Dark Passions (11 page)

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Authors: Jeff Gelb

BOOK: Dark Passions
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“I'm sick, but I'll be out in a minute,” Tawny yelled as she continued to dress.
She let him slip out first and slapped his butt as he went past her. She peeked through the door, and the coast was clear, so she exited the restroom as she continued to adjust her skirt. She felt great, as she always did after her mile-high adventures.
When she sat back down, she was pleased to see that Eric's face was flushed.
“Feeling better?” she asked as she patted his crotch.
“Sure. So—how much do I get back?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know—from the grand.”
“Are you kidding? I just gave you the premium pussy prize.”
“
That
was a thousand-dollar fuck?” He laughed ruefully. “I don't think so.”
“No? Okay, let's see,” she said and raised her closed fist. “First I let you finger me at the seat. That was fun, huh? Really got the juices flowing, didn't it?” She raised one finger.
“Then I gave you the best blow job of your life. Deep throat costs extra, of course.” Two fingers.
“Then the straight fuck, and then I let you do doggiestyle. Arf arf!” Three fingers.
“And then, of course, the happy ending—right on the smacker, remember?” She touched her cheek. “Adds five hundred dollars right there.” Four fingers.
She looked at her hand as if it were a calculator. “Any way you look at it, you just got a thousand-dollar Mile-High-Club experience.”
His laugh was darkly menacing. “I don't think so. In fact, I think you just fucked me for free.” He raised his closed fist and offered her his third finger.
“Listen, asshole,” she said, aware of trying to keep her voice down, “I am being met at baggage claim by my six-foot-seven boyfriend, who's a bouncer at one of the clubs on the Strip. One word from me, and you're in an emergency room.”
An attendant alerted the passengers that the plane had started its descent into Las Vegas.
“You don't say?” Eric responded, the bemused look back on his face. He looked around at the surrounding seats. People were sleeping or staring out the windows, watching the ground reach up to meet the plane. “Better buckle up—we're landing, and I wouldn't want you to get hurt... .”
As he finished the sentence, he punched the side of her head. It whipped back, and her eyes slipped to the top of her sockets. She was unconscious for the landing.
After the plane taxied to its gate and people were starting to get off the flight, a flight attendant noticed Tawny, now groaning and barely conscious. “Sir, is your ... friend all right?”
“Oh, sure, you know how it is—she started partying at a bar at LAX and was sick all the way out here.”
“Oh, so she was the one in the restroom,” the attendant noted. “Should we call a wheelchair?”
Eric shook his head. “She'll be fine. The fresh air will revive her. Right, honey?”
Tawny gave a garbled response, and Eric shook his head. “How many times have we had this discussion? That's the last time I let you drink before getting on a plane.”
The flight attendant clucked his tongue and moved on. Eric got Tawny to her feet, one hundred pounds of near-deadweight. He picked up both of their overnight bags with his free hand and half walked, half carried the still-stunned woman off the plane.
When they hit the loud, colorful gate area, with its end-less rows of slot machines, waitresses, and thousands of noisy tourists, it was easy to cuff her again without anyone noticing, so that she was barely conscious as he guided her out of the airport.
As they walked, he chatted to her. “So where's that bodyguard boyfriend of yours, huh?” He gut-punched her to keep her from resisting or responding. “Oh, that was just another one of your lies, right? Gee, what a surprise.”
They crossed the busy street in front of the terminal and headed toward the parking garage. “I'm here often enough,” he explained, “to keep a car parked in longterm parking. It's a Lexus. You like Lexuses, ‘Tawny'? I hope so, because we're gonna take a nice long drive in one.” They got to the black Lexus, and he looked around. No one was within eyesight. He cuffed her chin, and she slumped in his arms. He retrieved some rope from the car's spacious trunk, trussed her, shoved her into the trunk, and slammed the lid.
He turned the AC on full blast as he paid the parking attendant and pulled into traffic headed out of the airport.
He yelled, “I know it's warm back there, especially this time of year. Sorry about that. But I've got the AC on—can you feel it back there? I kinda doubt it. But I'll bet if you were up here, those cute nipples of yours would be hard as rocks.” He heard muffled screams in response, and he laughed.
Within an hour he was well north of Las Vegas and in a deeply forested area of Mt. Charleston. He parked the car at a vacant trailhead and popped the trunk lid. Tawny was dazed and gasping for air, her clothing drenched in sweat. He pulled her out of the trunk, and she slid to her knees.
“... . bastard,” she gulped as he pulled her to her feet. There was not a soul in sight. He tore a T-shirt and tied it around her mouth to keep her from screaming and then pulled a shovel out of the backseat of the car.
“Most folks don't think of woods when they think of Vegas,” Eric noted conversationally as he pushed her ahead of him. “I like it up here. Real peaceful. Cooler too—at least thirty degrees cooler than Vegas is this time of year. I come here often ... for pleasure and business.
“I like making my own trails,” he continued as he led her off the well-marked path and deeper into the woods. Aside from chirping birds and the buzzing of flying insects, there were no sounds of life other than their crunching footsteps on the dirt and leaves. Finally he stopped moving.
“Well, this is it.” He looked around. “Nice place, huh?” He kicked at her legs, and she fell to her knees in front of him.
He regarded her struggles and whimpers and offered his sweetest smile. “That's quite the scam you had going there, ‘Tawny.' By the way, I doubt your real name is Tawny, is it? Well, no matter. Of course I knew you were a pro the second you brushed your tits against me. You're as obvious as a neon sign in a desert.
“But hell, I like a good fuck as much as the next guy, maybe more. And if you didn't ask for money, you wouldn't be here right now. You really shouldn't have pushed me on that.” He shook his head slowly. “Not a good idea at all.”
She made more noises, and he kicked her in the stomach. She started crying as he continued talking. “You think you were the only pro on that plane, ‘Tawny'? I told you people hire me to do certain things for them. Specifically, I guess you'd call me a hit man. And just your luck, I'd been hired to take out some little punk here in Vegas who owes the wrong guys way too much money.
“He's gonna end up here too,” Eric noted. “As others have, over the years. It's kind of a favorite place to me.”
He looked around, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. “Say, weren't you looking for some prime Vegas real estate? Well, here you go—how does six feet long, two feet wide, and four feet deep suit you? A nice view of some trees. Good breeze.”
Before she could answer, he raised the shovel high above his head and brought it down forcefully on hers. The crunching sound echoed between the trees as she flopped a few times, then was still.
He went to his knees and retrieved his money from her miniskirt pocket.
As Eric started digging, he kept up his conversation. “I do have to thank you, though, for initiating me in to the Mile-High Club. Very entertaining.”
He worked silently for several minutes, building up a sweat despite the cool mountain air. “Just getting my exercise,” he muttered. “Gotta keep these biceps in shape, eh, ‘Tawny'?”
Finally he stopped digging and dumped her body into the shallow grave. He covered the corpse in dirt and then camouflaged the gravesite with the many nearby leaves and branches.
Eric breathed in the fresh Nevada air. He stared down at the gravesite, now invisible to any eyes but his, and addressed it. “Allow let me return the favor, ‘Tawny.' I've heard this is the highest point in Southern Nevada ... over ten thousand feet I think.”
He spread his arms wide, addressing the gravesite and the surrounding forest. “Welcome to
my
Mile-High Club.”
Care and Feeding
Christina Crooks
 
 
 
M
y hand trembled as it swished the cup of lukewarm bathroom tap water. A handful of floating sea-egg blue sleep gels slowly dissolved and sank. Another handful of chalky Vicodins dissolved even faster. I eyed the small bottle of Maximum Strength Drano on the bathroom counter. There was a reason I was doing this, and doing it this way.
I drained the cup of water. The dregs tasted bitter. I stared into the cup. I told myself I shouldn't feel regret.
“Valeria? Are you well?”
His voice, sex on velvet. He sounded concerned. I hyperventilated, pulled myself together. Then replied, “Yeah, babe. Just give me a few minutes.” A few more minutes would be all it would take. I felt the concentrated brew hitting my bloodstream, leaching away pain.
How would he react?
Would he react at all?
My vision got kind of blurry for a moment. Of course he would. And that made it all worthwhile.
I steeled myself.
Then I grabbed the bottle of Drano and poured the caustic contents down my throat.
 
 
Two months earlier. Consider: Twenty-three years old, plump, a suicidal blood-fetishist and blow-job queen. Me. Not much to look at. But I had a good heart, I liked it kinky, and I could suck the brass off a doorknob. It was my strong neck muscles and sturdy gag reflex.
It'd have to be sturdy after all the times the emergency room rammed a tube down my esophagus to vacuum my stomach. Otherwise known as gastric lavage. Those nurses and doctors had long since stopped hiding their contempt. Last time this surly resident shouted “Valerie, you have a cast-iron stomach” and then muttered about how I should try a gun next time. He had a point. I guess I just liked the attention. He got my name wrong though. It's Valeria.
I was one night-clubbing goth girl among many looking for vampire love. I had cleavage corseted out to there, jiggling my way across Belfry's dance floor, swinging my bracelet of well-oiled razor blades and licking my bloody red lips. I didn't believe in false advertising.
I was starting to think my elusive soul mate did, though. Lovelier specimens than myself draped themselves over wrought-iron railings, posed on zebra-striped divans, leaned against Grecian columns, posturing and exuding sex and distracting any halfway decent guys from noticing me. Did I mention that I was a little overweight? It made a difference.
Then Adrien happened.
“I like to play with sharp objects.” I felt fingers roughly fondling my blades.
I turned toward the deep voice, mostly worried some poser was damaging himself. And promptly forgot how to breathe. Tall, dark, delicious.
As if his hypnotic eyes and chiseled bone structure weren't enough, he immediately traced his warm, wet fingertips over my lips. I tasted the slits where he'd cut himself.
I think I came.
It got better at my place. Surrounded by gothic crosses and vampire art, I felt even more eager. Once niceties like names and clothes were out of the way, he teased and pinched and spread me as if he had a hundred years and then proceeded to give me the most supernatural fucking of my life. His cock, a weirdly tapered grayish thing, had to be the size of an elephant's trunk, with the same flexibility. But I'm an accepting sort, and it paid off. I showed off my famous oral skills and heard him give these little grunts of surprise and pleasure. And then later, I swear I felt part of the thing caressing my G-spot even as the monstrosity seemed to split me in half, driving so hard and deep I saw stars and passed out.
Needless to say, I was at Belfry's right at opening time the next night.
Banzai was a lesbian drug dealer, but not at all butch. She lurked just inside. After exchanging hugs, the first thing I asked her was about my amazing find.
“Adrien? Handsome creature of night? Sure, I've seen him around. At every goth, industrial, and fetish club in Los Angeles. A real love 'em and leave 'em type.” Banzai's usually cynical twist of a mouth formed itself into a frown.
“Heard something else?” I wanted to know everything about Adrien. All we'd had so far was vanilla sex, and already I felt hooked on him. I tried not to tip my hand just how truly into this mysterious stranger I was, but from the keen look she shot me, I didn't think I succeeded.
“He's got quite a reputation. A friend of mine from the Dungeon—Selene—hooked up with him. They lived together for a few months. She had it bad. By the time he moved on, she was an anorexic wreck. Claimed he was a real vampire. Ended up in a psyche ward.”
I shifted impatiently, scanning the incomings. I'd seen Selene at the Dungeon, talked with her a few times. Plump girl like me. Could stand to have lost a few pounds, also like me. So she couldn't keep her man and got herself a broken heart? I felt bad, actually. But what was I supposed to do? It's not like I was in a position to help her. I smiled about Adrien's ex calling him a vampire. He hadn't bitten me. Had he? I fingered my neck. No wounds. I smiled sheepishly when I caught Banzai's smirk.
She rolled her eyes. “Aren't I glad I like girls.”
I saw Adrien. “Gotta go.”
She grabbed my arm as I turned, her long fingernails sinking into the flesh above my blade bracelet. “Be careful. That one gets around. He really lays waste.”
“Vampires will be vampires,” I told her, keeping a straight face. What did I care if he had a disease, AIDS even? Suicidal, remember? But I patted her hand and then spontaneously squeezed it. “Thanks.”
And then Adrien was there, eating me up with his eyes, and I know I was gobbling him too, and we went back to my place to have at it.
We talked, and screwed, and talked some more. I went down on him and got him to make those pleasure-grunts again. And he made me feel very much out of the world. At one point, after the third time but before the fourth, I kissed his fingertips, grateful. That's when I noticed.
The razor-blade wounds I'd given him? They'd vanished.
He noticed my noticing. “I heal quickly.”
“Vampires do.” I grabbed the nearest cross and pressed it against his chest. I made sizzling sounds.
I was close enough to hear the way his breathing stopped for a second. His voice was much chillier when he spoke again, gathering his clothes. “I should get going.”
I reached for him, bereft already. “What's the big deal? Vampires are cool.”
“No!” I recoiled from his emphatic denial. “No, they're not. They're the most miserable of leeches.”
I wasn't sure how to respond. “Do you want to bite my neck?” I offered in a small voice. He looked so sexy standing there.
Adrien shook his head, but he smiled. “I like blood play. But really, I do have to go.”
“Sunrise, huh?”
“Work. And, I probably should have told you this before, but ... I have a girlfriend. But I'm planning on breaking up with her,” he added. “Just as soon as she's stable and out of danger. You know.”
I did. My heart felt like it was plunging all the way down to hell. Which was stupid, so stupid. So weak. So very like me. But what I said was, “I understand. Maybe I'll see you around.”
“Count on it,” he said. I could have given him the script. I kept the smile on my face until the front door closed.
Then I swallowed all my Elavils. I called 911 at the last moment, when the seizures started scaring me. I'm so weak. How could I be so stupid, I kept thinking. To fall for someone like Adrien. I knew he was too good to be true.
Most of all, I just wanted to see him again. It was my stupid heart's fault, fixating on a guy like that. Caring too much. I think I got a defective one. Heart, I mean.
 
 
Three days later, when the psychiatric hospital let me come home, I found that my favorite corset fit much looser around my waist. Had to be the heartbreak-andstress diet. Weight loss was the one purely good thing to come of the recent festivities, I told myself.
Of course, I went back to the Belfry.
I had to have him. I felt addicted.
I found him swapping spit with some girl and dragged him back to my place and all but raped him. He didn't seem to mind. In a weirdly romantic way, it seemed as if he'd expected it.
He moved in.
His strange, long, elephant-trunk-flexible penis rocked my world, and my oral talents rocked his. He was as addicted to my blow jobs as I was to his cock. When I sucked it, I swear I could feel it all the way down into my stomach. I enjoyed those little sounds he made. We hardly ever even exchanged blood.
The issue of vampirism didn't come up for months.
I kept losing weight, though. I ate all the time but kept shedding pounds. All that vigorous sex, I thought. Adrien liked my hearty appetite, my stamina, my deep throat. He liked everything about me, he said.
I sure liked him. I was even contemplating the other “L” word.
Then one night I passed out while blowing him.
I revived right away, but he was pulling out and backing up and tucking it away into his underwear. Then pants. And then putting on his silky black shirt and leather jacket.
“You're going out?” My voice sounded sluggish and confused. Hell, I was confused. Men don't leave blow-job queens. Did they?
“I'm going out.”
“Don't go.”
“I have to.” He jingled his keys, one of which fit into my apartment's lock. “I don't want to hurt you. I'll explain when I get back.”
I cried for a while. Then I shut up. I'm a self-sufficient girl, I thought. I'd get by. When I went into the bathroom, the mirror reflected a blotchy face and swollen eyes. It also showed my newfound planes and angles. My lips looked like lush, ripe fruit in the middle of all that lovely bone structure.
I'll be a pretty corpse,
I thought as I gobbled a bottle of aspirin.
Three days, one deliberately clumsy stomach-pumping, and a couple of exasperated psychiatric professionals later, Adrien sat me down. “We need to talk.”
I'd just finished a huge dinner, trying to make up for the nasty hospital food I'd been subjected to.
“About your other girlfriends?”
“Yes.”
I did a double take. He'd just admitted it. How could he just admit it? Didn't he care I was suicidal? Maybe he wanted me to die.
I guess I was feeling a little bit of shock, because he shook me slightly. “Valeria. Are you okay?”
I started laughing. “Peachy. Now give me my key and get out.”
He looked at me with admiration. I'm sure that was it. He heaved a big sigh and held up both palms: wait. Then he did a strange thing. He started unzipping his fly.
“Whoa, buddy, I don't do good-bye gobbles.”
“I'm not saying good-bye.”
“I'm the one who's saying good-bye!”
“No, you're not. You want me. They always want me. Hundreds of years, and nothing changes but the names. I think it's something in the semen. It's truly a shame they get so skinny, so quickly. Even the overweight ones usually die.”
“You aren't making sense.” I felt cold.
“I'm talking about being a vampire. The most miserable of leeches.”
He didn't seem all that miserable to me. I tried not to look at what he pulled out of his pants. “The cross ... the blood. You're a vampire like I'm a werewolf. Exactly why do you feel the need to fuck with me?”
He sighed. “You're not going to believe me unless I show you. Suck my dick.”
“Fuck yourself.”
He grinned coldly at me, adult to child. In that moment he seemed every bit a vampire. Or some kind of predator, anyway. I wished it didn't add so much to his appeal. “Okay, Valeria. Watch and learn.” His cock, which had always been strange looking, suddenly got a whole lot stranger. It writhed, like a grayish cobra dancing, and folded over on itself and then rose stiff and straight toward me, straining ... and then the head, with its G-spot-rubbing, wide-load helmet, shifted, and a new head pushed through it like a baby crowning and extended, tubelike.

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