Vampire next door
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A Vampire Story free porn video
Being a vampire is strange. If I had to name a single
reason why, I'd say it's because you're dead. When you're
alive you barely even see life - not the bugs crawling on
the sidewalk or the mold growing in the gutters. When
you're a vampire, they all glow. Dead things glow too - now
that I'm one of them, I feel like they're my friends, my
family even. I know I'm not so different than a rock or a
velvet Elvis painting. We get along, other not-alive things
and I. We understand one another. Not that I didn't talk to
inanimate objects before, I'm not going to claim that. It's
just that now they talk back. Or actually, they don't so
much talk back as not talk back in a very meaningful way,
if you see what I mean. I mean, some of them talk back -
other vampires, for instance. And zombies; zombies talk,
but mostly they just say RRRGGGH! And Braaiaiiins.
No, that's a stupid stereotype. I've only met one zombie
who moaned about brains aloud ever, and she was a crack
addict, so go figure.
But yeah, the world's different now that goblins, vampires,
and fallen angels rule the cities, or seem to. Actually
it's the cities that rule the cities - always has been. The
rats and the concrete and the exhaust fumes are the secret
kings, and you only realize it when you're as dead as they
are. Dead as dead rats, I mean, not live ones - live rats
are mostly as clueless as humans.
The Queen of Vampires reports to a lamp-post, for example.
The lamp-post doesn't give her orders, but it clearly runs
the show on its corner and we give it the respect it
deserves.
Let me set one thing straight - dildos and other sex toys
feel no pleasure whatsoever. That's not completely true -
they enjoy sex like I enjoy a cup of coffee in the late
afternoon when I'm wearing my pajamas and trying to find
something worth watching on daytime TV. I hate coffee, but
some people like it and it's pretty much the same for sex
toys. They don't have nerves, you see, so they don't feel
what humans feel unless they're very imaginative, and even
then they don't have any way of knowing how their
imaginations compare to the real reality of the thing. What
do you want of them? Sex toys aren't mind readers. I tried
to describe sex to one but I could tell that it didn't
really get it. I tried to demonstrate, but the nerve
problem got in the way. Also the problem that sex toys
don't have brains, which really limits how well they can
understand much of anything. Poor things.
Mannequins don't feel sexual pleasure either, so stop
rubbing them that way. You'll chip their paint off, and
then they won't be nearly so pretty.
Sex toys and mannequins don't have nerves, but they often
have paint, which is another reason why I get along with
them so well. My nerves are dead, except when blood is
flowing through my veins (and I don't even have veins when
I'm mist or a shadow or dust or a bat. No, I actually do
have veins when I'm a bat which is kind of stupid if I
decide to take a nap in a ceiling fan and somebody turns it
on.). And I wear paint on my face so I don't look so pale.
And when you chip the paint off I'm not so pretty, unless
you consider corpses to be pretty. Sicko.
Corpses are pretty, though. But I'm a corpse myself so I'm
allowed to think so, and you aren't. So get out of the
morgue and into the sunshine, why don't you, unless you
work in the morgue - in which case would you help me do my
makeup?
Which brings me to another point: VAMPIRES ARE NOT JUST
CORPSES. Ignore everything I've just said up to this point,
I was just funnin' you, 'cause it's all bullshit and most
vampires consider the word corpse to be a racial slur, kind
of, if vampires were a race and not just a state of being.
Of being dead, I mean. But, as I was saying, we are not
just dead! We are children of the night, and Night is not
one of those mommies who wipes the bloodstains off of your
mouth with her spit. No, she's more the type who yells at
you in the parking lot when you don't learn the lessons
she's trying to teach you, like how to melt into shadows
and darkness or climb walls like a spider or fly or turn
into mist, or dust or ash or salt or rats or cats or bats
or dogs or men or women or people you kind of know and say
hi to only you can't quite remember their name (and that's
always embarrassing) or people you know really well like
your husband or brother or lover or daughter or mommy...
It takes a long time to learn all of Night's lessons, but
if you don't know them your vampiric master can always
perform them for you - 'cause your blood is one, and you
are one, and really there's only one vampire if you look at
it the right way, with many, many bodies and an ocean of
shared blood, like a secret sea living in corpses all over
the world. And, as I was saying before, it's a child of the
Night.
So that's the way it is. A vampire shares its blood with
you and you become part of Vampire, and Vampire has another
corpse to walk around and get stuff for it. And Night
teaches it stuff, teaches it stuff that its little corpse
brain can learn or the older vampires can make it do.
My name was... I'm not going to say what my name was. I
never liked that name, or maybe I did and the blood won't
let me like it now. But I was one of the rogue wanderers
that dress in crappy leather and walk around from city to
city 'cause they're too cheap to get a bus ticket and hope
the scary monsters will get them work. I had a beard, and
an eye patch, and they called me Snake. No, that was Escape
From New York, but it was a good movie and kind of reminds
me of how I was. And Snake didn't have a beard, just
stubble, but I had a beard - not a Santa Claus beard but at
least a lumberjack type beard. I worked all night and I
slept all day, ironically enough.
I got caught in a gang war between a bunch of orcs and
those women with snakes for hair, mainly because I went
into the Job Placement center and asked them how I could
get a job involving those women with snakes for hair. Not
because my name was Snake, because it really wasn't - that
was a joke.
But yeah, call me Snake. That's kind of a good vampire
name, too. Or maybe Venom or Coil. Scaly McGee - no, not
Scaly McGee.
I always thought the women with snakes for hair were pretty
hot, or at least they looked hot in the drawings they made
of themselves and passed through the cracks under your
motel room door. I think those were drawings of themselves,
maybe somebody else drew them, but you'd think they'd want
to get people who could do shading and perspective and
stuff, so they probably just drew themselves since the
drawings didn't have any of that. Also whoever was looking
at them to draw them would probably have turned to stone,
unless they were just guessing.
So I got a job with the women with snakes for hair. They
would mostly communicate with me by email or instant
messenger, so I wouldn't turn to stone. They mailed me my
paycheck, too, except when they forgot and I had to go over
to their house to pick it up. Then they'd turn the lights
out and I'd just see their glowing eyes and hear the
slither of scales rubbing against one another, and I'd be
more turned on than ever before. That shit was hot - it was
like their hair was having sex with itself, making baby
hair. But where would it lay its eggs?
I would think about that for a while, until one of the
snaky women would get bored and tell me to leave. They
probably wanted to turn the lights back on so they could
get on with their lesbian pillow fights. Later on, when I
was a vampire, I stopped in and they actually did have
lesbian pillow fights - who'd have thought? They rubbed
baby oil all over their snakes and gave each others'
breasts some little love-nips. Then I woke up and it was
all a dream - OR WAS IT?
So one day after several weeks of just busywork - "Get me a
cup of coffee, Scaly McGee" - "Go mail this letter to
Pegasus or whatever, Scaly McGee" - "Model my lingerie for
me, Scaly McGee, 'cause I'm to lazy to try it on myself and
I think it'd be funny to see your hairy, muscular chest in
a nightie. HA HA HA! That really is funny, isn't it? Oh,
that's rich; I could look at that all day. Through email, I
mean - get back to the scanner, Scaly McGee!" And I had to
do data entry and fix the Y2K bug and okay, I really have
no idea what my job was. I was alive at the time, and
that's pretty much exactly the same as being really, really
drunk. If you've ever been alive, you know what I mean. I
was probably a bouncer at the Snake-Haired Woman Nightclub,
if there is such a thing. And there is: I'd go there all
the time. And lo and behold that's probably me on their
Bouncer Hall of Fame wall. Or obscene graffiti, even.
Probably put there by me yesterday, when I was tagging
everything with obscene graffiti.
So anyway, I got this email that said basically "Scaly
McGee, go kill this gang of orcs for us. They've been
making a nuisance of themselves flashing gang signs in the
middle of our 7-Eleven and stabbing our peeps and I think
they're on the verge of figuring out the mirror trick and
also discovering fire."
That was really bad news, because when someone discovers
fire the gods get pissed and take it out on everyone. Last
time it happened they cursed us with the Y2K bug, which
isn't surprising because divine entities are shit at
coding. Also they created leprosy.
In case you don't know, the Y2K bug was what happened back
in the year 2000 AD when all the computers thought it was
Halloween in the year 0 AD and let all the monsters loose.
It turned out that it wasn't a big deal, we still have
electricity and gravity and America is still discovered,
which doesn't make any sense but that's Gods for you. You
might not remember this because, as I said, it wasn't a big
deal.
So I go to the 7-Eleven with this HUGE rifle and some hand
grenades and yell "Any of you biz-natches been fucking with
the Women with Snakes For Hair Crew?" And the orcs are all
"Word!" and "My precious!" which is what they say when
they're talking to their rings. Now that I'm a vampire I
talk to rings all the time, but I never call them My
Precious, which is stupid. You know orcs.
So I'm fighting the orcs with my kung-fu, chopping their
heads off and then shooting their heads with my bigass
rifle and also my hand grenades, trying to keep them from
stabbing me. They stab me anyway, and I'm bleeding all over
the goddamned 7-Eleven when the frigging cops show up.
"Freeze!" shout the cops, which is stupid because I'm
bleeding all over the goddamned 7-Eleven and I can barely
move at this point even if I wanted to, and I didn't even
want to because I didn't get much sleep the night before.
"Medic!" shouted the cops, and this woman shows up with
bright red hair and a sexy nurse uniform. "Don't panic!"
she told me. "I'm a nurse! And I'm also a vampire, which
you should panic over. Not because I'm a nurse, but because
I'm a vampire. Got that?"
I nodded.
"Now put on this sexy nurse uniform!" she ordered. So I did
and the cops start giving me all these catcalls and I had
to blush. Then I died from blood-loss.
But before I had died all the way the nurse bares her fangs
and also her breasts (because I was wearing her uniform)
and sucks my blood which I didn't have and injects me with
vampire blood she had in a plastic I.V. bag.
The next thing I knew I was in an abandoned subway station
that had been filled with thick plush carpet, velvet
pillows, and flickering candle flames.
There's the nurse again, only now she's dressed in a purple
gown, low-cut and decorated with a spider web motif. Her
blood-red hair is piled on top of her head with silver
latticework holding it in. Her dress was slit up each side
so that her legs showed up to her waist. Just as impressive
as the nurse uniform, which I was still wearing.
"I am the vampire queen," she told me.
"Like, duh," I said.
I felt like I was being slapped across the face with my
blood. "Silence, thrall," she commanded. "Blood of my
blood, plasm of my plasm, Child of the Night, you dirty
little flesh-puppet."
Her eyes flashed. Her chest heaved. And I felt the blood in
my body respond to her call, rising up like the night-fogs
in a graveyard on a hot, sexy night. All my flesh boiled
away, and the mist was all I was.
I drifted too close to a candle. That hurt, really bad.
"Now," said the vampire queen. "You shall take a form of my
choosing."
And the mist coalesced, forming small lithe limbs pale as
snow. Long silver hair poured down my back in massive,
heavy ringlets all the way to my cute, chubby little ass.
"Lemme alone," I said. "I'm dead." Then I giggled: Hee-hee.
Tinkle tinkle.
"Oops," I said, "I went pee-pee."
The queen frowned at me in disgust. "Maybe I made you too
young," she said. "It's so hard to tell; they grow up so
fast these days."
I felt the blood mists rise within me once again, stealing
my corporeality. When I re-materialized, I had longer
limbs. My thoughts were more complex and organized as well,
and my chest swelled with young breasts.
"Now you've done it," I said.
"Silence, thrall," said the queen, who obviously had no
sense of humor.
"No, I mean you've done it," I said consolingly. "You've
accomplished the task you set before yourself. You're a go-
getter, a type A personality. You don't give up until
you're done."
I swear, she smiled.
"Well," she said, flustered. "You're going on a mission
anyway."
And so I went. I mean, first I asked her what it was, and
then I went to do it. That's what I do, after all: I'm a
missionary.
That's where she sent me: to a mission. A church, I mean, a
tall gothic affair with a bell and a hunchback and
everything. The stained glass windows depicted saints
bleeding and crucified in many creative ways. It felt like
home, at least to my blood it did. To my corpse brain it
just felt creepy, but I'm a creep myself so that was okay.
"Hello," I called. "I'm looking for a priest of some kind?"
"I'm a priest," said the hunchback.
"Not you," I said disdainfully, pursing my blood-red lips.
"Why not me?" the hunchback asked.
"I want the kind of priest that slays vampires with holy
water," I said. "Not the kind that rings bells and
befriends gypsies and yells about sanctuary."
The hunchback seemed offended for some reason. "I could
slay vampires," he said. "If I wanted to. I don't hold with
that kind of cowboy nonsense, though. I pass out the
Communion wafers, give confessions, and bang the nuns.
That's it."
"Nuns and gypsies?"
"There's no such thing as gypsies. Why are you dressed like
a sexy nurse?"
"Because I'm a sexy nurse," I explained, sticking out my
blood-red tongue.
"No, you aren't," the hunchback insisted. "What are you,
twelve?"
"I'm twenty-six."
"Sure you are. If you're twenty-six, why don't you sit on
the filthy hunchback's lap and tell him all about your
sins."
That tore it. The freakish dwarf could lie about being a
priest all he wanted, but I wasn't going to stand for him
blaspheming against Santa Claus. I felt the blood within me
rise up and talk to the Night.
My limbs stretched. My fangs grew. I gained cleavage. My
eyes shone like searchlights dipped in blood and also
ketchup. My fingers grew into claws as black as darkness
with no light in it at all.
I tore out the hunchback's throat, swallowing his blood and
the litle stringy things that held him together. I rolled
in the mess like a cat in a patch of catnip. The blood
within me purred.
When I opened my eyes, a tall, stern-looking figure in a
black priest outfit was looking at me sternly. He carried a
bowl filled with water. A large cross hung from his neck.
"Are you finished?" he asked.
I gulped. "Why the hell don't I have a gun?" I asked.
"I don't know the answer to that. Why don't you?"
"Because I didn't ask for one," I admitted.
"You didn't answer my question," he reminded me. "Are you
finished?"
"I thought you were being rhetorical."
"I was. Both times."
This guy was seriously messed up. "No," I said. "I'm not
finished. Now if you'll excuse me, I have more rolling
around in hunchback guts to do."
That pissed him off. He started splashing holy water at me
and hitting me in the face with his cross. "I told you I
was being rhetorical!" he shouted.
Okay, holy water hurts worse than candle flame. It's kind
of like how falling twenty feet onto iron spikes hurts
worse than stubbing your toe. And believe me, I've stubbed
my toe something nasty. But I just laid there and took it,
bawling like a little vampire baby.
Then I remembered I knew kung fu.
Then I remembered I didn't really know kung fu, that I just
knew how to yell like Bruce Lee does. It was no wonder the
orcs had been able to stab me. I probably shouldn't have
told the snake-haired women I knew kung fu either.
But then the night whispered to my blood, and my blood
whispered to me. "You're a vampire, you little bitch," said
my blood. It sounded a lot like the vampire queen.
"Frigging act like it." Except my blood didn't say
"frigging." Or anything at all, really, since blood doesn't
talk. If it did, it probably wouldn't call me a bitch,
either. That's just impolite.
"You like it," said my blood. "Don't you, slut?" Or maybe
that was the priest. No, it was my non-talking blood,
trying to make me look like a liar.
"Grr," I growled. "Braaaiiins!"
Then I stood up.
The priest looked surprised. "I'm surprised you can still
stand up," he elaborated.
"Vampires are burnt by holy water," I said. "Not zombies.
Stupid."
"Zombies," he mused thoughtfully. "Is that why you were
moaning about brains just now?"
"Yes."
"I thought that was just a stereotype."
"It is," I confirmed. Then I ripped his heart out. Then I
went outside to find a black person, because black people
sometimes have crack.
The blood inside me seized me again, and once again I
transformed, my hair turning red-gold-silver black (and
short and spiky), my lips and left nostril sprouting studs
and other piercings and tattoos stitching across my body -
tattoos of my name, and snakes, and white rabbits with
timepieces and the guy from Operation. You know, the game
where you try to operate on some drunk guy. My clothes
seemed now to be made of snakeskin, with snakeskin knee-
high boots and a snakeskin halter-top and a rabbit-fur
miniskirt. Or alligator-skin, maybe; I can't tell the
difference. I'm really bad at identifying skin. That's why
I couldn't find any black people, so I decided to go to the
nightclub the snake-haired women ran.
It was still there, or anyway it was there again (It might
have been gone for a while when I wasn't watching it. Maybe
the whole universe only exists because I perceive it - have
you ever thought about things like that? I do. I have a lot
of time on my hands). So I went in, and ordered myself a
whiskey sour.
"I.D., please," said the bartender. The Night gave me one,
without my even asking. I pretended to pull it out of my
purse, only I wasn't wearing one so it probably wasn't very
convincing.
Anyway, the bartender was squinting at my I.D. "Your name
is Snaky McGee?" she said dubiously. "We had a bouncer with
that name. Or a typist, or something. It's a really stupid
name, and I myself and dubious that there could be two of
you."
Yes, Snaky McGee is my real name. Scaly McGee, I mean. I'm
sorry to have kept it from you for so long.
"Yeah," the bartender said contemptuously. "Like those tits
are real?"
"I don't have tits," I said.
"What're those?" she asked angrily, waving in my general
direction. "Damn," she said to herself. "I oughta get
glasses."
"My halter top is full of Night," I proclaimed, showing
her. The Night flowed out of my body and into her eyes,
turning them black and filling her brain with nightmare and
other things that don't involve the daytime.
She collapsed, and I made myself a drink.
My flesh flowed like water, and my clothing squirmed across
it like a living thing. Before I knew it, I looked just
like the bartender. Or probably I did; it was hard to tell
since I needed glasses so bad. I remembered her as a small
woman with glasses and a sailor suit, but I was probably
way off. She mentioned not having glasses, so that was
wrong for starters, and the sailor suit seemed improbable
to say the least.
A gremlin or sasquatch or something came to the bar and
asked for a Coors. I filled a glass with something that
looked kind of liquidish and handed it to him. Or possibly
her.
"This is the best Coors I've ever tasted," said the
sasquatch, or fire-fighter, or possibly Judy Garland. I
breathed a sigh of relief. This bartending wasn't so hard.
Judy Garland left some money or teeth or hamsters on the
table, and I put them away. "Nice sailor suit," she said as
she left. I think she - or he - was being sarcastic,
though. Then she died, because she had been drinking liquid
gold.
My boss, or maybe just some random guy, came over to me
angrily. "Why are you filling the customer's glasses with
liquid gold?" he screamed.
"Um," I said.
My boss sagged in defeat. "I know, the liquid gold tap was
a bad idea. Please don't tell the women with snakes for
hair."
"Uh," I said.
"Well," said my boss. "I'll see you later, Abraham
Lincoln."
"After while, Crocodile," I replied awkwardly.
"Aha!" my boss screamed. "Why would you respond to the name
'Abraham Lincoln?'"
"Because I'm Abraham Lincoln?" I hazarded.
"Surprisingly, this is not the case! You are, in fact, a
vampire in disguise!"
"Gasp!" I gasped.
"The women with snakes with hair will deal with this!" he
shouted, and left to get them.
I tried to stop him, but I ran into a tree. Or a wall, or a
grizzly bear perhaps.
The women with snakes for hair came up to me quietly, like
invisible smoke that is so invisible it's probably
computer-generated. One tapped me on the shoulder.
"Abe?" she said. "You'd better come with us."
CHAPTER TWO: THE REVENGE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN
So there I was, strapped to a chair, stripped naked and
blind as a bat. I could hear snakes hissing near my face as
the snake-haired women did their teasing, seductive dance.
Then someone turned on the light.
"Good God!" I exclaimed. "I can see!"
The snake-haired women looked at me in kind of a funny way.
"For the fifth time," one said. "You weren't blind. It was
just really dark in here."
"Oh," I said. "So why aren't I turning into stone?"
"Because people turning into stone is impossible," said the
snake-haired woman. "Unless you're some kind of woman with
snakes for hair, of course."
"But aren't you - "
"Lies!" she screamed. "All lies!" She tore off her snake-
hair and threw it to the ground, where it made kind of a
thud.
"See?" she said with a grin. "Merely a cheap plastic
imitation." She tapped one of the walls. "This building?
Cardboard. This city? A model in a sound stage. All the
people you've met tonight? Squirrels in costumes."
One of the squirrels chattered at me.
"Amazing!" I said.
"Yes," said the bald-headed woman. A real cueball, she was.
"It is amazing. As are your voluptuous breasts." She began
feeling me up, kneading my breasts and licking my nipples.
I began to groan.
The bald woman gestured to her friends, and suddenly they
were all over me, sucking on my breasts, licking my thighs,
my lips, my toes...
The blood rose within me. I couldn't control myself.
Melting into mist, I slid out from the pile of bald lesbian
liars and solidified into a swarm of bats. Thousands of me
swooped down and stuck to the throats of the women, drawing
the blood from their bodies with my sharp fangs and
tongues.
In a mere six hours, it was over. I gradually melted back
together. "Being a vampire kind of blows," I said.
"You said it," said the priest I met earlier. "Except I
thought you were going to say 'sucks.'"
"That would have been unfortunate," I told him.
"Yeah," said the priest, sipping a cup of coffee.
"Aren't you dead?" I asked after a half hour or so.
"Gracious," said the priest. "That's precious. And
hilarious. Preciously hilarious." He laughed for, like,
eight hours. Maybe I'm exaggerating a little.
I covered my breasts with my arms. "So, what?" I asked.
"You're not dead?"
The priest laughed even harder, then stopped suddenly.
"Yes," he admitted. "I am dead. But I've been dead quite a
while. For I am... the Vampire Queen!"
His body grew misty and reformed as the aforementioned
Queen. She grinned at me, showing off her slightly yellowed
fangs. She should probably brush more often. So should I,
for that matter. Vampires are filthy pigs. Not zombie-
filthy, but still pretty filthy. Okay, that was unfair to
zombies. And hunchbacks. I mean, the hunchback I was
talking about earlier was much cleaner than I made him
sound. And he wasn't a hunchback, either. And we weren't in
a church; it was a subway and he was a turnstile.
"The punk tattooed look didn't last long enough," the Queen
said speculatively. "And you were intended to have sexy
schoolgirl adventures - why did that not happen?"
The Night lit my cigarette for me. I blew smoke in the face
of the Queen of Vampires. Right in her frickin' face.
"No idea," I said.
The Queen coughed, which was weird since vampires don't
breathe. "You've got a rebellious streak in you," she said.
"Don't get me wrong - that's pretty sexy. And cute. But
you're my thrall, so no blowing smoke in my face."
I put my cigarette out in her cleavage.
The Queen began to sputter. "That's wrong!" she said.
"That's just so... so... wrong! And sexist. And degrading.
And it hurt."
I smiled. "I'm a naked vampire chick," I told her.
"Point taken," she lied.
We went on to have many sexy vampire adventures. Or we
would have, if we weren't so busy talking to chairs and so
forth. Really, being dead isn't as interesting as it
sounds. We basically just lie around in our coffins and eat
pellets. Wait, no - we don't eat pellets. What am I
thinking of? Ferrets, maybe? Is it possible that I'm a
ferret?
Then I stopped observing the universe for a moment, which
ceased to exist. The universe, not the moment. The moment
ceased to exist, too, but mainly I'm talking about the
universe.
THE END... OR IS IT ONLY THE END OF A NEW BEGINNING? (It's
probably the end. Of a new beginning. Of the end.)
Maris
- 11.05.2020
- 9
- 0
