“No!”
Mary kicked out a foot, feeling the firm bash against the thing’s face. Instead of it falling back like she’d hoped, the thing only shoved her leg aside, making a wide space between her thighs. A hand slapped down between her legs.
“Stop!”
Mary tried to roll over. She was pushed onto her back. Little bits of rock and debris scratched at her through her shirt. Some pecked the back of her head. Mary pounded her fists on the top of the thing’s head as it crawled between her parted legs. She could’ve been hitting a slab of beef from the nil affect her resistance was having.
Looking up between the two hills of her bare breasts, she saw an elongated arm rise and swing down. Fabric ripped. Cold air washed over her groin. Her skirt and under garments had been torn away as easily as a spider-web.
Mary punched the hand pushing on her chest. It held on. She gripped a thick, fuzzy finger and tried to pry it back. The tip of its talons dug into the soft skin of her breasts. Blood flowed down the springy mounds in ribbons. The pain was like a dog bite that filled her with a paralyzing sensation. Her muscles locked, arms dropped to the ground and stayed there as if bound. All she could move were her eyes.
And she regretted this when she peered at the thing again.
It had lowered its pants. A dark blur of hair covered its scrawny legs. A tuft of fuzz rose under its stomach. Something like a flesh-colored slug sprouted, thickening as it pulsated and throbbed. A clear fluid dripped from the tip, burning her thighs like hot wax when it dribbled across her skin.
Mary tried to plead, to beg, but all she could produce were short coughing sounds.
On its knees, the thing hobbled closer, lowering its body onto hers. A forked tongue unfurled from its mouth, slithering across her breasts, coating them in stringy wetness. The serpentine tongue pressed her nipple between its cleft tips.
Mary watched with wide eyes as the thick, slimy member at the thing’s crotch delved between her legs.
A hot log shoved into her, spreading her wide. The thing’s thrusts filled her with fire. Mouth gaping, her groans were snagged in her throat and turned to retches. She felt as if she were melting inside, turning to liquid and sloshing out of her groin.
Mary told herself to move, to fight. Her body wouldn’t obey the commands and only remained there in a dull paralysis. The creature sucked and shoved, pounding her into the hard road. The rough surface beneath her tore her clothes, scratched her back raw.
It went on for several minutes.
Then the hardness between her legs swelled. She felt something hard and oval-shaped shoot inside of her, turn runny, and spread a warming numbness throughout her body. What had once been pain turned to tingling prickles of pleasure. Each breath seemed to cause an orgasmic pull that turned her groans to moans.
Soon she was squealing.
And laughing.
The gooey seed buzzed under her skin.
In her mind, the old Mary dangled from a rocky ledge. Holding on by one hand, her legs kicked above an opened maw of darkness. This Mary knew what was happening to her. This Mary felt every jab and prod, felt the thing’s hot scatter passing a sickness onto her. And when it was finished infecting her, the old Mary would no longer exist. A new Mary would take over, the old one never allowed back.
As she struggled to pull herself up from the ledge, boots that looked just like her own stomped her fingers.
She released her grip, and began to fall.
As she plunged, flapping her arms, she gave a fleeting glance at the edge. The new Mary stood above her, smirking as the old Mary vanished in the blank abyss.
In the middle of the road, Mary wore the same smirk on her bruised face. A newborn devotion had consumed her. She knew the kind of creature she would serve now. And her heart only beat because the thing—the vampire—had allowed it. She would forever be indebted.
It needed to feed, and she would see that it got as much as it needed to regain its strength, to grow.
To live.
“I’ll worship you forever,” she gasped.
The thing gave a final thrust as the block inside her began to deflate like a slow-leaking balloon. The thing began to pull out of her and Mary quickly curled her thick legs around its skinny waist.
“Don’t stop,” she moaned. “Do it again…I want more.”
And it gave her more.
A lot more.
The Vampire’s Graveyard Kiss
Geiner:
Why did they have to keep the heat on in Ed Gein’s house?
So the furniture wouldn’t get goosebumps.
-9-
Ed opened the lunchbox. Though he already knew what was inside, he still sifted through what he’d packed. A couple small cans of beans, peanut butter sandwiches wrapped in paper, and a bottle of orange pop that was no longer cold. Same stuff that had been in there when he’d checked an hour ago.
Removing a can of beans, he slammed the lid on his lunchbox. The clap of the metal reverberated through the quiet woods. Birds chirped in the mild day. Other animals scampered, making soft rustling sounds in the distance.
This vigil was probably pointless. He’d been sitting on the ground in the woods since before sunrise. So far as Ed knew, the vampire hadn’t come back to the graveyard since Ed accidentally let it go.
Hadn’t come back the last few nights, but maybe tonight would be different. Ed planned to wait as long as he could stand it. If it didn’t come back tonight, Ed doubted it was going to.
From where he sat, the graveyard looked almost untouched. The only evidence was the soil was a little trampled from where Ed had reburied the grave. But he doubted the creature had returned to its casket and somehow pulled the dirt back over itself.
Ed leaned forward, bringing his legs down and crossing them. He dug out his canoe knife from his pocket, folding out the blade. There was a click when it locked into place. Holding the can between his boots, he stabbed the blade into the top and began to saw around the lid. The sharp grating noises were awful and made Ed’s teeth hurt. He stopped cutting when there was only a little section of tin left. Then he folded back the lid, letting it dangle upward like an opened mouth.
He dipped the knife into the chunky broth inside the can. He scooped out a soggy lump, and ate it. It was cold and slimy in his mouth, but tasted okay.
Since the other night, he’d begun reading all he could about vampires. He had plenty of material to search through at his house: comics, magazines, and books. What information he’d found so far had been mostly counterproductive. He’d expected it to make him feel better, or at least give him some kind of confidence. Instead, it just seemed to fill him with more dread.
Too many contradicting stories, not enough facts.
All he knew for sure was a stake through the heart had killed the vampire before. Removing it had awakened it.
And now the vampire was on the prowl. Ed had picked up a slim pattern in the newspapers. Just a couple short articles on the last page about a couple missing men, travelers making their way through central Wisconsin. Most wouldn’t pay the articles any mind, but Ed had homed in on the connections right away.
The reports began a couple days ago. The men had been traveling alone, going from one town to another and the main avenue of Plainfield was most likely a path they’d taken. Somewhere before reaching their final destination, they’d vanished.
Dead cold.
Probably kibble for the vampire.
Ed just couldn’t figure out where the vampire was resting during the day.
Not here.
He was convinced its sleeping place was the connection. The men must’ve somehow stumbled upon its territory.
Or were lured there.
Either way, Ed was clueless. He couldn’t think of anything better to do than just park his ass in the woods, surveying the graveyard.
I’m trapped.
It was all on his shoulders, putting the vampire back down. When he did that, he’d think about the p
otentials that could follow later—the tour, the stage show, the fable on how he’d come to find the creature.
That can wait.
First, he had to kill it.
Ed leaned back against the tree, setting the can on his stomach. The bark felt bumpy and hard on the back his head. It snagged and plucked loose hairs whenever he moved his head.
Staring at the graveyard’s busted gate, he used his knife to shovel beans into his mouth until he dozed off.
-10-
“Slow down, honey,” said Mary. She gripped the hair at the back of the man’s head and tugged him back. It was the only place he seemed to have any. Even the spaces behind his ears were bare, the horseshoe rounding the back of his skull didn’t quite reach. “We have plenty of time. Save some for the bed.”
There was a ruddy smear on the man’s chin. His moustache looked mussed. “Come on, foxy, let me at ‘em!”
He pushed his head back down to her breasts, digging his tongue into the valley between them. She heard gross slurping sounds as the inner sides of her breasts were coated with wetness. His tongue brushed the wounds, making her gasp. Her companion must have mistaken this as a signal of her approval, for he slammed against her. He pushed Mary back. She banged against the edge of the bar. It hurt. Putting her hands flat on his chest, she shoved him away.
“I said hold on!” she snapped.
The man, Jenkins she thought his name was, held up his hands. “Whoa, miss, I do apologize.”
Mary adjusted the top of her dress. It was a red number, tight in the back, pulling against her breasts and lifting them like two globes on her chest. She’d powdered them so they would look even smoother than normal.
The man—Jenkins?—wasn’t from Plainfield. He’d come into the tavern last night on his way to Doverton. She’d tried to convince him to stay the night, but he had something to do in the morning. So she’d worked out an arrangement to meet him back here this afternoon. Though he’d seemed a little confused when she’d told him to park in the back, he was quick to agree to see her again.
“Don’t want my husband to know,” she’d said.
That had been enough to dissuade any suspicion. It’d worked on the others, so there had been no doubt it would trick Jenkins, either.
Mary stepped away from the bar. “Going to take off your clothes or what?” she asked.
“You told me to wait,” he said. Giving her a goofy grin, Jenkins snapped his fingers. “But I’ll have them off in a jiff.” He started fidgeting with the belt of his trousers. It took some effort for him to get it undone. When it hung open, he pulled off his coat, tossed it onto a nearby table, and slid down his suspender straps.
His pants dropped. Holding out his hands as if presenting himself, he stepped out of the pants while kicking off his polished shoes.
A businessman, for sure.
Mary held in her laughter. He wore dark socks up to his knees, a garter band holding them up. There was a section of scrawny, milk-white legs before they vanished under the tails of his buttoned shirt. A red tie hung like a crooked tongue from his neck.
“How’s this?” he asked.
“Get all of it off,” she said. Then she tilted her head. “But leave the tie on.”
“Oh?” An eyebrow raised, he started fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
“I like it,” she lied. Really, she just wanted something on him to grab. She supposed she could use his cock, but she preferred the tie.
Giving her that goofy smirk again, Jenkins flung his shirt wide. A white undershirt covered his chest. He wiggled out of the button shirt, then pulled the undershirt over his head. It got hung up on the tie, so he pulled harder to get it over his head. When he was done, he tossed the undershirt onto his pants.
“Better?” he asked.
“Almost.” She pointed at his crotch.
Nodding, Jenkins slid his thumbs behind the bands of his shorts and pushed them down his legs. A paltry pecker pointed at her like a baby’s finger. It was uncircumcised and moist, as if slicked in honey.
She’d seen cocks of all sizes and conditions, but this one had to be the lousiest.
It was hard to keep up her coquettish banter. “Come here, stud.” Leaning against the bar, she motioned with her finger.
“About time, my love. I’m about to pop.” He started walking.
“Can’t have that, can we?”
“It’s okay. I’ll go again.”
Mary resisted rolling her eyes. “A regular machine, huh?”
“Unstoppable,” he said. Jenkins pressed against her. She felt a tiny nudge low on her belly from his pecker. She put her arms over his shoulders, hugging his neck. Pulled him close. And shoved her tongue into his mouth.
Moaning, Jenkins’s eyes shot wide. She watched him panic as he tried to keep up with her darting tongue. Biting down on his lip, she pulled her head slightly back. Jenkins made a croaking sound as his lip stretched.
Without speaking, Mary hummed a tune that she hoped resembled Follow me.
Then she started walking backwards, tugging Jenkins.
Groaning, lip stuck between Mary’s teeth, he followed her. His hands pawed and squeezed her breasts through her dress. She winced whenever he hit the sore spots on her breast.
Mary, having left her shoes at the bar, shuffled along the floor. Her feet made quick swishing sounds on the dusty wood. She guided him alongside the bar, dodging the stools, until she reached the end. She turned, bringing him forward until her back bumped against the door that led to her back room.
Pulling Jenkins close, she started kissing him again. She lifted her leg by his side. The dress fell away from her arched thigh. His hand gripped her under the thigh, fingers rubbing, climbing. She felt them dive between her legs. With nothing on under the dress, his fingers had the freedom to explore.
Moaning, Mary moved her weight to one foot and opened the space to give him more room. His fingers entered her, and this time it was Jenkins who moaned. She kind of enjoyed how he worked slowly, moving his fingers in and out.
Between kisses, Mary said, “Come back here with me.”
Jenkins stepped back. Raising his arm to his mouth, Mary saw his fingers were wet. He used the side of his hand to wipe his mouth. Nodding, he said, “I’ll follow you anywhere.”
Some might have found the comment sweet, but Mary had heard it before from different lovers. Get them riled up, they’d say anything. She could probably convince him to marry her before he’d busted his nut.
Putting her back to Jenkins, she opened the door and threw it wide. The light was off, so the room was filled with dim darkness. It was colder in here, and caused her heated skin to harden with goosebumps.
“Come with me,” she said, entering.
Mary passed the sink, the stove. She paused in the doorway to the little room where she kept a cot. Sometimes she slept on it, other times she let people from the bar who shouldn’t be driving sleep off the booze.
Mostly she used it for her special customers.
Like Tom Worden.
Mary noticed Jenkins wasn’t with her. She turned around. He was standing in the doorway, his tiny pecker now hanging flaccid. He stared at her.
“What’s the matter, Lover?” she asked.
“Back there?”
Mary nodded. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s uh…”
“Too dark?”
She saw one of his shoulders bounce. “I don’t know. Something’s…off.”
“Like it with the lights on, do you?”
“Not all of them, but some would help.”
She supposed it might be a little too dark in here. There were no windows in this area, and she’d become used to the murkiness. There was a single bulb in the ceiling above the cot, but she wasn’t going to turn it on and risk Jenkins seeing something too soon.
“I’ve got an idea,” she said. Mary stepped over to the stove, running her hands across the cold smooth surface. She felt the box of matches. “Ah. H
ere they are.” Shaking the box, the sticks rattled inside. She took out one, struck it against the wall. There was a crackling hiss as the flame sparked.
“There’s an idea,” said Jenkins.
“How about we set a mood?”
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
Mary lowered the trembling flame to the candles on the shelf above the dials of the stove. There were three at different lengths. After she’d lighted all of them, the room was filled with yellow, guttering light. Shadows danced on the walls, slithering in shapeless forms.
Gripping the largest of the three sticks, she broke it from the base of melted candlewax. Facing Jenkins, she held the candle out, showering her pale skin in flickering light. She slid the dress down her shoulders, letting it fall to her ankles. Looking down at herself, she saw how her heavy breasts hung freely. Her large nipples pointed rigid. The tuft of hair between her legs was like a blotchy shadow. Her skin looked dusky in the candlelight, as if painted in gold.
Jenkins made a shivering breath. “Damn fine creation…but…”
“My butt’s nice, too.”
A corner of Jenkins’s mouth curled. “I’m sure it is. The but I meant is…” He pointed at her chest.
Though she knew what he was talking about, she looked down as if confused. The marks of the vampire’s claws had left two large dots on the upper slope of her breast. The wounds had hardened with scabbing, a spread of bruising connected them together. “Oh, these? They’re nothing.”
“They look painful.”
“They were. But not anymore.”
“Ah.”
Smirking, Mary tilted her head. “Now will you come back here with me?”
Jenkins rushed in.
“Lover?” she said. Jenkins halted. “Shut the door?”
“Oh, right.” Jenkins turned around, and pushed the door shut. Facing her, he held out his arms. His tiny pecker started to rise. “Better?”
The Vampire of Plainfield Page 8