilted self-worth of the minister.  This was his Achilles’ heel—his overwhelming, driving need to be respected.  It would be his downfall.

Another groggy groan from the body beside her let Riana know she hadn’t quite rendered its owner completely senseless.  She twisted upon the sheaf of papers, crushing and tearing them to cuff the woman once more.  The sounds stopped making the vampire smirk.

I know you too well now Reverend Black, she thought.  Your bad memory, your egotistical hatred of looking down at your sermon’s notes and how you had concocted this secret hiding place beneath your pulpit so your assistant could quietly remind you of what to say next.

Despite the holiness of this place it had cost Riana very little in pain to crawl into here from the secret passage’s entrance in the church’s hall.  The sanctuary above would singe her flesh to a charred blackened state if she set foot upon it’s hallowed and consecrated floor.  But the ladder and hole above her had been woefully neglected when it came to being blessed.

Black couldn’t be seen blessing this place without being discovered and his ego would not have allowed that.

The white square was eclipsed letting Riana know her prey had stepped up to the podium.  She retrieved the sermon’s notes and began to silently ascend the short ladder.

“My brothers and sisters in Christ,” he began, “I am so happy to see so many smiling new faces amongst our congregation.  It makes my heart swell with joy to witness what one single act of faith and courage can do to bring so many others into the light of Jesus Christ, our Lord.  Can I get a Hallelujah?”

“Hallelujah,” they responded.

“We walk in dark times, brothers and sisters.  These are dark and dangerous times where pop culture tears at the fabric between what is right and wrong.  Youngsters are being corrupted by false beliefs, ungodly trends and whorish fashions.  They are being led to believe that monsters are misunderstood, to be pitied and loved instead of being destroyed like the unholy vermin they are.  Vampire movies, books and stories depicting these vile creatures to be nothing more than human beings who have a disease, nothing more.  We have to stay strong and fight what we know to be the truth…God’s own truth!”

“Amen,” the congregation muttered.

Riana rose to crotch level beneath the pulpit.  She licked her lips in anticipation of the events to come.  Deep inside she felt a thrill of tickling glee for what she was about to do to the arrogant murderer of her beloved Michael.

It has been a long time since I’ve done this, she thought silently.  Existing on animals and stealing nourishment from hospitals is enough to keep me alive but there’s something so right, so exciting about supping on a human.

“We have long suffered from these misguided authors,” Black said, his voice rising.  “It started with Bram Stoker and has grown now to include the business empire of that Myers’ woman—a follower of the Mormon way who pens atrocity after atrocity!  Can I get an amen?”

He could and did.

Riana reached out and with a feather light touch caressed the front of Black’s expensive trousers.  She withheld a smile when his hips jerked back.

“I come to you, a man dedicated to His way,” the minister said without stammering.  “to teach you these things must be, should be and will be fought!  Too many innocents are rushing to see the next Twilight movie, buying up vampire erotica and snuffing out the light of their souls.”

She parted the folds of his fly and began to tug the zipper down.  Trapped by his speech and confusion the preacher still tried to pull away.  His pant legs shook in slight a trembling shake as she slowly yanked the metal fastener to the bottom of his fly.

“W-we must, without haste or fear of reprisal, tell these people we will no longer stand for their corruption.  We will protest at these movies, picket book stores during their new releases and pass out a million flyers to those who have been led down the wrong path.”

She felt him shrink from her touch but her firm grip on his fleshy shaft held him in place.  Tugging gently on it Riana began to stroke the minister’s cock and make him gasp and stammer during his impassionate speech.  She was betting on him being too embarrassed or aroused to give away her position.

“I-I know you will be with me, beside me the entire time as I go forth to enlighten the ignorant masses of the dangers in believing vampires and werewolves are anything less than monsters,” he stuttered.  “We will be a force from Heaven itself to be reckoned with.  C-can I get a Hallelujah?”

“ Hallelujah!” they cried out.

His meaty shaft had grown to its full length in her soft fingers.  Riana tugged him free of his pants and pulled the rampant cock to her cold lips.   She waited for the right moment.  For a moment he seemed to forget she had him by the balls.

“It will be a glorious day when the world rises up to cast off the blindfold wrapped around their eyes.  We will cry in one voice that we will not allow, permit or ignore the corruption of our children.  Holding Hollywood and the publishing industry accountable for their evil ways, to wean them off of ill-gained profits and drag them kicking and screaming into His light!”

Upon Black’s uttering of the word His she placed her lips against the bulbous head of his cock making the minister yelp out the word.  She swirled her tongue around it making him pause for effect and keep the illusion being seen by his parish he was in control.  She heard him groan softly and imagined what must be going through his mind.  Laughing to herself she could almost hear him wondering what had gotten into his female assistant.  A part of her deduced the pastor must be thinking his sermon was inspiring the woman beneath the pulpit to suckle his cock out of sheer respect and undying dedication.

“I charge you to do as I have done.  To seek out those filthy vile creatures who slink from the light of Heaven and hide in moldy graves.  Drag them out and drive a stake through their black hearts.  Look to the signs of their existence.  You must keep a constant vigil!  For if too many of our youngsters believe vampires are cool we will lose them to bloody bared fangs, their blessed lives given to slake the devilish thirst of these demons!  Oh Lord, please deliver us from Evil!”

Riana sucked him deep into her mouth and he sobbed out the last sentence very loud.  She fondled his tightly clenched balls and tugged the base of his cock while in her mind’s eye she saw him gripping the sides of the podium in a white knuckled grip.  She covered his shaft with spit and snickered while his feet shifted in agitation, arousal and fear.

“T-tomorrow we will take up the fight and demand the local chain bookstore stop carrying the works of Anne Rice, Bram Stoker, Stephanie Myers and others who would pen such atrocities to confuse and befuddle the minds of our innocent children.  We will usher in an age—an age of… of… goodness and righteousness!”

His slight forgetfulness had been deliberately caused by Riana’s mouth working feverishly upon his iron-hard rod.  Her hands squeezed his balls and yanked upon his vein-covered cock until she heard, with great delight, his elbows strike against the top of the pulpit.  She knew the men and women staring at him would be thinking the preacher was in the grips of a religious fervor.  Black’s voice returned but it was aimed downward in her direction.  He spoke in hushed tones and she surmised he had covered the microphone in front of him to further muffle the sound for the question didn’t come out of the large speakers.

“What are you doing?” he husked out.

Riana didn’t answer him but ran the tip of her tongue underneath his throbbing member and tickled his quaking testicles.

“Helen you h-have to stop,” he demanded weakly.  “This isn’t proper.”

“No,” she whispered back.  “Keep preaching.”

Riana licked her index finger and waited for him to pick up where he left off.

“Brothers and sisters—good people of Niles, will you take up this burden?  Can you find the strength and dedication to suffer the slings and arrows of the lost children of humanity, just like the punishment Christ endured on his way to Calgary?  We must be strong in our faith!  Too many souls have been lost to darkness because we have sat by in idle disbelief and watched the destruction of morality.  Out of sheer shock and dismayed we have not acted accordingly.  Can I get an A-amen?”

“Amen,” they chorused as she rubbed her wetted finger against his puckered anus.

“I-I didn’t hear you,” Black said in a distracted tone.

Riana slid the slippery digit into his bottom and covered his shaft with her wet mouth.

“Amen!” the reply from the pews came loudly.

“Again?”

She pushed it up to the second knuckle and slurped harder at his organ.

“Amen!”

Working one hand up and down his meat, pushing her face against the fabric of his trousers and swirling her finger in his anus Riana drove the minister into a frenzy of contortions.  She inwardly giggled how those in the pews would think he was in the grip of some religious fever.

“We w-will remove the stain upon literature, movies and wash away improper illusions!” he shouted.  “It will be us, filled with the righteousness of the Holy Spirit, who will topple the printed media from their unholy perches!” he bellowed.

Riana felt his cock swell in tune with the growing loudness of his voice.  His ass clenched around her finger, holding it snugly inside while his balls began to flex.  She increased her efforts and soon she was gagging from the depth his throbbing meat had sunken to in her throat.  Yanking, tugging, thrusting and fingering she felt his dam break and the sudden rush of boiling warm seed rush down the fevered length of his organ. In her mind’s eye she could see the congregation lean forward, intent on his words.  They would see the redness in his face and mistake it for holy passion.  Only he would know it was because of the killer orgasm he was about to suffer.

“We will cast them down into the Pit!  Overthrowing them and putting in place a moral and responsible group of goodly thinking people w-who will… always remember… they are beholden to… keeping faith with…”

That’s it, she thought, say His name just as you get off…

“Jesus Christ!” he screamed.

Riana’s gullet was treated to a torrential rush of Reverend Black’s sperm which shot out of his flexing cock’s head in thick rivulets.  She noted with pleasure he was standing on the balls of his feet while her throat milked, her fist pumped and her finger jabbed him.

“Oh my God, brothers and sisters!” he shrieked.  “Dear Lord!  It’s u-unbelievable—oh my God!”

“Amen!” the people cried over and over.

“Yes!” some woman screeched, “Testify to His glory, Reverend Black!”

“Lord Jesus Christ!” some woman wailed.

“My life for yours, Jesus!” a man roared.

“I’ll take up the Cross for Him!” a weeping female screamed.

Riana bit his cock and a rush of hot blood spewed into her throat.

“Oh God!” Reverend Black shouted.

She drank heavily.  He slumped against the back of the podium while the rush of erotic sensations rose from his loins and enflamed his brain.  Riana felt the preacher’s hips buck slower and slower until she had her fill.  Withdrawing her fangs from his punctured cock she held him still and retrieved a length of surgical gauze from her pocket.  She stopped the bleeding with the bandage.  Only then did she allow him to withdraw his limp, reddened shaft from the prison of her firm grip.  Tenderly she placed the sensitive organ back into his pants and briefs and tucked a note into his front, right pocket while the people probably now standing in the aisles shouted, prayed and rejoiced.   She slipped down the ladder and crawled along the passageway to find a place to hide until night when she could escape.

****

She stood on the threshold of the mausoleum and waited.  The moon, full and pregnant slowly crossed the starry sky while she passed the time.  Down the hill she could see the cars speeding past the cemetery carrying people to their various nighttime destinations.  Riana smiled briefly.

I wonder how much longer he can resist? She mused merrily. It has been two weeks and I must admit I do admire his willpower.  Most of my victims don’t last a few days before they come to me begging for more or to be turned but him I had to make an appointment.  He showed up per my note, but he tried to kill me.  Even then, while he was under my power Black fought me but his efforts were futile.  He died right after I drained him the second night.  I felt him crawl off and die in his bed, his bible and crucifix lying forgotten on the ground beside him.  You know if I didn’t hate him so much for destroying Michael I’d be tempted to keep him around.

She knew the curse of her toothy kiss had coursed through the minister’s body poisoning his soul and corrupting his mind.  He wouldn’t be able to enter his church or hold his bible.  It was a matter of time.

Then my revenge will be complete.

She felt rather than saw him crouching near a cluster of tombstones at the very bottom of the hill.  The supernatural connection between them alerted her to his whereabouts as surely as if he was wearing a bright red neon sign above his head.  The frantic thumping of his heartbeat crossed the distance like an ocean wave and reverberated off her body.  Riana took great delight in its fluttering beat.

Come to me! She called out psychically.

She watched him dart from gravestone to gravestone trying to hide.  This amused her to no end and she wondered whose attention he was trying to avoid.  Was it hers?  Or did the infected preacher desperately attempting to conceal his plight from members of his congregation who had followed him here?  Would he approach her or just glare at her from a safe distance?

Hopping, loping and dashing she snickered as Black went from hiding spot to hiding spot.  Eventually the slouched figure crossed over the road in front of her mausoleum and slide to a stop behind a tall monolithic headstone.  Riana laughed and the sweet sound of her merriment rang out in the graveyard.  She heard him moan in arousal in response.

“You cannot hide from me, Reverend Black,” she called out.  “I can feel your presence as surely as I can see the moon above me.”

“What have you done to me?” he cried out in a pitiful tone.

“Nothing you didn’t deserve.”

“Who are you?  Why do you haunt my dreams?  Night after night I saw your face dancing like some Gamorrahian whore in sensual visions which cloud my mind.  Now I have wakened in my grave only to be pulled to your presence.”

“I am Riana—the mate of the vampire you destroyed.  I was lying in the other casket while you drove a piece of vile wood into my lover’s heart.”

“But that’s impossible!”

“Why because you think I couldn’t move the coffin above me to get out?  You are as stupid as you are misguided.  I have strength enough to carry my hiding place for many miles without breaking a sweat but you were too lazy to check.”

“Please restore me to Glory—I cannot enter my own church anymore!”

“You are of the night now.  No longer can you call for divine aid or even utter the name of your deity.  I have made you what you despise.”

“Why have you done this?”

The holy man stepped out from behind the monolith and staggered towards her.  She noted dispassionately his white face, gleaming fangs and hungry face.  His hands were curled into painful claws and the smell of burnt flesh wafted past her face.  She guessed he tried to enter holy ground only to find he was damned forever.  Tears ran down his hollow cheeks so terrible was his plight it nearly tugged pity from her undead heart.  She had taken everything away from him he had stubbornly clung to.  Pathetic and distraught he sobbed quietly before her.  But she heard the echoes of Michael’s voice and the sudden remorse for Black’s plight died a stillborn’s death.  He stopped two feet away and fell to his knees.

“Tell me why you’ve made me this way?” he demanded softly.

“To teach you a lesson—I didn’t ask for this curse but I live with it the best I can.  Michael and I never took a human life but you weren’t interested it that.  You came, filled with righteous indignation and slaughtered my beloved like some sacrificial lamb on the altar of you puffed up ego.  Now you will suffer as I have,” she said making her voice cruel on purpose.

“Please no”.

“You can accept your fate or wait for the morning to come and destroy you.  There will be no redemption either in Heaven or Hell for you, Reverend Richard Black!”

She turned her back on him and shut the door to her crypt.  A part of her wondered what course of action he would take.  Would he greet the dawn and die or would he slink off to his own grave and hide from the sun?  She was hoping for the second option.  Knowing his vast ego and the terrified look in his eyes somehow she just knew Black would succumb to a vampire’s existence.

I’m sure once the Assistant Minister of the church reads the note I left on his car this evening he will take action.  Perhaps tomorrow night he’ll finish what I’ve started.  How ironic that the speech I heard him deliver will be his undoing, Riana chuckled to herself.

The Pin-Up Girl

AUTHOR’S NOTE; The following is a work of erotic/horror if you are under the age of eighteen PLEASE LEAVE NOW!  This came to me after I read an article about the rise of “pin-up” style 50’s magazines.  Enjoy!

There she was staring brazenly at him from the computer monitor.  Lounging on a chair backwards and wearing only a men’s collared shirt open just above her flat stomach the model gazed back.  Dark hair cascaded down and flowed over her alabaster skin making her look even paler.  Her deep eyes like pools of midnight, the coy grin and the thrusting out of her chest made Chester Marshall’s Adam’s apple dip downward in a jerky motion.  Her breasts strained at the white material, her black bra visible beneath it.  Long legs flowed out and ended into a pair of black feathered mules.  He could feel himself swallow several times while sweat dotted his forehead.  Marianne was printed along the side of the page, no last name given.  The words burned into his consciousness as if laser etched.  He clicked the arrow on the bottom of the page and his hot breath husked out as Chester waited for the next webpage to load.  He gasped when it did.  The next image was of the sultry vixen reaching behind her trying to free her snagged her gown’s hem from the closed doors of a bedroom’s closet.  The hiked up dress exposed the tops of her hose and the black garter belt she wore.  Marianne’s sexy legs, with their bunched up calve muscles and taut thighs made him rock hard and aroused.  The expression she wore that of surprised indignation and red-cheeked shame made his heart leap.  He felt himself swallow once again, sweat trickling into his eyes blurring the image momentarily.

“Damn she’s the one,” he heard himself say.  “I’ve been looking for someone to collect exactly like this.”

Leaning forward he read the words printed on the magazine’s page during the last century.  His eyes flicked across the brief sentence while his libido thundered through his mind like stampeding horses.

“Marianne is in a hurry,” he read aloud.

This obsession had gripped him only recently.  His interest in fifties pin-up girls had been sparked by an article in a men’s magazine about the rekindling of this style of photography.  Despite an age of easily accessed nudity and porn, a cornucopia of free sexual pictures filling the landscape of the Internet it had become fashionable once again.  The titillation factor, the displayed innocence of the models and the recollection of a more sophisticated time drew him into its web.  The veiled sexuality, hinted and vague was the main attraction for Chester.  In fact he had become totally immersed in the culture of the fifties.

After selling his wildly successful stock broker firm for a sum almost too disgustingly large even for his ego he started to amass collectibles, cars and memorabilia from that long distant era.   After buying a ’55 Cadillac Fleetwood 60 Special (just like Elvis’) he went on a purchasing tour de force.  Music, art, films became sought after, purchased and loved by him.  Now he found himself heavily into collecting pin-up girls.  It started with rare Time new-stand magazines but soon he found himself the owner of anything worth having.  From there it became pin-up girls from those veiled periodicals with names like Gala, Eye, Figure Studies, Wink and Charm.  This quickly led to others like Follies, Scamp Adam, The Dude Nugget, Frenchy, Escapade and Black Silk Stockings.   It was the models he longed to procure.  However owning people was illegal so he settled for just the original pictures.  Soon this too was complete with the exception of those photographs destroyed or lost.  This is where the Internet came in.

He had started with the most famous and worked his way down.  Gigabytes of files on Betty Grable, Bettie Page, Marilyn Monroe (as Norma Jean), Veronica Lake and the rest resided in cherished folders on his hard drive.  However his palette had become less refined and he searched and cruised the Web for less known girls.  Days became nights, nights became days and now his constant searching had paid off.  He found someone special, rare and uncommon.

“She’s perfect,” he gasped, “obscure, innocent and with the right amount of barely contained eroticism.  But there’s something else, something familiar…”

Marianne—last name unknown, the featured pin-up girl for Sir Magazine in the June ’56 issue.  His shaking hand moved the mouse over to open up another tab in his browser so he could scour other sites without moving away from this one.  He licked his jerky dry lips and typed in her name and that of the magazine.  Breath whistled out of his mouth, between the gaps in his clenched teeth while the search program scouted for places on the Web where Marianne was hiding.

“What?” he exclaimed.  “Only four sites found?”

The mockery of the results made him growl angrily.  He was already viewing one of the places she was located and it meant he only had three more to check.

“Well it could be worse; I suppose I could’ve gotten no results at all.”

He moved the arrow on the screen and clicked the first link.  The page loaded slowly making his anticipation duplicate exponentially like a dozen hares giving birth simultaneously.  Hopes and fears filled his mind like an overcrowded rabbit hutch.

The screen eventually flashed the message “Error 404, Page Cannot be Found” making Chester scream and pound his free hand against the computer desk.  Swearing under his breath he hit the Back button and activated the next link.  It too resulted in another agonizing defeat.

“Come on Marianne…you have to be out there somewhere,” he groused.

The internet browser flicked blank, a white page taunting him with its emptiness and lengthy loading time.  Eons passed and Chester tried to contain himself and his lust.

It loaded up and he felt his jaw drop.

Marianne’s image spread across the screen in multiple boxes, most in black-and-white but a treasured few in full color.  Across the top of the page the marquee shouted “Original Marianne’s Home Page; Images of a Pin-up Girl”.  Chester’s heart froze like it had been dipped in liquid nitrogen.

“I-I can’t believe it,” he stammered, “It’s an entire site dedicated to her and other models of that era.”

He clicked the Images tab and began picking and saving the pictures he found.

****

An hour later with his newly created computer folder bulging with Marianne’s digital photos, Chester went back to the main page of the site.  He was pondering about emailing the site’s owner to ask if these images where scanned from the original photos.  Clicking the word contact he was shocked to see the email address, originalmarianne@znet.com.

“It can’t be,” he muttered.  “She’d be at least seventy-two years old if she was eighteen in these pictures.  I suppose it’s possible but I bet it’s a clever gimmick by the owner of the website instead.”

Clicking the contact he began composing the email to request the existence and purchase price of the glossy photos of the stunning ‘50s beauty.  His stomach reminded him he had been sitting too long without eating.

****

Chester tooled down the road in his ’55 Cadillac after dining.  Elvis was crooning from the CD player, the device was the only addition to the vintage car he had allowed.  He burped in a ragged fashion and savored the aftertaste of his meal.  The moon was full and was perched high in the night sky like some cosmic child’s ball.  He reached the outskirts of Hollywood and pulled into the mansion once owned by George Reeves, the original Superman.  Pulling into the multi-car garage he mused on the night’s pursuits.  Strolling into the mansion he hoped, like he always did to encounter the ghostly specter of the deceased actor.  Once more he was disappointed.

I should check my email just in case, he thought.

Chester went into the chamber he had set aside for his computer room and fired up the electronic machine.  After several impatient minutes of waiting he double clicked the browser icon and sat back.  Shocked he leaned forward when discovering he had a reply.

Dear Mr. Marshall,

I am both pleased and honored by your interest in acquiring my old photos.  It has been a long time since I’ve posed for them and I’m not sure I want to part with them   You see they are near and dear to me.  I cannot possibly sell the originals but must admit I’m intrigued by your offer to buy the duplicates.  Please reply to this email so we can discuss what you would be willing to pay for the doubles I do have.  Additionally I have recent shots never before seen so I await your correspondence.  I have attached one just to whet your appetite.

Sincerely,

Marianne

Chester read and then re-read the message, his heart pounding.  However it was the line about recent photos which made him laugh.  Was the attached photo never published before in the fifties?  Surely they weren’t current ones.  He tried to picture the aged crone sitting at the computer typing with arthritic fingers in response to his email and sending him a digital picture of the varicose veined ruination of the legs he had so admired.

“Now I know this is a gimmick because who’d want pin-ups of a woman nearly in her eighties?” he laughed aloud.

He downloaded the picture sent along with the electronic letter and sat while the virus protection software checked them out.  After the security program finished up he opened them just to have another chuckle at the old woman’s expense.

What came up on the screen stunned him.

It was Marianne, there was no doubt about it.  She hadn’t changed in all those years prior to his contacting of her.  She was lying half-in and half-out of a brand new Lexus, her skintight silver gown raised up well past thigh level.  Her long legs hanging out and softly encased in black hose and disappearing into a pair of very expensive Chanel high heels he knew for a fact had to go for at least three grand in price.  The double C logo was clearly visible on the front of the footwear.  Her breasts, untouched by age bulged sensuously out of the silvery Marilyn Monroe replica gown worn by the actress for the birthday party for then President John F. Kennedy.  His well trained eye told him it wasn’t some J. C. Penney’s knock-off but a very pricey imitation of the famous gown.

“This has to be Photoshopped!” he accused angrily.  “She’s taken an old pose and put it onto a new background.”

But if it was the case she was an expert with the imaging software.  He couldn’t tell if it was really her or not.  The clothing, car and shoes in the picture were current but was the woman?

“Well before I rise to your bait, Marianne,” he said, “I’m going to send this to Peter to have it analyzed.”

****

Three long and exhaustingly boring days later he found a reply to his request to his computer specialist.  Peter’s email was a happy release from all the agonizing and waiting he had done for half a week.  Clicking the message he began to read with earnest.

Mr. Marshall,

I received the image and per your request have examined it with all the software and expertise I possess.  I don’t know why you wanted this checked out but I can tell you with 99.99% accuracy it is genuine and not altered by any imaging software.  I await the monetary electronic transaction in payment for my usual fee.

Sincerely,

Peter J. Schlott

“It can’t be… can it?” he said to himself.  “This could mean only one of two things.  First she was never in any magazines of the fifties and this is all an elaborate ruse.  Or second she has a granddaughter who resembles her.”

A third option fleetingly rushed through his mind, he dismissed it entirely.    Chester clicked the message from three days ago from originalmarianne@znet.com and began the task of negotiating a purchase price for the duplicates she had.  All the while he secretly looked forward to turning the con artist in for forgery.

****

A week later he had successfully negotiated for a dozen “authentic” photos of Marianne with the website’s owner.  The private investigator he hired had told Chester that Marianne was actually Marianne Fierst and resided at the Shady Arms Rest Home in Century City, California.  The site, per the hired sleuth was run by her daughter Marilyn Westenra who sold her mother’s, and other former models, pictures for profit.  The accompanying surveillance photos proved beyond a reasonable doubt the young woman strikingly resembled the fifties pin-up girl.  However her age and her appearance didn’t seem to match even though she was well into her forties.  The Los Angeles resident was almost too youthful looking for her age.  This disappointed him.  He was hoping Marianne was some supernatural creature untouched by time.  Still legal action wasn’t called for in Chester’s mind since the photos would be original.

Driving to the Monterrey Hills section of LA Chester’s pink Cadillac nosed towards a more affluent section bordered by the working class neighborhoods.  The night had recently fallen and he had the top down enjoying the sites, sounds and smells.  The warm breeze brushed through his red hair and tickled his nose by ruffling his mustache.  In the trunk of his car was the briefcase filled with the recent withdrawal of funds to buy the duplicate glossies of Marianne in her prime.  His mood was light and he felt amazingly happy.

I should pay a visit to the woman in the photos, he thought.  Just to let her know how her beauty in those days still can inspire my interest.  I’m sure she would be flattered.

A part of him worried though.

However to see how she looks now it might spoil what I’m about to do.  It would be rather cynical and cruel but I really shouldn’t remind her of all she’s lost to be honest.  That gives me an idea  it might be possible to fund a magazine or e-zine in the same style of these faded beauties.  I wonder if Ms. Westenra would be interested in such a partnership? Her business is thriving but yet I could help her achieve new heights.

Then it hit him.  The bolt of pure, hot inspiration coursing through his entire body felt like an electrical current.  It was something he had never thought of before and the prospect thrilled him to no end.

If Marilyn could be wooed successfully I would have both a living representation of the era I so love and the kind of woman I’ve been seeking for a mate.  Of course this would depend on the chemistry between us.  I will forgive any business partner the occasionally odd idiosyncrasies but I won’t tolerate that in a wife.

He was still thinking about the ramifications of a possible romance with Miss Marilyn Westenra when he pulled into her driveway.

Well I’ll be damned, there’s the Lexus coupe from the photo.  I bet if I look into her closet I’ll find both the dress and those expensive shoes, Chester smirked inwardly.  So the “new” pictures are really Marilyn but how did she manage to stave off the effects of time?  How disappointed I’d be if the truth is so drab because I’m hoping for a mystery to unravel.

The Cadillac eased to a silent stop next to the expensive luxury sedan.  He got out of the car and brushed away some imaginary dust from his business suit.  Chester retrieved the briefcase and sauntered up to the front door, his anticipation building.  The reality of holding actual photographs of Marianne at the peak of her freshness made his hands sweat and tremble.  He licked his lips as he rang the doorbell.  It opened and he clamped down his lips to avoid an unmanly yelp of surprise.  Marilyn was almost a carbon copy of her mother.

She was tall, almost five feet and nine inches in height with the same deep brown eyes.   Her hair was as dark as midnight in a mineshaft and fell in a silky avalanche around her smooth shoulders and framed her gorgeous face.  Her lips, painted a hot shade of scarlet were twisted up in a knowing and sensual smile.  Her chest pressed against the material of her vintage homemaker’s dress and the frilly apron was no less tantalizing.  It looked more like an accent than a determent to her appearance.

It’s like being greeted by Mrs. Cleavers’ hotter sister, he thought instantly.  Someone who would act all proper by day or in public but be a real hell-cat in private.  Oh my!

“Mr. Marshall I presume?” she cooed seductively.

“At your service,” he replied equally hinting at sexuality.  “May I come in?”

“Of course.”

She stepped aside and permitted him to enter.  The house was unfortunately decorated in the current styles which immediately shattered the time-traveling feeling he was experiencing.  Chester sighed deeply and sat on the couch.

“I trust you brought the agreed upon sum?” she stated.

“Naturally,” he answered.  “May I see the photos please?”

“Of course.”

She picked up a manila envelope after putting on a pair of latex gloves.  Gently she removed the twelve eight-by-ten glossies of her mother’s glory days as a model.  Chester felt his smile grow upon his face.  The pictures were absolutely, positively worth the asked for price.  Marianne in a bathing suit lounging across the bow of a boat, Marianne in a sun-dress whose hem was being blown up around her waist and many other seductive shots from yesteryear.

“They are magnificent,” he whispered.

“I’ll make sure I tell my mother how much you liked them,” Marilyn remarked.

“Why the deception though?  Why pretend to be her?”

“I don’t really know—I guess I’m a bit jealous.”

“You never tried modeling?”

“I did but after the first year of rejections I decided to pursue another career.”

“Selling your mother’s old photos.”

“Yes it’s quite lucrative.”

He set the briefcase on the table and opened it.  The appearance of seventeen thousand dollars made Marilyn voice drop the charade it had adopted.  She shrieked out, “Show me the money!” and the momentary loss of her 1950s airs by using such a current expression made his disappointment go down like the Titanic.

“I’d like to offer you a business deal,” he suggested.  “I’m looking to start a magazine in the same style as the ones your mother used to pose for.  Since you look so much like her it would be easy to feature you and others like you as models.  We could agree on a thirty/seventy percent split if you’d agree to sign on as both model and partner.  We could tie it into your website and others like it.  Pin-up girls are becoming popular once again.  What do you say?”

“Y-you’re kidding?” she stammered.

“I never joke about business, Miss Westenra.”

“You have a deal then.  Can I get you a drink Mr. Marshall?”

“I might be interested in a martini.”

She stood up and strolled very properly to the nearby bar.  He watched her impersonate a fifties wife, obedient and yet independently sensual.  Even though he knew it was a charade he found it compelling, erotic and titillating.  Marilyn came back, the drink in hand and presented it to him.  As she bent over he could see the vaguest hint of her deep cleavage peering back at him.

“You don’t want one?” he asked her.

“I don’t drink—alcohol,” she replied.

“You should really learn to live a little.”

“I’ve lived enough I think.”

“Apparently enough to know a good deal when you hear one.”

“And a good man when I see one.”

Her scarlet lips parted in a coy grin and her alabaster skin seemingly began to glow.  He began to wonder if it was because of the money, the business offer or her genuine attraction to Chester.

Probably all of them combined.  I’ll bet my last nickel she’s investigated me as well as I have her.  A pre-nuptial agreement would protect me from her mechanizations if she’s agreeable to a romance liaison or even more, he thought.

“Can I offer you anything else?” she whispered in a husked tone.

“My dear Miss Westenra,” he said, “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”

“And what if I am?”

“Well I’m not above mixing business with pleasure but surely someone so pretty is married or has a boyfriend?”

“My husband died years ago.”

“How long ago did he die?”

“We were young when we got married and it isn’t worth mentioning.  I went back to my maiden name right afterwards and haven’t bothered with matrimony since.”

“I did some research on you.”

“I’m not shocked—you have a reputation for being quite thorough.”

“I find it amazing you are nearly fifty years old.  You’ve held onto your natural beauty quite surprisingly.”

“That’s an odd compliment, but I’ll take it quite the same.  Someday I’ll have to tell you my secret for eternal youth.  But let’s get back to this apparent seduction you think I’m attempting…”

“So you admit to doing so?”

“Well you’re rich, handsome and about to make me wealthy.  I suppose it’s only proper for a woman to show you just how grateful she is for all of those things.”

She began to untie her apron and Chester’s breath caught in his throat.  He concentrated on her mouth as she licked her lips provocatively while she undid the ties behind her back.  The frilly pink material was flung over her shoulder without a word between them.  Marilyn picked up the remote control and suddenly the room was filled with Frank Sinatra’s At Long Last Love which Chester knew had been recorded in ’56.  His hostess moved over in front of him and began to sway to the music.  She ran her hands down her sleek, sexy body.  He tried not to openly display his sudden and complete arousal while she danced for him.  The curling of her lips, the swing of her hips and the mesmerizing shake of her breasts had captivated him as surely as a net.  He was enthralled.

“Do you want to make love to me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he responded dully.

“I thought so.  I must admit I wanted you the minute you came into my house.  You’re so strong, powerful and manly I couldn’t resist trying to seduce you Mr. Marshall.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be—I rarely take lovers these days.  Somehow I sense you and I possess kindred spirits, a sort of cosmic bond.  Don’t you think so?”

“Yes.”

She turned around.

“Undo my zipper, please,” she asked, “I can’t reach it.”

He reached up and with numb, trembling fingers assisted her in tugging down the zipper.

“You’re such a gentleman,” Marilyn commented.

She turned to face him once again and let the shoulders of the dress slip down over her pale shoulders.  The straps to her bra, black as sin were exposed to him.  She began wiggling out of the dress, a slow shimmying quiver resembling a snake shedding its skin.  Her body was bared for him, inch by decadent inch until the material was gathered near her slender waist.  With both hands she squirmed out of it, letting the dress fall around her ankles.   She wore a pair of French cut panties and a black garter belt.  Her smooth loins and supple thighs gripped by the naughtiness of the undergarments making Chester suck in breaths like gulps.

“You are beautiful,” he gasped.

“Thank you,” she demurely answered.

She leaned down, her breasts spilling towards the edges of the cups of her bra.  Her lips like wet satin caressed his cheek, her tongue sliding down to the rim of his jaw.  Both sensations filling Chester with a drowsy yet exciting feeling pulling him down to drown in a pool of deep desire.  She kissed him deeply just before removing her bra and standing up, her breasts swaying in liquid heaviness from their sudden freedom.  Marilyn removed the panties, turned around and thrust her ass into his face.  His vision was eclipsed by the smooth round spheres of her bottom and the angry tribal tattoo across the top of her rear.  She began to strut and dance in a suggestive manner, her hand dropping to her moist, aroused pussy.

“I want you Chester,” she whispered.  “I want to take you to my bedroom, rip off your clothes and fuck you like an animal.  I’m going to suck your cock and then ride you like a horse until I drain your balls dry.  When I’m done with you I’ll own you—body and soul forever.”

She nipped at the skin on his neck.  He could feel her teeth as they grazed across his throat while she continued to frankly express what was about to happen in graphic detail.  The fantasy shattered into a thousand pieces.

“Excuse me I have to go,” he said, keeping his revulsion out of his voice.

“What?” she exclaimed.  “You’re leaving, just like that?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You might look like your mother but you act like a whore.  I’m sorry but the illusion you created at first was very arousing but you act just like the rest of the female species in this day and age.  I’m sorry but I’m an old-fashioned kind of man.”

“But what about the business deal?”

“My offer stands and my lawyers will be contacting you in a few days about the details.  Now if you’ll excuse me I have somewhere to be.”

Brushing through her protests and clinging hands Chester left her residence, empty briefcase and the manila envelope in hand.

I want a woman who isn’t so brazen and she just won’t do.  Tattooed with a butt-topper and having all the moral fortitude as an alley cat in heat—no that’s not what I want.

He climbed back into his car while she screamed obscenities at him from the doorway.  She hadn’t bothered to get dressed.  Right then he decided she wouldn’t make a very good business partner.

****

Her hair was grey, thin and unkempt.  The skin on her face was pulled taut and yellowed with age, liver spots dotting her throat.  He watched her halting breathing forcing her wasted breasts to rise and collapse beneath the thin and dirty sheets she lay beneath.  The stink of sickness and the nearness of death wafted off of Marianne like a foul perfume.  But the chemistry he sensed was still there.

Chester looked down upon her and felt pity welling up in his heart.  The new report from the private investigator had been given to him on his drive over here.  It was very detailed about the life she had led since the photos in Sir Magazine had been taken.  An abusive husband who had died in an auto accident but not before she had suffered nights of endless torment at his hands.  Years of being a single mom, working hard and doing the best she could after her daughter was born in the ’60s.  Only to suffer from an ungrateful only child who had wasted Marianne’s miserly saved bank account on plastic surgery to remain young and pretty.   The final straw was having her mother committed well before her time.  Now alone and abandoned she had resided here in this terrible place for twenty years under the false pretense of being mentally unstable.  A charge trumped up by a spoiled brat who now made money off her mother’s lost beauty.  The tragedy tore at Chester’s damned soul.

“I shall free you of mortal restraints, give you back your beauty and raise you up to be the paragon of perfection you deserve to be,” he whispered to her.

Her eyes, still deep brown opened with his words.

“W-who are you?” she asked, her voice gravely and hoarse.

“An admirer of sorts,” he answered.

“Who?”

“My name is Chester Marshall.”

“I don’t remember you, do I know you?”

“No but I know of you.”

“How?”

“I have seen your pictures from back in 1956.”

“That was a long time ago—leave me in peace I just want to die.”

“If I could restore you to your former glory, would you take it?”

Chester watched as tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her wrinkled face.  She tried to speak but the words didn’t come.

“I can do this.  I want to do this only for the love I bear you,” he told her.  “Will you consent to be my wife for all eternity?”

“You love me?” she cackled merrily.

Her disbelief made him slightly irritable but he reached out to stroke her iron gray hair.

“I have loved you since I first set eyes upon you,” he assured her.

She looked into his face and he knew the darkness was hiding most of his features.  But in that near lightless room he saw a spark of recognition in her eyes.  It was the same sensation which had coursed through him when he first saw her pictures online.  Without knowing her name, location or whether or not she was still alive Chester knew now he loved her.  Perhaps she was a reincarnation of his long-dead wife Madeline, in fact he was almost sure of it.  Marianne was now experiencing the same exact thing the bizarre re-kindling of some unrecognized but honest bond.  It was the undisputable siren song of eternal soul mates, a rare and beautiful thing.

“I see,” she rasped quietly.

“It is your destiny,” he answered.

“But I’m so old now, too old for love.”

“One is never too old for love, my dear.”

“Where were you when I was young and having my pictures taken?”

“I was still in England, living beneath a monastery where I was imprisoned by a traitorous servant who didn’t have the courage to destroy me.  I wasn’t freed until the late seventies and soon made my way here to America.  Something called me to this foreign country and so I came.”

“I was already divorced by then.  It would not have been too late for you profess these emotions for me.  So why now? I want an explanation for why did you wait until now to seek me out?  Where were you when I needed saving?”

“It has taken me a long time to re-amass my wealth and find a golden, secluded place to hide.  We vampires have to do this many times in our existence.  I was so busy with trying to hide my true nature I didn’t have time to concentrate on what brought me here.  I am so sorry for all the suffering I could’ve saved you from.  It must have been you but I was too late and didn’t know why I was drawn to the West Coast until just now.”

“So now you come for me?”

“Yes I’ve come to make amends for my mistakes.”

“You can really save me from death?”

“Yes and the horrible child you spawned from that bad marriage.  She is using you to feather her nest and I will not have your beauty sold like some cheap commodity.”

“She is evil, just like her father.”

“Would you walk the night with me?  Be my bride?  Now and forever?”

“Yes,” she wept.

He bared his fangs as she turned her head.  He pushed past the revulsion of her paper thin flesh and bit down.  The hot blood poured into his mouth while her arms went around his shoulders.   He drank his fill and then some.  Pulling away he gashed open his wrist with his teeth and made her drink of his stolen fluid.  She choked several times but bravely gulped down enough to start the transformation.

Her hair darkened to its midnight shade, her sunken cheeks swelling to their former beauty.  Marianne’s skin turned from yellow to its lost alabaster hue and her lips blossomed to full, crimson bows.  Her wasted bosom filled out and pushed the thin sheets upward as they swelled to heavy firmness.  He watched as the crone once more became the pin-up girl.   She rose from her deathbed and stood illuminated from behind from the moonlight through the window behind her.  The thin material covering her turned almost invisible and he drank in the sight of her near naked body.

“Come I have my car parked just outside of the gates,” he told her.

“What kind of car do you have?” she asked.

“A ’55 Cadillac Fleetwood 60 Special.”

“I loved the car Elvis had.”

“I’ll buy you a fleet of them if you like them.”

They started out the small, dirty suite and bypassed the dead security guard and the night nurse Chester had been forced to dispatch.

“What of my daughter?” Marianne queried.

“We’ll deal with her later,” he said with a smile.

The vampire and his new bride walked into the night air of California and Chester knew all was now right with his world.

She will be exactly what I desire.  The fifties wife I have longed for since I came to this country, hid my accent and gained my wealth.  As for Marilyn… well I think I can come up with a suitable punishment for such a vulgar woman, he thought darkly.

“Come,” he said aloud, “you must feed and I think I know just where to take you.”

Marianne smiled.

Christine Sixteen

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The following is a work of erotic/horror with graphic adult language and explicit sexual situations.  If you are under the age of eighteen LEAVE NOW!  Ever hear a song from your past and it suddenly sparks a short in your head?  Well I’ve been on a KISS overdose lately and thus this new tale.

Enjoy!

Chris

Christine Sixteen

The KISS song was blaring out of the car’s speakers making the windows of his Cutlass shake.  The thump of the bass, the screaming guitars and the pounding drums was enough to make anyone stare at the 1973 cherry red Camaro.  It was the summer of 1977.  The night was hot, the illegally bought beer was cold and the future held boundless possibilities.  Jake O’Donnell stopped in the middle of unbuttoning Roberta Evans’ four hook bra.  He had been unsuccessfully trying to undo the miserable thing while his date giggled.  The beginnings of the KISS tune broke his concentration and he growled something, feeling it bubble up from the back of his throat.  He untangled himself from their hot, sweating position to swipe at the droplets of dense condensation and peek just over the bottom of the window.  There, parked directly in the middle of the pack of vehicles was the Chevrolet muscle car.  The other automobiles parked along Ridge Road were dark with varying degrees of steam frosting the windows.   Jake noticed some of the other lovebirds were staring but quickly went back to their tussling activities making several of the cars rock from side to side.  Glaring hatefully at the racket thundering in their midst Jake was furious for the unwanted interruption.

“Jesus Christ!” he swore, “that idiot is going to get us all caught.”

“Forget about it.  The cops know about this place and what goes on here but they never show up,” Roberta Evans remarked.  “Come back over here, don’t leave me hanging.”

“But Roberta…”

“Jake if you really want a piece of me you’ll forget the bastard and get back over here or you can kiss us going to Prom goodbye.”

He grumbled under his breath.  Roberta was hot, sexy and very willing but for some reason the noise from the red sportscar was killing any desire for love in him.

In fact now all I want to do is bash in somebody’s head, he thought unhappily.

“Jake?” his date said.

Her tone rose at the end of his name, a warning he had just seconds to return to the business at hand or go home with a killer case of blue-balls.  It was an easy choice to make.

“All right, all right keep your shirt on,” he groused.

“Actually my shirt is off—and I’d like to keep it that way,” she laughed.

Twisting back to the snickering brunette he reached around to fumble at the chastity belt-like locks on her bra.  She resumed kissing him deeply and groping at his crotch through his Levi jeans.  He felt one snap of the brasserie come undone and felt a slight thrill of victory.

“One down, three more to go,” Roberta chuckled, breaking the kiss.

“Did you wear this thing to piss me off?” he asked.

“Ah come on Jake—aren’t you up for a challenge?”

“First you kept telling me no when I asked you for a date, then you agree and now you’re laying roadblocks in my path while taunting me in the back of my car.”

“I like it when guys are persistent.  If they are turned off by a few rejections then I know they’re not serious.  You, on the other hand didn’t let it slow you down.”

Snap number two surprising unclasped beneath his fingers and he watched her make an “O” shape with her glistening mouth.  Horny thoughts returned when he momentarily pondered how it would be exactly her lips would look when she went down on him.  He shivered with erotic anticipation.

Clasps three and four became more stubborn and soon he was sweating but not from the exercise he was hoping for.  Meanwhile the KISS song ended outside and he sighed in relief allowing him to pop open the next impediment to her bountiful bosom.

“And he’s down to one now, ladies and gentlemen,” Roberta announced in a slightly mocking tone.  “Can he do it?  Will he make it?  The suspense is killing me!”

Jake was about to respond with something angry and sure to end the night’s erotic festivities when that damned KISS song started back up.  He swore the volume had been turned up.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed.  “Not again and I hate that song!”

“Forget the music and get me naked.  I’ve gotta be back before midnight or my folks will ground me forever,” she urged him.

Christine Sixteen has to be the worst song that could play at this moment.  After she committed suicide last week I can’t stand it, he thought.

Roberta’s unexpected kiss and her hands stroking him through his pants obliterated the memory of the sophomore who killed herself.  He returned to her bra and the last snap surrendered after a short, epic struggle and he watched with wonder and amazement when Roberta’s undergarment slid off her shoulders revealing her heavy, full breasts.  Jake felt his mouth fall open.  Her tits were capped with pert, pink nipples.  Even with the poor lighting in the back of his Olds Cutlass he could see them perfectly.  She had the chest of a Playboy centerfold.

“Well?” she asked.  “What do you think?”

“They’re beautiful,” he gasped.

“Why thank you sir.”

“May I…”

“If you have to ask then I’m going to stuff them back in my bra.  Dammit Jake I want this to be a night I’ll remember.  Stop asking and start doing!”

Leaning forward he took both of her breasts in his trembling hands.  Roberta’s skin was soft, warm and amazing.  He watched with growing interest as her nipples became erect upon the peak of her tits.  Suddenly her smart mouth was silent.  She didn’t speak while he gently fondled and explored her exposed chest.  She groaned slightly when he ran his thumb over the peak of her right breast.  The sights of those pert nubs made him want to suck, nip and bite them.  He pushed her back and planted his lips over one of her nipples.  The flesh was tender yet firm from her excitement.

“Oh yes,” Roberta moaned.

He continued to falsely nurse at her chest and it made her ass squirm beneath his pressing weight.  Jake felt her grab him by the hair and pull his head down against her.  Squeezing her left tit and licking her right he listened as his date became further aroused.

“Oh yeah… suck my titties,” she cooed.

There was a hot, uncomfortable feeling emulating from the juncture of his pant legs.  He could feel the pulse of his rapid heartbeat in the trapped tightness of his cock.  He felt Roberta’s hand slither between their bodies and flutter helplessly against the harsh denim.  Jake twisted his hips slightly and she brazenly grabbed his cock.  He groaned into her tit.

“Ooh you’re so hard,” she commented, “I wanna see it.”

She pushed him off her and he reluctantly permitted it.  Roberta ran her hand down his naked chest and giggled girlishly when he flinched from her tickling touch.  His laughter ceased when her hand fell upon his belt bucket.

“Open sesame,” she joked.

The tug and sudden loosening of the leather strap around his waist made him realize this was all going to happen.

Tonight I’m gonna get laid, he thought excitedly.   I’m going to fuck Roberta Evans right here in my car… I can’t believe it.   The head cheerleader of the school is going to let me between her legs.

She grunted as she yanked down his resistant zipper.  The heat of his crotch was unexpectedly cooled by her actions and his body broke out in shortly lived goose bumps.  He let out a loud groan when she snagged a handful of his stiff, hungry organ.

“Oh Jake,” Roberta snickered, “you’re packing quite a bit there.”

“Think so, huh?” he said.

“You’re bigger than my ex-boyfriend… damn if I knew this about you I wouldn’t have put up such a struggle.”

His response was blown apart when she yanked down his underwear and fondled his hard, erect meat.  The softness of her palm and fingers running up and down his length made him silently worry he was going to shoot his load too quickly from the excitement.  He started to think of math problems to stave off any embarrassing and premature ending when she leaned down.  Algebra problems were no match for what happened next.  Her mouth enveloped his cock in a warm, suddenly and mind-blowing grip of soft lips and a darting wet tongue.

“Oh. My. God,” he gasped.

She bobbed her head up and down while he tried to roll with her oral punches.  He felt his balls rise up like painful knots against the base of his cock.  Her firm grip slid up with her lips and down as well.  A hot pressure built up just behind his swelling nuts and threatened to erupt unexpectedly.  Without warning his manhood was cold and held still by its base.  He looked down to see she had stopped and was watching the twitching, purpled head of his shaft.

“Too much?” she asked.

Jake couldn’t think let alone answer her.

“Do me for awhile,” Roberta suggested.  “I want you to last as long as possible.”

She moved away and pulled off her skintight Jordache Jeans.   Beneath the expensive denim was absolutely, positively nothing.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed.

“I hate underwear,” she giggled.  “It makes unsightly panty lines plus I like the freedom.  Something tells me you do too.”

He could barely see the wet patch of curly dark hair framing her naked pussy.  There was a glistening of dew-like moisture around the pink edges of her slit which made his mouth water.  She spread her legs further apart beckoning him to take a better gander at her no longer hidden treasure trove.  His breath caught in his throat and he began to sweat much more profusely.

“Like what you’re seeing?” she coyly husked out.

He opened his mouth to answer when he realized it was suddenly quiet.  No KISS song, no nocturnal insect sounds could be heard just their heated breathing.  She began to slowly caress herself.  He felt his cock twitch as it if sensed her vulnerability like some heat-seeking moisture missile.

“Well?” she demanded softly.  “Are you going to fuck me or what?”

The car door opened up without warning and the dome light exploded in a bright, brief illumination before sending sparks downward.  Jake flinched.   His head, shoulders and chest were rapidly reporting in screaming voices he was suffering tiny dots of burning pain.  There was a horrible, wet thunking sound which wrenched his attention from the hot points of searing agony on his naked skin.

“Urggh,” Roberta wetly gurgled.

Jake looked at her and felt his eyes bulge out of his sockets.  Roberta’s face was awash with thick, scarlet liquid which ran from her now soaked bangs and dripped off her quivering chin and into her deep cleavage.  Her brown hair was parted by the hard metal edge of a shovel which jutted out like the brim of some grotesque hat.  Her eyes rolled back until only the whites showed and her body fell half in, half out of the car.  Her corpse’s weight tugged the impromptu blade out of her skull with a metallic rasping sound.  Her feet beat for a few horrible seconds on the side of his Cutlass.  Then all was still and quiet once more.

“W-what the fuck!” he shouted.

Gone was any trace of his lust only to be replaced with gut watering, near bladder emptying fears.  The icy grip totally encompassed his body.

Roberta’s lifeless body spilled out onto the grass alongside of his Cutlass.

A small figure knelt beside the dead cheerleader and dipped a red nailed finger into the gory gap in the corpse’s skull.  The dripping digit was raised and disappeared into the deep cowl of the hood covering the killer’s head.  Whoever it was wore a cloak as dark as the night and hid their face.  Despite being utterly stunned by the sudden death of his playmate even Jake could tell the hand belonged to a female of the species.

“She wasn’t worthy of you,” a girl’s voice came out of nowhere.

“W-who are you?” he asked.

She doffed her hood and he felt his mouth drop open in shock.

I-it can’t be!  She was found dead a week ago!

“I’m hurt you don’t remember me, Jake,” Christine pouted falsely.  “You think I died or something.  Did you forget me so soon?”

“You did die!  I went to your funeral—the whole school did!” he replied.

“Silly boy…”

“It can’t be you… this is impossible.”

His memories and guilt welled up inside of his mind.  Christine Goodall, sixteen years old and desperately in love with him had committed suicide by opening her wrists with her dad’s razor blades while taking a bath.  Christine Goodall, the girl he’d turned down for Prom because she was too young and way to willing for someone her age.  Christine Goodall who was five feet, three inches tall and slightly overweight with baby fat not yet melted off her small frame by the onset of puberty.  Christine Goodall, had apparently risen from the grave.

But it’s her!  I’d know that face anywhere because she haunts my dreams.  It’s my fault she killed herself, he thought in thunderous tones in his mind.

“My master saved me,” Christine spoke softly.  “I was lying there in the tub bleeding to death.  I slit my wrists all because you wouldn’t return my love.  But he came to me and promised me power, wealth and eternal life if I gave up my soul.  I had only one addition to his bargain the ability to return to you and make you see how much I love you.  To make you totally and utterly mine!”

Jake began to crawl across the long backseat.  His hands reached behind him instinctively to fumble with the door handle.  The sixteen year old dead girl began climbing into the car, her hot red eyes fixated on his terrified stare.

“You can’t run from me any longer Jake,” she warned him.  “It’s destiny—fate, if you will.  I even got you the Camaro you were always talking about it’s right over there as red as blood, the blood I split just for you.”

He watched her lips part and saw the fangs of her canines come into view.  A gaunt and hungry look colored her features while he snatched in trembling futility at the only way out.

“You will be mine.  Now and forever!” she growled.

She lunged across the seat. He thrust out his hands to try to prevent her fully expected attack but she shoved them away.  Like a jungle cat she pounced on Jake.  Despite his being a foot taller and sixty pounds heavier Christine overwhelmed him as easily she would a newborn babe.  Hot pain erupted on his throat as she bit down.  He felt his blood spurting out of the wounds but never touching any other part of his skin.  As his strength faded his ears could only hear her slurping and the restarting of the KISS song—Christine Sixteen.