Béla The Vampire Girl - Part 1 (long) free porn video

Do not believe for a moment that I condone the type of brutal behavior towards women that I write about. This is a fantasy. In a fantasy, if you stick a pin into someone’s rear end, they might get aroused, or think it’s funny. In real life, that pinprick fucking HURTS! And it’s not arousing, or sexy, by any means; nor are any other of the brutal acts described herein.

To my fans: Please be aware that this is a ‘work in progress’, and that there have been some changes made from the original (hopefully for the better) as I apply my futile efforts into improving this work.

For those of you still reading – enjoy!

Dank

(P.S. - This is pretty long, so it would probably be easier to read if you download it first [select the entire text, then copy it into your word processor]. That way, if you get tired of reading, just type 'Start here', and save it. Then just search for 'Start here' when you're ready to read more!)


The Adventures of Béla, the Vampire Girl
Book 1: Target Girl
Part 1
Chapter 1

Matthew met her at the Target Club. Angela had short-cropped red hair, bright green nails, lipstick and eyelashes to match. She stood there waiting for his order, looking at him like he was a tempting and illegal afternoon snack.

They liked each other right off and he flirted with her all evening. When it was her turn to go on stage, he whistled and applauded like everyone else, but he watched her face – not her tits or her bare ass. She liked that about him.

By the end of her shift, she’d agreed to go out with him, although she knew it was against the club rules. Instead of taking her to where he lived, though, he’d brought her here, to his private dungeon, a basement room in an abandoned warehouse in the industrial district two miles outside of town. There wasn’t anyone around for miles.

Of course, she tried to run as soon as he stopped the car. But he was very athletic and she was terrified – too terrified to concentrate on running, or even defending herself. She actually had a gun in her purse, but she fumbled it and he easily, laughingly, took it away from her. Then he dragged her into the building, kicking and screaming.

Once inside his concrete sanctuary, he actually turned her loose. She immediately attacked him, trying to subdue him quickly with kung-fu-like moves. But Matthew knew all the moves and enjoyed playing with her, kicking, bruising, hurting the terrified young stripper. He really liked capturing a young girl when she had enough spirit to fight him. He loved the excitement of watching a girl fight for her life, so he never considered restraints or gags, preferring instead to just beat the fight out of her. The longer and harder a girl fought, the more satisfying it was when she was finally beaten down and subdued.

After the first few moments, Angela cracked completely. She simply backed into a corner, whimpering, and let him rape her. She begged. She pleaded. She promised him everything, but she was too terrified to fight him anymore, even when – especially when – he pulled the long, serrated commando blade out of his boot.

He took a long time cutting her and listening to her scream. When Angela fainted for the fifth time from the sight of her own blood, Matthew was so upset with her lackluster performance that he butchered her, chopping her into little pieces, starting with her fingers and arms until she finally bled to death. He tossed her remains into three trash bags and threw them into the middle of the street on the other side of town.

A week later, Matthew was back at the same strip club, determined to get a pretty girl with some real fight in her. Strippers were his specialty. They teased and taunted, but never delivered. Matthew considered himself the avenging angel for all men, making certain each captured tormentor of men delivered everything, including her life, to him.

This time he was much more selective and found a tiny, black haired girl with large, almond-shaped eyes that seemed to see wonder in everything. She was intoxicating, exuberant – a tormentor so full of life that he knew butchering her would be the single biggest thrill of his morbid, painful existence.

She was small; not bony, but ‘petite’ and about five feet tall. Her olive skin, black hair and eyes indicated an exotic, mixed racial background. She could have been an Arabian princess or, more likely, mixed Semitic and French, considering that the French had spent the last couple of centuries mixing their blood with almost everyone else’s on the planet. ‘Béla,’ she said her name was, had an adventurous look in her eyes that told him she searched out excitement and liked getting into trouble. Tonight, he would give her more excitement and a lot more trouble than she could handle.

Wearing only a G-string and black mesh stockings, she sat, straddling his lap, her body filled with so much sexual energy that she could barely sit still. Some part of her always seemed to be moving or swaying in some sensuous manner.

“What would you like to do to me,” she whispered into his ear, “if we were alone, and you could do anything you wanted?”

Although he was startled at her odd question, he felt strangely compelled to tell his sweet tormentor the truth of what he planned for her. When he did, she’d pressed her naked breasts against him and kissed him passionately, right on the lips. Then she sat up, undulating her hips and belly in that incredibly sexy manner that seemed to belong to her, alone.

“Like this?” she asked, almost whispering with her eyes full of wonder.

She sensuously raked her thumbnail up from her pelvis to her rib cage, leaving a red welt on her skin as she ground her hips against him. Her face was flushed as well as her breasts, and her breathing was heavy as she mimicked his gutting of her. Her eyes glowed with excitement as they gazed steadily into his. He was sure she’d just had an orgasm, right there in front of him, straddling his lap with her sexy, tightly laced legs.

Later, Matthew watched her dance on the stage, fascinated with her, imagining little rivulets of blood running down her writhing torso where he would stab her repeatedly. After she came off stage, Béla invited him into a special room in the back to act out his fantasy, offering to be his very own, personal Target Girl – for a price, of course. He declined, suspecting it to be a trap.

When she then offered her ‘services’ for free, he was certain that it was a trap and she was attempting to catch a killer all on her own. Well, he would give her the chance to let him act out his ‘fantasy’, but not here.

He found out when she got off, and caught her in the alley behind the bar on her way home, beat her senseless and brought her to his basement lair.

When she woke up, she was lying on a cold, concrete floor. She groaned, not too loudly, but loud enough to attract Matthew’s attention.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Matthew grinned at her. “Good!”

Béla grunted as he kicked her in the side. She realized that the kick was intended to infuriate her rather than incapacitate her – it wasn’t that hard a kick. The one he’d given her behind the bar after he’d thrown her down to the ground had been much heavier and more brutal, intended to completely incapacitate her. Even though she’d seen that one coming and rolled with it as much as she could, he’d still knocked her senseless.

“Get up, whore!” Matthew yelled as he kicked her bare midriff again.

Béla grunted at the impact and groaned a protest as she tried to rise to her feet. She staggered upright and fell back against the concrete wall, staring around at her surroundings in a dazed manner.

“You’re… Matthew?” Béla asked, deliberately sounding unsure of herself.

The more he believed she was helpless, the more likely she could surprise him later.

“Yeah,” Matthew grinned. “And you’re dead meat, slut!”

“Where are we?” Béla asked, looking around, not realizing she’d given herself away.

She was the first girl he’d ever brought here who included him in her question. Every other self-centered beauty had asked, ‘Where am I?’ But the answer he gave this one was the same answer he always gave. One question wasn’t going to absolve her of the penalty she owed – that all women everywhere owed.

“This is your tomb, slut,” he informed her. “This is where I’ve brought you to die.”

There were no windows, and only the one iron door on the opposite wall, incidentally behind Matthew. The cold dampness of the concrete and the smell of stale moisture told her the room was probably underground. It could well be a tomb, and probably had been for Angela, and maybe others, as well.

“Angela?” she asked, deciding to find out.

Matthew grinned. “She was weak, and wouldn’t even fight for her life. She bled for hours before I let her die, and she died screaming. If you fight well, slut, I’ll let you die less painfully than she did.”

“You want to fight me?” Béla asked, less afraid of him, now. “Wouldn’t you rather have me dance for you? You know – your own private show?”

“You’ll dance and twist your belly back and forth while I cut you up!” Matthew snarled.

Matthew laughed as the girl seemed to seriously consider that. It was a cruel sound, and he said, “I don’t fight ‘girls’, they fight me! I just crush them, and beat them, and make them bleed. Girls are too weak for me to fight! They are only good for killing! Killing and fucking!”

“Don’t you mean that the other way around?” Béla asked, trying to get his goat.

The grin on his face widened, telling her that he preferred the sequence of actions in the order he’d stated them. Any girl he took would be killed, then fucked.

Matthew was pleased with the concerned expression on the stripper’s face, now. The stupid slut was in serious trouble, and she’d finally figured that out. Still, she took him by surprise when she leaped straight at him, knocking him halfway across the room as she bolted for the door.

Of course, the iron door was locked, and the girl’s cry of frustration turned into one of surprise and terror when he grabbed her from behind and slammed her against the wall. Using his weaker, left hand, he slapped her back and forth across her face, listening with pure pleasure to each yelp of pain and indignation each blow wrested from her.

On the forth swing to backhand her face yet again, the little stripper, instead of sliding down the wall in a state of battered pain and confusion, grabbed his incoming arm with both hands and took a good-sized chunk of flesh out of his left wrist with her teeth.

Matthew roared with pain and swept his right arm down and across her face, hitting her much harder than he had up until now, slamming her backward and watching with smug satisfaction as she bounced off the concrete wall and fell forward. He’d hit her so hard that her face was bleeding from the cuts his knuckles had made in her flesh.

“No more playin’, Bitch!” he snarled at her, pulling that commando blade out of his boot. “Now you die!”

He savagely slashed at her face, intending to cut right through her bloody mouth, only to discover he missed her completely as she dropped to her knees and launched forward to tackle him around the waist. The impact drove him backward several steps, but he didn’t fall. The fierce little slut simply didn’t have the mass or body weight to bring him down with a move like that.

Then Matthew roared again as the girl sank her teeth into his ribcage and tore a good mouthful of flesh away. Bringing down an elbow into her back broke her grip on him and she fell to the floor, sliding down his legs, scratching and biting him all the way to the floor.

He brutally kicked her back against the wall again, grinning as he saw all the blood on her. Then he realized that most of the blood covering her face and breasts was his, not hers. A two-inch gash on her cheek from his fist, earlier, was her only wound, so far.

“You ready to fight a girl, yet?” she asked, daring to grin at him with that bloody face. “Or can I munch on you some more…”

The savage little slut was breathing hard and barely able to stand up after that last kick, and she was taunting him? Matthew couldn’t believe it.

Snarling, he crouched down into a fighting stance, his arms crooked forward like crawfish claws – his commando knife waving in the little slut’s face. She smiled at him and vanished beneath his arms again. He was ready for her this time, though, and brought both elbows down into her back as her teeth scraped his ribs on the other side as she intended to give him matching ‘hickeys’ on his ribcage.

Béla grunted and dropped to the floor, her breath knocked out of her. With a victorious shout, Matthew slashed down with his blade, nearly missing the slut’s narrow torso as she rolled sideways in her attempt to get away from him. Instead of stabbing her in a kidney, the knife carved into and across Béla’s midriff.

Despite the painful wound he gave her, she kept rolling until she reached the wall behind her, then used it to brace against as she pushed back onto her bare feet.

Matthew noticed with pleasure that she wasn’t smiling, now. She still didn’t look very afraid, but he would change that in a moment or so. From the odd look in her eyes, he believed for an instant that the slut had actually enjoyed getting wounded. But that was impossible, of course.

That rapt, lustful look was most likely a misinterpretation on his part of the way a girl gazes at a man in her determination to find his weakness. That was, after all, how women fought men, wasn’t it? Find his weakness and exploit it? He anticipated a wonderful time carving her up and listening to her scream.

The little stripper was hunched down, holding her hand against where his blade had carved three or four inches into her soft, sensitive flesh under her ribs. Blood dribbled through her fingers where she pressed tightly in her attempt to keep it from bleeding too much. She was breathing heavily, watching his every move warily.

They circled. Matthew was surprised that the girl wasn’t staggering by now. Normally, internal bleeding from a body wound like that would weaken and disorient his victim. But within a minute, she was completely ignoring her wound. It even appeared to have stopped bleeding.

After waiting almost two minutes for the girl to rush him again, he sighed and looked away for an instant, pretending boredom. In that second, Béla dove under his guard, viscously attacking him, grabbing his knife hand and pushing herself in close. She sank her teeth into his jaw, tearing flesh and muscle from his face.

Snarling, Matthew grabbed her hair and pulled her face off his, ignoring the tearing pain of his skin, still tightly gripped in her teeth, as it ripped away from the muscle and tissue underneath.

He had a good grip on her, now and he twisted her around so that he was behind her, his arm wrapped around her head. His knife, coming in from her right side, sank deeply into her belly this time. The short, surprised grunt she made was so erotic that he could feel his body becoming aroused. This was truly going to be a good kill.

Holding her writhing body tightly against him, Matthew twisted the knife around in her belly and cut deep up and beneath her ribs, slashing into her lungs and severing some main arteries deep inside her lithe body. She was so thin the sharp tip of the knife poked out through her back between two ribs and scratched his pectoral muscle as she twisted furiously back and forth in his arms. Her movements against his body were so arousing that even his own knifepoint slicing a bloody streak across his shirt only excited him more.

“Yer dancin’, now, Bitch!” Matthew gasped in his efforts to hold onto her as he carved away.

Béla snarled her rage at him and coughed as blood began to fill her wounded lung, refusing to believe that this fight was over and she’d lost.

She went limp for a few seconds, and Matthew automatically loosed his grip on her, believing he’d wounded her beyond her ability to fight back. Then Béla twisted violently around in his arms to face him, her unexpected movement pulling the blood-slicked knife right out of his hand. Facing him now, still tightly held in his arms, she snarled again and tore into his neck with her teeth. Matthew savagely pushed her against the wall and smashed heavily against her, crushing the wind out of her lungs. She cried out in agony as he ripped the knife out of her and viciously jabbed it into her diaphragm and her soft belly several more times. Then he raised the knife over his head to dramatically plunge it into her chest, right in the heart.

As he began the fatal downward stroke, he realized that the girl was already unconscious; shock, the loss of blood and those last brutal wounds finally taking their toll on the nubile little stripper. She slid down the wall, marking where she’d been with a wide streak of dark red from several wounds where his knife had pierced completely through and out her back.

Gasping for air, Matthew dropped down with one knee on each side of her hips. He gingerly touched at the torn flesh on his jaw and his neck while he gazed down at her unconscious, bleeding body, admiration mixed with conquest gleaming in his eyes.

He’d never known a pretty girl who had fight left in her after he’d bruised her precious face or slashed her perfect body once or twice. Most girls were so vain that they would rather be dead and beautiful than alive and scarred. What they preferred didn’t matter. When he was finished with them, they were not beautiful. But they were very dead.

Looking at her lying on the floor between his legs, Matthew realized that this dying girl had loved this fight, and she’d fought savagely, bravely, careless of her own incurred injuries. She had closed with him several times, careless of his blade just so she could viciously rake his face and body with her teeth and nails. This one had been a vicious fighter, but not particularly trained in any of the defensive arts. He realized that, if she had been more trained, this little slut could possibly have beaten him.

Matthew gently, almost reverently picked her up and laid her out on the sacrificial table in the center of the room. He ran his hands over her breasts and belly, smearing blood from several cuts and the slashes he’d given her while they fought. The feel of her blood-slicked body beneath his hands was incredibly arousing; so arousing in fact that he didn’t notice there were no longer any cuts beneath the blood on her taut, smooth flesh.

He put his hands between her legs and forced his fingers inside her. He was surprised to find that she was sopping wet.

Evidently, fighting and physical pain seriously aroused this girl. No wonder she had fought so hard. He unfastened his jeans and fondled his hard-on for a moment before pulling her unconscious form to the edge of the table and entering her.

As Matthew shoved up inside the girl, she moaned and began to move. She coughed several times to clear her lungs, causing Matthew to grin at the sensations her pelvic muscles provided him with each convulsion of her body.

He was ready for her to begin her screaming, now, and raised his knife high above his head. Then he plunged it like a sacrificial blade deep into her lower belly. It was a stroke designed, not to kill right away, but to cause excruciating agony as she bled her life-blood out into her guts.

Béla gasped as the sharp blade sank into her belly, slashing white-hot through her flesh and deep into her gut, waking her instantly. She grabbed her attacker’s wrists helplessly as his arm moved up, then down, then up and down again, each stroke creating an new, agonizing sensation of hot lava in her soft belly. Each downward stroke rewarded Matthew with another violent convulsion against his cock buried inside her.

Finally, she lay quivering; gasping for air through pierced lungs, her stomach too ripped up to fight any more. Her torn and slashed muscles would no longer hold her up.

Béla mentally performed the mantra she’d learned centuries ago to separate herself from the agonizing pain in her belly and chest. The pain began to disperse more evenly throughout her nervous system. In a very short time, she had her nervous system reprogrammed so she could sensually ‘ride’ on the incredible pain she was experiencing.

She felt her body responding sexually as the agony in her belly and chest was dispersed more evenly. Now, her pussy, belly and breasts tingled as an intense orgasm began building up.

Béla cried out as he stabbed her again, this time with orgasmic pleasure rather than pain. Her body convulsed and she clamped down against his invading penis as orgasm after orgasm swept through her.

Matthew could tell there was some subtle difference in the young stripper’s cries, now, and was determined to create enough pain in her body so that her death cry would be one of eternal agony.

The knife sliced into her yet again as he slashed her left breast open. Béla was losing control as blinding pain and pure, white-hot sensation overwhelmed her entire body. Matthew slashed her other breast, carving it in half right through her nipple, destroying its perfect symmetry forever. As he began carving on her face, she lost her hold on the sensations she was experiencing and blacked out for a few seconds.

Matthew rammed into her again while drawing a decorative, wavy line from her left cheek down to her belly with his blade. His heart was pounding in his chest and it was hard to breathe. This girl was incredibly superior the one he’d brought here last weekend. Not only was this little slut stripper still conscious, but she was soaking wet and leaking constantly between her legs. If he didn’t know for certain how much pain he’d caused her, he would begin to believe she was actually getting off on the sexual destruction of her body.

Béla began to tremble violently in orgasm, unable to control her body at all, now. Matthew realized the girl was finally in her death throes as her insides clamped down against his invading cock almost painfully. He could feel his orgasm nearing, a rush of explosive sensation raging through his pelvis and nearly overpowering him in its intensity.

He raised the knife blade over his head with both hands to deliver the final blow as he came. With a guttural scream, he stabbed the knife down through her abdomen, pinning her to the table repeatedly as he came again and again into her dying body, filling her convulsing cunt with the most powerful orgasm he could remember.

He leaned, gasping, legs and body trembling, over her steaming, bloody corpse, his face inches from the freshly gaping holes still pumping blood around his blade, sucking in the smell of her fresh blood through his nose and mouth. His other hand slipped in the blood on the table as he tried to keep his balance.

Sticky red liquid spurted as he pulled his knife blade free. The smell of it was intoxicating. Her blood was everywhere, making the table and floor slippery. He watched as it pumped out of her body.

‘She still alive!’ he suddenly realized. ‘Her heart still beats!’

Béla lay, senseless and still, beneath him. Matthew’s pelvis was surrounded and soaked with her hot, sticky flesh, his penis throbbing with his need for another release. He sat up, straddling her torso – his ass and balls slippery against her soft, blood-slicked belly, the sensation making his need for another release even more intense.

He wiped his hands and knife against his bare chest as he sat on her thin, bloody stomach. He thrust his knife deeply up and into her diaphragm, feeling her twitch once at the impact of his knife as it penetrated something vital inside her. His entire body was rigid and he was trembling violently. He didn’t notice, as he gazed down at her gory, blood-covered body, that the wound he’d made up under her rib cage earlier was already completely healed.

He guided his hard member into the hot, bleeding vagina he had just created in her diaphragm with his knife. Now he could feel her lungs moving, her heart pounding wildly against his hardness. He began to thrust into her chest cavity, gruesomely rocking her dying body and head forward and back, his hands and knees slipping in her blood as it flowed freely from her new wound.

His second orgasm was even more intense than his first. As he pumped his semen into her chest, he stabbed his knife down into her heart, feeling her body convulse as her heart emptied its bloody contents into the freshly gaping wound with its final beat. He felt a tremor beneath him as she died.

Feeling enormously sated, and exhausted as well, he collapsed down on top of her, a hollow, weak laugh escaping his throat. Matthew’s most recent acquisition lay unmoving beneath him, her snarls and screams finally silenced, her lungs still, blood slowly oozing from her butchered corpse.

“You were really good, babe. Too bad I can’t ask for a repeat performance,” his raspy voice sounded back at him from the cold, stone basement walls, unsteady and hoarse from his exertions.

He wasn’t disappointed, though. There were still hours of pleasure ahead of him, cutting her up and fucking her various body parts as he prepared her for final disposal.

He looked down at her lying beneath him. “Girl, you’re a real piece of work. I should take pictures. I could sell you for a lot of money.”

After a moment, he slid off her cooling body, still considering this new potential for income. Raw pieces of meat and drying blood stuck to him as he moved. His dick and balls were soaked dark red. He could feel blood coagulating in the crack of his ass. It made his balls slide around between his legs. That he should be covered in her blood and gore felt right, somehow. It made him feel fulfilled and complete.

Matthew’s feet slipped on the floor when he tried to stand and his hand squished down into her gory, slashed-open abdomen as he caught his balance. Her blood seemed to sting his hand in revenge. Straightening up, he smeared his hand across his body and staggered unsteadily across the room. Her blood seemed to boil on his skin. Now that he had come, he noticed his dick was burning, too – almost in revenge for what he’d done to her.

‘Must’ve gotten some stomach acid on me,’ he decided and he stumbled in to the bathroom to shower it off.

Behind him, Béla lay on the table, her heart, chest and stomach ripped open, her dead body cooling. Blood stopped oozing from her wounds and began to coagulate. On a cellular level, however, there was a great deal of activity. Cells that were still alive were growing and dividing, devouring damaged tissue and absorbing blood to repair the damage to her heart. The semen pumped into her pelvis and chest was also absorbed, the pure protein and life-giving enzymes becoming an added boost for growth and repair. In just a few minutes, her heart, healed with fresh muscle tissue, began beating once again. Her body temperature immediately began to rise.

Béla awoke suddenly, gasping for air. She felt incredible; a new birth, a fresh, raw body. She kept her eyes closed and breathed deeply, luxuriating in the sensation of her body renewing itself. Being murdered would be her favorite hobby if she could get it to happen more often. In the last hundred years, she’d only managed it three times, this being the third.

After a time, she opened her eyes. She was still on the table in the center of the room. As she looked down at herself, she could see she was naked, covered with blood and loose chunks of her own flesh. Half of her left breast was missing, her breast tissue regenerating more slowly than more vital parts of her body. She lay back on the table, surprised, but pleased at the completeness of her butchery. This much regeneration would keep her young for a long time.

‘Wow! I missed a lot,’ she thought to herself, still somewhat disappointed.

She realized she would have to lie here for awhile until her stomach muscles healed enough for her to even sit up. Her lower abdomen was still intact (he probably didn’t want to stab himself in the dick), but the rest of the muscle tissue in her torso was shredded.

‘Almost tenderized,’ she thought humorously.

While her body regenerated, her mind drifted back to the last time she was murdered. Around fifty years ago, a Nazi officer she met at a party in Chicago had invited her to spend ‘Hanukkah’ with him. He evidently thought she was Jewish from her complexion and the slight trace of her accent. When she accepted and arrived a week later, she’d been arrested and taken from the airport directly to his quarters at some military camp, threatened and whipped, then thrown into a cell.

The next day, she, along with several young Jewish girls, was strapped to heavy metal tables, naked and shivering in the cold, winter air of the unheated room. Béla was first in line as her host officer came into the room and smiled at her.

“Welcome to your death, Judisch Bauersfrau,” he grinned at her. “You have traveled halfway around the world to participate in an experiment of great importance to der Fuhrer. This experiment will demonstrate how well designed our new field grenades are, and how they can tear a body into pieces. Unfortunately for you, you will not survive, but your contribution will be filmed for posterity.

“Each of you,” the tall, proud officer said, smiling maliciously at the other young Jewish girls, “will have the opportunity to demonstrate your ability to withstand the weapons of war which will be used to show how fragile the ‘chosen people’ are, in reality. This will also be a demonstration of your faith – how you face death. I am certain that der Fuhrer will enjoy watching the film we make of your contribution.”

A heavy camera was moved into the room and began to whir as it slowly moved up and down the length of the room, carefully filming the captured women with their breasts bared and their pubic mounds exposed as the tables they were strapped to forced them upward.

Béla never found out what happened to the other crying, mewling girls, as she was the first to demonstrate her ‘faith’. Tightly bound and unable to speak for the gag in her mouth, she felt, rather than saw, something large and cold being pressed against her vulva.

Despite the fact that she was frightened and uncertain of what would happen, she was also sexually excited. The soldier messing around between her legs made some obviously crude comment, which she didn’t understand, not knowing any German.

The cold, hard object was slowly inserted about halfway up inside her. Then she heard a metallic snap and everyone quickly moved away. The cameraman backed away as far against the wall as he was able, still filming.

The grenade blew her belly open, showering everyone and everything in the room with her bloody guts, leaving her hipbones exposed with most of her belly blown completely away. Béla looked down at herself, stunned and disbelieving. A weak whimper of surrender escaped her lips as she watched her own half-gutted body cavity filling with blood as it spurted down from her chest. Then she fainted.

When she woke up, she found herself in a huge open ditch with hundreds of fresh and not so fresh dead bodies. Surprisingly, not many were bloating as she remembered bodies on ancient battlefields did – most of the torsos of these corpses were either completely missing, or riddled with enough bullet holes to prevent the accumulation of internal gasses.

It had taken three days for her hipbones and pelvis to grow back. She never ever again wanted to think about what she’d been forced to devour during those three days while she healed.

Afterward, she found her Nazi lover and, after retrieving some much-needed vital fluids from his neck, released him from his earthly suffering. After she escaped the country, she decided not to let any smooth-talking military types talk her into any more holidays in fun-filled, modernistic Germany.

A movement in the room brought her mind back to the present. She held her breath and watched through slitted eyes as a man, naked, walked across the filthy room. Her attacker had showered and was drying off with a large (pink?) towel. He threw it over a chair and, still naked, opened the door of the nearby refrigerator.

‘Nice ass,’ she thought, gazing at his naked figure. ‘He keeps himself fit. He should be really tasty.’

“I may as well retire. It ain’t gonna get no better than you, Darlin’,” he said aloud to himself as he waved a bottle of beer in her direction before popping the lid. He tilted his head up and downed half the bottle, making crude noises in his throat as he swallowed.

“Damn bitch!” he exclaimed softly as he touched the raw, exposed muscle on his cheek.

Then he smiled, savoring the moment at the club when he had dared to tell the hot little stripper how he would violate her sweet, tender body with his blade. Her reaction had been completely unexpected, but incredibly erotic. He wished he could butcher her all over again, but settled for another swallow of cold beer. There was still a lot he planned to do to her.

‘Once you’ve had the best…’ he thought to himself, ‘you might as well rest! Hey, Hey! That rhymes!’

He took another big swallow of beer.

Behind him, Béla sat up and silently slid her mutilated body off the table. Gentle, dark eyes glowed from her scarred, knife-decorated face as she padded softly across the room toward him.

While setting the beer bottle on the sink, Matthew noticed a slight movement in the corner of his eye. He swirled around and found himself staring in horror at the bloody corpse of the young girl he’d just butchered, more terrified of her standing there than he was of actually dying.

‘Why are they always so frightened by their victims?’ Béla wondered curiously as she reached for him. ‘Is he so afraid of women that he has to butcher them to get off?’

Matthew tried to scream, but couldn’t draw a breath. He backed into the corner of the room, nearly toppling the refrigerator as the gory apparition moved forward and lifted its arms to embrace him. Snarling, he tried to push the unnatural thing away, horrified by actually having to touch it.

‘What’s wrong, my love?’ he heard in his mind. ‘You didn’t have any trouble touching me earlier…

Matthew screamed and cried out, “Get away from me!”

‘Hold me… make love to me again… Let me give you the pleasure you’ve given me… My dearest love…’

“Noooooo!”

Gently wrapping her arms around his neck, Béla pulled herself up his body, smearing her half-congealed blood all over his freshly washed bare chest. She embraced him lovingly, then, bracing herself with her arms over his shoulders, wrapped her legs around his waist as well, her hands tightly grasping each other behind his neck.

Filled with horror, violently slamming against walls and falling over chairs, Matthew struggled to get free. Her body was so slippery with her own blood that he couldn’t get enough of a grip to dislodge her.

‘Mine… forever…’ he heard the dead thing whisper lovingly into his head, terrifying him even more.

He felt her hot breath on his skin as she laid her head on his shoulder. Her hair was corpse-cold and sticky with congealed blood. As her teeth sank into his neck, he began to shake convulsively. There was an incredible pain in his chest that arched down into his left arm.

‘I’m having a heart attack!’ he realized, terrified all over again. ‘I must be hallucinating. This can’t be happening! It isn’t possible! Zombies only happen in movies!’

Desperately grabbing her wet, sticky hair with both hands, he pulled back on her head, trying to release his neck from her toothy grasp.

Tightening her arms around his neck, she bit down harder. In his terror, he heard her growling protest, “MMNNooooo…. My turn now…”

‘Holy Moses – She’s a vampire!’ Matthew suddenly realized, understanding divine retribution, now. ‘God, forgive me! I’m going to die!’

His feet slipped in fresh urine and his legs went out from beneath him.

Béla’s teeth sank deeper into his neck and a contented sigh escaped her lips as the fresh, hot pulse of new life spurted into her mouth. She was so blissfully deep into her feeding that she scarcely noticed the impact of their entwined bodies crashing to the floor.

Matthew’s heart beat painfully loud in his head as his life-blood was sucked out of his body. His penis engorged itself in one final effort to survive, taking up its small amount of blood for a last procreative thrust.

Béla felt the insistent pressure between her legs and agreeably moved herself to accommodate him. She gently slid down on his growing member and rocked her pelvis back and forth, fucking him gently as she fed, her lips forming a tight seal on his neck as she continued swallowing the hot, life-giving fluid spurting into her mouth and down her throat.

His heart, finally depleted of blood, gave one final, chest-racking thump and shuddered to a halt. His engorged penis convulsed several times as Béla received his final gift into her ravaged body.

Béla gazed into Matthew’s wide open, dead eyes as she wiped excess blood off her face with the back of her hand. She sighed, content, but once again alone.

‘Rest in peace, Angela,’ she thought, casting her thoughts into the darkness, ‘This butcher won’t hurt anyone ever again.’

Sated, Béla fell asleep on top of her late host as her body continued to heal from the cruel savagery that had been inflicted on her.

Chapter 2 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Béla stood in front of the Target Club wondering how she was going to get into her upstairs apartment. Her keys were in her coat pocket and she had no idea where her coat was. It had disappeared somewhere between the time Matthew had surprised her behind the club Friday night and when she woke up a few hours ago in his private little sanctuary. It was probably in his car, wherever that was.

She wasn’t sure what day it was, but from the traffic, it was probably Monday. From the putrid condition of what she’d slept on, she estimated she’d been unconscious for at least a day, maybe two, while her body continued to heal and regenerate.

She’d used Matthew’s shower to wash herself off, then took his coat and left, unable to find any other clothing that hadn’t been ruined in their violent encounter. She had wandered around for awhile, looking for a car with her coat in it, but finally gave up.

Recognizing where she was, she had walked the three miles back to her club from the industrial area in which she’d found herself. She walked along the gravel road barefoot, with her hands dug deep into the big, loose coat pockets, her shoulders hunched against the bitter, early spring wind.

In the last hour of her journey, cars began going by in the opposite direction; first shift factory workers on their way in to work. Some of them honked at her, but no one offered her a ride. There were penalties for being late to work.

The cold wind whipped up under her coat, reminding her, once again, that she had nothing on underneath. Barefoot and shivering in the cold, she banged her fist on the door of her club. Her hand hurt from the cold and seemed tiny and ineffectual. The noise her soft flesh made against the hard wooden door seemed to go unnoticed.

It was getting light. The overcast sky promised one last dying winter storm. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees in the last hour of her journey. Her bare feet and legs were numb and at the same time burning from the cold, plus her feet were sore and bruised from walking on all those rocks. Her hands were cold enough so that pounding on the door hurt her fist, but she banged on the door anyway; harder, this time.

“Frank? Are you in there?” she yelled.

Frank was her bartender, manager and on-again, off-again fuck buddy, currently ‘on’. She knew he was still crazy about her even though they had ‘officially’ broken up years ago. Whenever she went off on some weekend escapade, he would usually hang at the club finding things to do until she came back. Béla wasn’t too concerned about Frank’s inability to ‘move on’; privately, she liked having a backup available for when her own plans fell through, and he seemed to like having someone around to walk all over him.

“It’s about time somebody got here,” a female voice said from a car parked at the curb.

Béla turned around and looked. A head of thick, blond hair partially covered a face with too much makeup. As she walked toward the car, she heard the latch on the club door behind her turn with a loud click.

“Hi,” Béla said, putting her hands back in her pockets. Smiling curiously, she walked to the car window. A buxom blonde with shoulder-length, teased hair looked out at her.

“Can you tell me what day it is?” Béla asked.

A fresh gust of wind whipped up under her borrowed coat, causing Béla to hunch her shoulders and shiver violently.

The woman in the car smiled, almost laughing as she noticed Béla’s bare feet and the thin men’s coat she wore.

“Fun weekend?” she asked.

“You have no idea,” Béla answered, still shivering. “Sorry, I should introduce myself.” She pulled a hand out of her pocket and stuck it into the warm air coming out of the open car window. “Béla Wilson. This is my place.”

The blonde shook Béla’s fingers briefly. Her hand felt soft, warm, and moist; especially warm to Béla’s cold stiff fingers.

“Tanya Hastings,” she said briefly.

“Oh, you’re our new feature act this week,” Béla said, suddenly more cheerful. “Can I help you with your stuff? There’s rooms upstairs and a private bath – all the comforts of home – with carry-out.”

“You can get carry-out at seven in the morning?” the woman said, opening the car door. “Great! I’m starving!”

The intense cloud of perfume that wafted out of the car made Béla’s eyes water. Tanya opened the car trunk and started pulling out suitcases.

“Here’s my costumes. They’re so small,” she complained, “you wouldn’t think they’d weigh so much.”

“I’ll help,” offered Béla, grabbing a bag in each hand and heading towards the front entrance of the club, unlocked by the unseen ‘Frank’, still inside.

The two girls struggled with the three suitcases, finally shoving them in through the now unlocked front door. Béla yelped once when she dropped one on her bare, frozen toes.

“Hey! Shut the door! Yer lettin’ the cold in!” said a surly voice from behind the bar.

“Hey, Frank,” Béla called out, raising her voice to be heard above the dragging suitcases. “Thanks for the door.”

She heard a muttered response followed by the clink of glasses being pushed against each other as another one was put away.

The girls dragged the suitcases up a flight of stairs and stopped at the room with a tattered star on it.

“This is it! Your home for the next week!” Béla said cheerfully. “Let me show you around.”

“Oh, that’s okay, you seen one room you seen ‘em all,” her new acquaintance chirped.

“Well, you haven’t seen this ’un…” Béla grinned and opened the door.

They dragged the luggage in and looked around at the four-poster bed, a dresser with make-up lights, and, across the room, a huge shower and bath area complete with built-in Jacuzzi. A four-foot high wall separated the bath area from the rest of the room.

“Nice,” Tanya murmured, pleased with the dark woodwork accenting the pale pink walls and the open feeling of the rather large room. “Knocked out a few walls for this one, huh?”

“Yeah, I had Frank build it for me,” Béla replied, “took him nearly a year. Well, go ahead and get settled in. I’m going to grab some clothes and go down the hall for a minute. If you need anything, just yell. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, thanks,” said Tanya, throwing a suitcase on the bed.

Béla threw off her itchy coat, exposing her bare backside and grabbed a dress off the rack in the closet behind her. When she turned around, she noticed Tanya was watching her curiously. Béla stood still for a moment, holding the warm dress against her cold body, looking back at Tanya.

“I give personalized back-scrubs, too,” Béla said, grinning nervously, thinking that maybe Tanya might be interested.

She hoped Tanya was a ‘go’ for some light morning exercise in her Jacuzzi. She’d been looking forward to climbing into it for the last hour.

Tanya looked uncertain. “I want to get cleaned up first, and maybe get something to eat?” she raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been driving all night…”

“Oh, of course! Where are my manners?” Embarrassed, Béla scampered toward the door. “I’ll go find food – you clean up! Bye!”

She closed the door quickly behind her. “Damn!” she cursed to herself. She was still freezing. And now, she was horny, too.

Frank heard Béla romp down the stairs, still barefoot. The short amount of time she was upstairs indicated that she didn’t get the opportunity to wash the weekend off her, and that meant she probably needed his services, after all.

He grinned to himself and went into the kitchen. Pulling down his trousers, he began to play with himself. He was half-hard when Béla burst into the room completely naked, carrying a flimsy throw-over type dress over her arm.

“Oo. Is that for me?” she asked playfully, noticing what Frank was doing.

Without waiting for an answer, she dropped to her knees and hugged her shivering cold body against his warm legs, kissing and licking his hairy belly. Then she began concentrating on his dick, running her lips up and down the sides of it as it hardened.

Frank leaned back against the countertop, enjoying Béla’s enthusiastic display of affection. Her cold skin and her warm mouth created an intoxicating contrast of sensations.

‘She must have had a really rough weekend,’ he thought to himself.

He put his hands on her head as she sucked him completely into her mouth. He could feel her throat constricting around the head of his cock as she tried not to choke on it.

Frank moved his hands lovingly through her thick black hair. He loved its silky smoothness. This time, however, her hair was damp and sticky. He raised his hand and looked at it, flexing his fingers. His hand appeared to be covered in hair dye.

Or blood!

“Oh, God!” Frank exclaimed, suddenly worried sick about what she may have done.

Béla moaned in response and sucked harder, thinking he was about to come down her throat. That was quicker than normal, but she was ready for his little offering to help warm her insides.

Frank pulled her face off his cock. There was a popping sound as they separated. Béla looked up, surprised and distraught.

“What?” she asked anxiously, trying not to be angry at being tossed on her rear.

Frank knelt down in front of her and grabbed her shoulders. His face was full of anguish.

“God, Béla, what have you done?” he implored, his voice shaking. He looked ready to cry.

“Nothing,” Béla whimpered, confused by his inappropriate behavior and her own unfulfilled arousal.

“Nothing?” Frank asked, disbelieving her. “You have blood all over you!”

“Oh,” Béla said, slumping her shoulders a little, trying to get him to relax his grip. “I showered afterwards – I thought I got it all off.”

‘Could that be why that girl, Tanya, was looking at me?’

Seeing that her answer didn’t appease Frank, Béla added, “Most of it’s mine, so what do you care?” She tried to sound angry with him.

It always came back to the same old argument. She liked her sex rough and bloody. He was unwilling to harm her that much, even after she showed him it didn’t hurt her by performing hara-kiri on herself in front of his fireplace with his own grandfather’s civil war sword. He was simply unwilling to cut her every time she needed sex.

As Frank stared down, trying once again to comprehend this supernatural creature kneeling on the floor in front of him, he noticed a thin scar running down her left breast right through her nipple.

Remembering how fast she healed, he estimated that, whoever Béla had been with this weekend, she had convinced him to carve her open clear down to her ribcage. He looked at her torso to see if he could find any other evidence of her insane desires.

Disgusted with the way Frank was staring at her, Béla shook herself out of his grip and stood up angrily. As she rose in front of him, Frank noticed that her stomach wasn’t as smooth as normal and flexed in odd places…

…as if her stomach muscles had been sliced apart and hadn’t smoothly grown back together yet.

Béla stormed out and Frank heard the door to the changing room behind the stage slam. He pulled his pants back up, tucked himself back in and went out to the bar area to find something to do.

He’d known her for thirty-five years. She’d looked twenty when he met her and she looked twenty, now. She hadn’t changed at all, at least, not physically.

‘She’s hasn’t changed emotionally, either,’ he realized.

Sexually, she was a wild child, perpetually young, with no basic sense of self-preservation.

‘Well, if you can’t be hurt, why be careful?’ he wondered. ‘Why grow up at all?’

He listened to Béla showering in the tiny stall the strippers used. She ran the water for almost twenty minutes. He didn’t care how immature she acted or how much water she used. He had loved her since the moment he saw her, and he knew he’d be loyal to this immortal child of the night for the rest of his natural life.

Ten minutes later, she headed out toward the front entrance wearing the blue sack dress she’d brought down with her. He doubted if she had anything on underneath. He knew she hated undergarments.

Her spike heels rang against the floor as she walked. Then she turned and walked back to stand in front of him as he stood behind the bar.

“Food!” she said, holding out her hand and trying to glare at him.

Frank grinned at her antics and handed her several twenty’s. She headed out the door, looking stunning, as always.

‘That shower must have warmed her up pretty well, Frank mused. She didn’t put on her coat.’

Frank was drying glasses when he heard Tanya coming down the stairs.

“Béla went out to get us breakfast,” he called out, not looking up. “She’ll be back by and by.”

No answer.

“I know it’s May, but it’s gonna snow this afternoon. I can feel it in my bones,” Frank said, mostly to himself.

He looked around and found Tanya sitting at the end of the bar, watching him.

“So, what’s your story?” he inquired.

“Story?” she asked.

She cupped her chin in the palm of one hand and leaned on the countertop. Her open shirt displayed the cleavage of over-filled breasts that stretched her skin so tight they held themselves up.

“Yep.” Frank drawled. “Everybody’s got a story. And they like to tell it. And I like to listen.”

“I bet you do,” Tanya commented, sounding bored.

“Sure,” Frank said, shifting into his ‘philosopher-bartender’ mode. “You learn about as much from what somebody doesn’t say as from what they do say.”

“They do say,” repeated Tanya, yawning.

“Alright, Smartass, let me tell you what I know about you, from just the time you’ve been sittin’ there.”

Tanya looked up, trying to look interested and extremely bored at the same time. She was good at it.

“Here you are, a pretty, successful stripper, runner-up for Miss Nude USA two years ago, if I recall correctly. You can ask for about any price for your performances, yet you cancel out on the Pussycat Club in Bozeman and come fifty miles north to this whistle stop bar where you won’t make squat in tips and offer your talents for a quarter of what you could get anywhere else.”

“Go on,” Tanya said, disinterestedly.

“So, you’re lookin’ for somebody, or somethin’,” replied Frank, “and it’s more important to you than anything else you’re doing right now.”

“Humph!” grunted Tanya. “Well, when you find what I’m looking for, Sweetheart, you let me know, okay?”

Frank smiled and went back to polishing glasses. He would love to be what she was looking for, but he knew he wasn’t. That only left one other person.

After a few moments of ignoring her silence, he looked up and asked, “All right, what is it you want to know about her?”

Tanya laughed, “Was I that obvious?”

“She thought you were interested in her,” Frank replied, grinning. “I mean ‘sexually’, of course. She acts flighty like that when she’s thinks somethin’ exciting’s going to happen.”

“Oh, I am – interested in her, I mean.” Tanya stood up and moved up the bar, closer to Frank. “But not sexually.” She smiled. “Well, maybe not sexually.”

“So, you came up here to see her,” Frank reasoned.

“Not specifically,” Tanya said. “Her name has come up in conversation before, and I just wanted to see what the story was.”

“What story did you hear?” Frank asked, knowing there was a lie there, somewhere. “The one about the strip club that won’t turn down a girl who needs a job no matter how untalented she is? The one about the young, inexperienced club owner who gives away all her profits because she’s a sucker for a good sob story?”

“Yeah, that was the one,” mused Tanya. “I just wanted to see what the truth was. I never did believe that Good Samaritan story they told me when I was a kid, and I just wondered how she does it.”

“Well,” Frank hung up his towel and got a clean glass off the shelf, then got another one. He picked up a bottle and said, “Scotch? Clean. Right?”

Tanya smiled. Frank poured two doubles and slid one toward the busty blonde. She was obviously trying to throw him off track by pretending interest in Béla’s financial practices. That could only mean she was here because of Angela. A couple of drinks, and Frank would have the whole story from her.

“I don’t know where her money comes from. Maybe she’s independently wealthy. The bills get paid. I know she’s not into drugs or anything. But she has, I guess you could call it a ‘unique’ life-style.”

“Really?” Tanya asked, leaning forward interestedly. This was the story she had heard and wanted to find out more.

“Well, she’s pretty much addicted to sex. That’s a given. We have a private club room in the back – the Target Room.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it,” Tanya replied.

There were rumors about the Target Room sex club all over the country, wherever she went, recently.

“There’s only one girl in the club, I’ve heard. All the other members are men.”

“Yep,” Frank replied, “Béla. It’s her club. Nobody can join without her personal invitation. Then, two or three times a month they get together and she plays Target Girl for them.”

“Target Girl?” Tanya asked. “Yes. I’ve heard that. Exactly what does that mean?”

“Well, originally,” Frank told her, “a target girl, back in Gay Pari?was a girl who would position herself in the middle of a circle of men and pose, or play with herself, while they jacked off on her. In Béla’s version, she encourages them to act out their fantasies, with her as their object of affection. And she isn’t shy about following through with whatever they want to do with her. She doesn’t just ‘tease’ them.”

“Wow,” said Tanya. “So she really is up for anything, hmm?”

“Yeah,” Frank’s shoulders slumped. “I worry about her. She just a tiny little thing, and she takes on these big factory goons. They really rough her up sometimes.

“I came in one morning after one of her ‘sessions’ and found her lying on the stairs, unconscious, covered with their juices, bruises all over her body where they’d hit her and knocked her around, so beat up she couldn’t even get to her room.

“I started to pick her up and take her on upstairs and she woke up, smiled and tried to do me, too – even though she was so sore and bruised she could hardly move.

“Later, she came down and started waitressing for the lunch crowd. Her bruises were gone. She looked perfect, like always, and was just as bright and cheerful as you please.”

“Well, bruises could be covered with make-up, you know.” Tanya suggested.

“Lumps can’t,” Frank growled, mostly to himself. “Besides, she doesn’t use much makeup. And, by the way, she hates perfume. Makes her sneeze.”

He fanned his hand in the air as if to make it fresher.

The noise of the door flying open, bells tinkling, and the thud as it bounced against the wall startled them both. Béla, arms full of white paper sacks, entered.

“Anyone like Chinese?” she chimed cheerfully.

“For breakfast? Uggh!” Frank muttered.

“Oh, my dear! You read my mind!”

Tanya swooped forward and unloaded the little white sacks from her host, smiling and being much too friendly. Frank grinned as he realized the buxom blonde was irked at his comment about her perfume. He seriously doubted she liked Chinese for breakfast any more than he did.

“It’s snowing!” Béla exclaimed.

She looked from one to the other, spying the empty glasses on the counter.

“Drinking this early? Well, pour me one, then. What were you talking about?” Béla asked cheerfully casual. “No. Let me guess. Frank was talking about me – right?

“Tanya, do you use chopsticks?” she inquired, changing the subject before anyone could respond.

“Uh, no.” uttered Tanya, slightly confused at the barrage of inane conversation. “Just a fork will be fine, thanks.”

Well, the man said she was flighty when she hoped something exciting was going to happen…

The delivery bell rang. Frank went to the back of the store to handle the shipment.

“Saved by the bell,” he said as he left.

Béla brought her drink and the open bottle over to the table where Tanya was setting out the containers. “Refill?”

“Yes. Please.”

“So, now that we’re starting to guzzle so early on such a dreary day, what were you talking about that put Frank in that cheerful mood he’s in?” Béla inquired.

“Yes,” Tanya observed. “He does wear his heart on his sleeve, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, well,” Béla quipped, “he takes care of me as best he can.”

“I think he’s goofy on you,” Tanya said, then lowered her voice. “Changing the subject, Frank said business has been down for the last two or three weeks.”

“Yes,” Béla replied, “I think he’s worried that the club may fold. But he shouldn’t be concerned. I have enough resources to keep it going for awhile.”

She shoved half an egg roll into her mouth before continuing, talking around the half-chewed egg roll “Besides, I like this club. I can do a lot of good here.”

“Um-hum,” Tanya chewed and swallowed a mouthful of glass noodles. “He did mention that you’ve bailed the club out once or twice, but what about business right now? Does it have anything to do with that stripper who was murdered a week ago? She was one of your girls, right?”

“So,” Frank’s voice boomed from behind them. “The real reason you’re here is because some little nobody stripper got stabbed to death and cut up into little pieces. And you’re concerned, right? Who was she to you, a sister? Cousin? Anybody?

“Just a friend,” Tanya said, sounding annoyed and upset, “an old friend. She was knocked up and dumped by her boyfriend when she was nineteen. I helped her get back on her feet and got her to make up with her folks. Then she decided she wanted to be in the same profession as me. I always had all the glamour, the boyfriends, popularity. I have more boyfriends than James has Bond Girls. And she wanted to be just like me. Ha.

“I handled her introduction into the community and handled her on her first solo assignment, um, audition. She did really well on her first time out. Then she went out on her own. This was the last club she was at before she was neutral… killed. Butchered.

“So, here I am. I just want to know what happened. Okay?” Tanya eyes were watering.

“Well, I… The police report…” Béla began, but the front door banging open interrupted her.

“Hello! Anybody here?” a male voice yelled out.

“We’re-closed-come-back-later-please.” Béla called back, then, recognizing the police lieutenant, she grinned at him. “Oh.