Victims: Fuck 'em or Suck 'em? (Free Vampire Short Story: May)

copyright 2010 Leslie Ormandy: all rights reserved.

"Victims: Suck ‘em or Fuck ‘em" is my websites free vampire story for May. This is the warning to readers that there is a bit of blunt language (the sort you might not want your young children saying). I have tried for an irreverent tone this month. And I nailed it. But the rating here would be just short of R due to language.

Oh, and this continues the adventures of the vampires in "The Slayer Wears Prada."

I hated the eighties the first time through; and now, damn it, the eighties are back. Everywhere I go women are strutting around in very short skirts with skin-tight leggings under them; worn with heels that a foot-fetishist would die for. Abbreviated tops and big-chested women in form- fitting tube tops compounds the issue, I have a perpetual hard-on. I don’t know which to do first, suck them or fuck them. Yeah, I’ll do both; but which would happen first? A crap-shoot.

Edging further under the shadow of the stairwell, I considered which woman I should “invite” home for dinner. The blond just passing looked good enough to eat. Screw playing with my dinner – treating her to a club before sucking and fucking – fucking or sucking? – but if you dressed like that you were asking to jump ahead to the main event. But then I hesitated as an even more appealing meal strolled by. Too many to choose from.

I dithered. I could not decide. Two parts of my anatomy were ready, but the sensible part of my brain told me to wait until Johnny arrived to join me. It told me that with so many slayers walking around dressed as attractive bait there would be safely for us in numbers. And as another scantily clad woman walked by my hiding place, I assured myself that there was more than enough for even two randy hungry vampires.

“Yo bro, sorry I’m late,” Johnny muttered as he slipped into the shadow next to me.

I jumped and wondered once more how he moved so soundlessly that even my vampiric hearing ability failed when it came to him. “So, fancy a blond, brunette, or redhead for dinner tonight? Personally, I’d like a red-head, like that one,” and he nodded in the direction of a tasty morsel just passing, “They usually put up a fight, get the blood pumping; and I love the adrenaline surge.”

“Or there,” he nodded in the direction of a pair of redheads, “you can have one too.”

I sort of liked the redhead idea. I hadn’t heard of any redheaded female slayers in the area. Should be safe. I like my un-life. It’s worth a bit of care to keep it.

Sliding out of the shadow, we drifted along after the tartlets, trying to look like two human males who just happened to be going the same direction as the two women we tracked. I wasn’t used to needing to be quite so careful, but attracting notice meant attracting slayer attention, and in these perilous times, that was a thing to be avoided. Sad when the hunter became the hunted, I mused.

The girls joined the line waiting to enter an after-hours club, and we queued up behind them. The line soon stretched a fair bit behind us as well, and I found myself surrounded by fair flesh. The scent on the air was overwhelming: heated blood.

Soon we were chatting them up like we were old friends, and they were hanging on our every word -- especially Johnny’s. He always had a way with words. My pick was Stephanie, a bottle red-head who, after a few minutes conversation struck me as just as intelligent as she was hot. But I could get-over on her with just a bit of “suggestion.” Johnny’s Leslie was not quite as smart, but definitely more interested in sex, which she made obvious with repeated touches to his arm and body, and casual brushing of her chest against his arm. He wouldn’t need to suggest anything more than the traditional “come on over to my place and look at my blogs.” She was low-hanging fruit; anyone could pick her.

By this time I was having trouble keeping my over-stimulated body in check. It wanted what it wanted, and it wanted it now. It was becoming hard to speak around my elongated fangs, and hard to walk normally as my hardon pushed against the restraining denim fabric. But neither Johnny nor I wished to call attention to ourselves by seeming more than normal horny males hoping to get laid. Our brethren wouldn’t appreciate us attracting slayer notice by being tagged as last known males to be with missing girls; inevitable in a CSI world, and clubs like this were hunting grounds world-wide for predators, both human and vamp.

On the dance floor after a few drinks, Stephanie kept doing the backwards bootie-bump – her butt to my groin. I swore softly to myself. Once more and I’d do her here. But Johnny, bless his soulless hide, with his gift of gab stepped in and suggested we move on to somewhere a bit more secluded, so we could each get to "know each other" a bit better. I moaned softly as Stephanie agreed. So soon we were worming our way through the dancers to the nearest exit – the back one which exited onto the deserted alley behind the club. Well, sort of deserted I discovered as we pushed our way through the steel door. Every dark corner had a couple in various stages of doing it.

We staggered down the alley with our tarts kissing and groping us which we reciprocated; we are guys after all with guy parts -- even if we are technically dead guys. And the low cut tops and high cut skirts made it quite easy to play with all the girl parts. Neither Stephanie nor Leslie made a move to stop us even though we were still technically in public.

The program damn near changed when the sweet musky smell wafted out of the darkened doorway and hit me. One of my mates was at step two: Suck em. I was a bit surprised when I heard the low pitched moaning of a male in extreme bliss moaning, even as the female voice muttered, "I'm 'giving it to you baby."

Luckily Stephanie didn't recognize the smell or her danger, and there was available space in a dark corner by a dumpster (handy for later). We stopped moving and, as her back hit the wall her hand edged down my pants closing cool fingers around Dick, and I knew it was fuck first, suck later. On the other side of the dumpster I heard the low moan of pleasure as Johnny made he same decision. Leslie was going to have a good time before she died. I got into the rhythm quickly, and was giving Stephanie a good pounding when I heard the tip tap of heels running down the alley. They ran by Johnny and me and I heard them stop abruptly. Then a female voice muttered, "die vampire," and I heard the thud of bodies hitting the ground as both the female vampire and her dinner collapsed together. "Damn. Gotta get duller stakes," the slayer murmured.

I thanked God that dick had a mind of his own and didn't go limp and useless as I heard the slayer slay one of my kind. And I thanked heavens that I had chosen to fuck first and suck later, or she would have spotted me and I would have been on the receiving end of the stake.

I listened as she tip tapped slowly up the block looking at the action, sniffing the air for tell-tale scent of blood. I decided to take the safer action, and go somewhere safer for my dinner. Then dick called all my attention as he thrust deep into the moistness of female and exploded into bliss. Damn near as good as draining the last drop of blood and feeling the life force flicker out.

Stephanie was staggering as I led her back through the back entrance, and I patted her butt and told her to hit the ladies and freshen up. I'd get us fresh drinks. While I waited Johnny joined me looking a bit full of himself at the near miss we'd just had. Eyes meeting we made the same decision at the same time and worked our way through the dancers to the entrance and walked out into the night to find our dinner.

"Damn retro eighties," I muttered to him as we strolled quickly by the scantily clad women still standing on line waiting to enter the club, "never know whether to fuck 'em or suck 'em."