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Subject: {PoisonIvan}JDR"The Fearless Vampire 1a"( FF part )[1/3]
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JOHN DARK REPOST
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story
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that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author
make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk.
The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming
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These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of
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well.
=====================
[Note: This story has two further segments which may be seen at the
author's website, mentioned at the end of part 2. But I felt that these
three segments formed a complete story.]
Copyright (c) 1997 by Poison Ivan. Copies may be made and posted for
personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are reserved.
====================
The Fearless Vampire
by Poison Ivan
poisoniv1@hotmail.com
Part 1a.
I check the clock. 4:54. Only six minutes to go. I
check my email again, and there's still nothing important to
deal with. I rifle through the huge pile of papers in my
inbox again. I check the clock. 4:55. Only five minutes
to go.
I want to get out of this place something fierce. Today
is payday, which means I had to deliver paychecks to
everyone in the office. It's actually the only part of the
job I like, but I should have worn more comfortable shoes.
My feet are killing me, my calves are killing me, my back is
killing me, my neck is killing me. Even my ears hurt,
thanks to these goddamn earrings my boyfriend gave me. I
don't know what possessed me to wear the fucking earrings,
it's not like I see the fucking idiot any more.
I'm sore sore sore. If I still had money, it would be a
great day to get a massage. I could _really_ use a massage.
The thing is, until a year ago, I actually had the money. I
could've just called someone and I'd be on my way to get a
nice massage. You see, Mom and Dad have money, and I used
to be on an allowance. I was rich, and I was the real party
girl. But then one of my friends threw a big bash and her
wet blanket neighbor got pissed at the loud music and called
the cops. The police came and charged me with indecent
exposure and resisting arrest. It was a ridiculous
situation, and the police were totally unreasonable. I got
a good lawyer and the charges were dropped, but Mom and Dad
were furious. And they just cut me off--snap!--Just like
that. My lifeline gone. And now I have this shitty job.
So I don't like wet blanket neighbors, and I don't like
cops. And, right now, I'm not too happy with Mom and Dad,
either.
I hear footsteps coming my way and I check the clock and
I hope whoever it is will just walk on by. But no such
luck. "Virginia, honey, how are you doing?" Oh, shit, it's
Larry. Larry the asshole. Don't honey me, asshole.
Doesn't he realize it is 4:57, only three minutes to go?
He's standing at the entrance to my cubicle, staring. I
pretend to read my email. Maybe if I look busy he'll go
away.
"How are you doing on those expense reports?" Larry asks.
Oh Christ. Now I'm annoyed. Really annoyed. I spin in my
chair and face him. Larry is a short man with a tendency to
sweat and a belly that hangs out over his belt. About six
months ago his wife divorced him. He probably deserved it.
Larry is a loser. Expense reports? He must be kidding.
"I'll get them to you tomorrow," I say.
Larry sighs. Larry sighs a lot. He runs his fat fingers
through his hair. "Virginia, I wanted to finish them
tonight," he whines.
"I have an appointment at 5:30," I lie. If I can just
make him feel a little guilty. "I could cancel it. But
I've already canceled twice. I may have a problem
rescheduling." I give him my best hangdog eyes.
Larry sighs again. He stands there quiet for a minute,
thinking. "No, no, don't cancel your appointment," he says.
"But can you have them done by noon tomorrow? I need to
turn them in tomorrow."
I have no idea if I can get them done by noon tomorrow,
how the hell should I know? "Sure," I say, "no problem."
Larry turns his pudgy body around and walks away. Thank
God. And it's 5:02, I'm two minutes late getting out of
this shit hole. I grab my purse and I'm out of here like a
truck with bad brakes, moving fast in my too-high-for-payday
heels.
My car, my car is the only real joy I have left in my
life. It's a beautiful Porsche, which I got when I was
still on my allowance. It's very fast, and it's very red.
It looks beautiful there in its parking spot, all red and
shiny and ready for anything. Unfortunately, I'll have to
give it up soon, since I can't afford the insurance any
more. But for now, I love every second I spend in my little
red rocket. I am a real terror behind the wheel!
I open the door and settle down into the leather seat and
for a moment or two I just sit. I love sitting in my
Porsche, the odor of the black leather, the smooth leather
steering wheel. I kick off my shoes, close the door, turn
the key, fire her up. The engine growls appreciatively. My
Porsche loves to have her motor running.
While the engine warms up, I run my hand over the
gearshift. The manual transmission always gets comments
from my friends. A woman driving a stick? I hear way too
many phallus jokes. My boyfriend said my Porsche represents
my subliminal desire to be a dominatrix--all wrapped up in
black leather and leading a powerful machine around by its
dick.
My boyfriend was a fucking moron. Which is why he's now
my ex-boyfriend.
In fact, I don't think of my car as a man at all. To me,
my Porsche is female. I like to think of her as a
temperamental woman, one who carries me to the store or to
see my friends and waits patiently for me to finish my
errands. She's my little errand girl. And then I have her
drive me home, purring like a kitten as I rev her motor.
I don't tell a soul about this female car thing, though.
Given the choice between dick jokes and dyke jokes, I'll
take the dick jokes, thank you.
I take off the emergency brake and back my Porsche out
and take her into first. I'm the only one driving in the
garage, and I'm out in a flash. Traffic is light, everyone
must be working late to finish their expense reports. Ha!
I'm even hitting the lights. I only need to run one yellow
and one red on the trip home. As I turn into the parking
garage at home, I almost hit some old lady on the sidewalk,
and I honk at her, beep-beep-beep! And the old lady gives
me the finger! Ha! I can't help but shake my head and
laugh. An old lady giving me the finger! Christ, she must
be fifty years old! I like that kind of spirit in an old
bag!
The close parking spots are all full, so I park my
Porsche in the handicapped spot and leave her there and go
to the elevator lobby. The lobby from the parking garage is
a chintzy little room. The building owners do a good job
keeping the building up, but they don't get down into the
garage much. There are always old newspapers on the table
and the ashtray is always full of old cigarette butts. And
the elevator in this building is slow slow slow slow slow.
And hanging around in this stupid little lobby is boring
boring boring boring boring. Sometimes I take the stairs up
to my apartment, but not today--my feet hurt, and I don't
want to tackle seven flights of stairs in heels. At least
there is a lock on the outside door, and I don't need to
worry about creeps getting in and hassling me. My friend
Alice lives in an apartment building with an open lobby, and
she was beat up and robbed while she waited for the
elevator. She was lucky. She could've been raped and
murdered.
Ugh, I shouldn't think about rape and murder, but what
else is there to think about waiting for the elevator? It's
the one thing I envy of men--they don't need to worry about
being raped and murdered. And it pisses me off. Why should
_I_ have to worry about it, and not, say, my idiot boss
Larry? Or my idiot ex-boyfriend?
Finally, the elevator bell rings, the door opens, I hurry
in and punch the sixth floor button. The door slowly closes
and the elevator goes slowly into motion. I swear, it takes
ten seconds to get from one floor to the next.
Parking. Lobby. One. Two. Three.
A girl could grow old waiting. At least the elevator
doesn't stop to let anyone else get aboard.
I finally get to my floor, and thankfully the hallway is
empty, no neighbors to deal with. I'm home, I'm alone, I
can finally relax. I let my purse dangle from my hand, and
I sashay down the hall, and, since I know no one is
watching, I giving my hips a sexy little swing. Although I
wouldn't mind if anyone was watching. Someone peeping
through a crack in the door. I've always had a soft spot in
my heart for little peeper perverts.
I need to unlock two locks to get in my apartment, the
second one for an impressively heavy deadbolt. The owners
installed deadbolts when some old biddy in the building
demanded them. At the time, I thought the biddy was a
demented old fool, but now that I have the big lock, I like
it. There's something very secure about being inside a room
knowing a deadbolt is set. Even so, that's another thing
that pisses me off. Why should I need a heavy lock to feel
secure? Why should I need to protect myself? Why are there
so many sickos in this world?
I'm inside, I close the door behind me, I put away my
coat and purse, I turn the deadbolt--clunk. There's a note
on the table from Jessica. Jessica is my roommate. After
my parents cut me off, I had to rent out the spare room to
help pay the rent. And my roomie turned out to be Jessica,
a timid, plain girl who shops at Penney's and almost never
says a word. She spends most of her time alone in her room,
frigging herself off or something. She never even gets
phone calls, never says anything. Even when I see her face
to face, she doesn't talk to me. As a roommate, she's a
total disaster. The only good thing about her is she pays
her rent on time.
The note says Jessica might be late and that she has a
friend coming over. She might be late? Hell, I don't even
know when she usually gets in. "I gave Darlene a key, so
you don't need to stay if you don't want to." Jessica knows
I like to go out at night, but the way my feet hurt, I could
use a night off. And a girl's night in doesn't sound like a
bad idea. Besides, it would be nice to finally meet one of
Jessica's friends.
But first I want to take a shower and get in my bathrobe.
I kick off my shoes and stretch up high, blow the air out of
my lungs, and take in a deep breath. Ah! I give my scalp a
vigorous scratch, tousle my hair. It'll be great to take a
shower, wash my hair, curl up on a warm couch with a
magazine. All clean and warm and quiet. And meet this girl
Darlene. What would a friend of Jessica's be like? Well,
after all, she _is_ a friend of Jessica's. She's probably a
geek.
Since it's my apartment, I get the master bedroom, which
has the adjacent bathroom. Jessica's bathroom is bigger and
has a tub, but I prefer showers, anyway. I go into the room
and look at myself in the big mirror over the sink. My hair
is a mess, and my makeup is a little worse for wear. I need
to wash my face.
I take off my necklace and earrings, and that feels good.
Now that I'm unattached, I have no rings to take off, and
that feels good too! I pinch my earlobes to get the feeling
back. I strip all my clothes off. I usually wash my face
naked, to avoid getting water on my clothes. My ex-
boyfriend thought washing my face naked was funny, but not
as funny as the fact that I wash my face before I take a
shower. "Why do you wash your face at the sink when you're
just going to wash it again in the shower?" he would ask.
The fucking moron.
I used to cheat on the bastard a lot. Thinking about it,
I'm surprised I spent so much time with him. He was stupid,
he had an ugly, nasal laugh, and as often as not, he was a
premature ejaculator. I can't tell you how many times he
dropped his load all over my belly before he even got it in.
If I hadn't been cheating on him all the time, I would have
been one frustrated girl.
I gently wash my face, rinse the soap off, and pat my
face dry. I look at myself in the mirror. I like to look
at myself naked, and sometimes I like other people to look
at me naked too. I can be a real exhibitionist, if I'm in
the right mood. I am one of those girls who can eat
anything she wants and not gain weight. And I absolutely
love my tits. I hold the palms of my hands under them to
press them up. They don't sag much, so I can go bra-less on
occasion. But they are big enough to wobble, so I don't do
it much.
I lean in and study my face. I've always had a good
complexion--I can't remember the last time I had a zit. But
there are some things about my face I don't like, like my
practically non-existent eyelashes. And I wish my eyes were
a deeper blue--in this light they are almost colorless gray.
What I would give for Claudia Schiffer's eyes! And my hair
sucks. And my lips are a little on the thin side. So I'll
never be a fashion model. _C'est la vie_.
I love hot showers, and turn the water up as hot as I can
stand it. The bathroom steams up and I step into the stall,
close the glass door behind me. The hot water feels good on
my thighs, and I slowly move under the hot spray. My skin
flushes pink everywhere the water touches.
I lather up my hair, using too much shampoo, but that's
O.K., I like the feel of lots of suds in my hair. I massage
my scalp with my fingertips, working it hard, and I gently
work the lather into my hair, from root to tip. My hair is
all sudsy, and I massage my scalp again, and then rinse off.
The hot water runs over my face and down my front. A pink
flush from the hot water runs between my tits.
With a washcloth, I quickly wash the rest of my body,
paying particular attention to my neck, my ears, my
shoulders, between my legs, under my arms. I already shaved
my legs in the morning, and they still feel smooth--I won't
need to shave again for another day or two. I rinse off,
and I'm clean.
But I don't want to get out of the shower right away.
Instead, I just stand here, letting the hot water run over
me, over my shoulders, on my tits, I turn and it's against
my back, I turn and it's on my belly. It's hot and steamy
and pleasant and nice.
I stand under the hot water and I think about old lovers.
The good ones. Well, not necessarily the good ones, but the
memorable ones. The best ones were the kissers. Jackson,
who was one hell of a kisser. He wasn't much to look at,
but he sure knew how to kiss. When I'm bored I sometimes
think about what the perfect man should be, and he should
always kiss like Jackson. Slow, soft, teasing. He had this
way of kissing my upper lip--Christ, it makes my knees weak
just thinking about it!
And then there was Brad--never caught his last name--who
I fucked in a closet. _That_ was memorable! And Bertrand,
the Swiss boy I fucked twice in his filthy apartment. And
Linus, my girlfriend Alice's husband. Well, my ex-
girlfriend's ex-husband. Alice divorced Linus after she
found out, and she hasn't spoken to me since.
And Thomas, with the amazing dick. Very long, very
thick, and not very coordinated. He fucked me sore, and
when the pain didn't go away, I thought he'd injured me. My
gynecologist said my cervix was bruised. Jesus Christ, he
bruised my goddamned cervix!
Thinking about men is not a good idea. I should think
about something else, or I'm going to get mad all over
again. So I think about nothing. I just stand under the
hot water and feel it on me. But I'm bored, so fuck it, I'm
out of here. I cut off the water with a twist of the wrist.
The bathroom is steamed up and I can't see a thing in the
mirror. I turn on the fan and dry myself in fresh towels.
I rub a circle of steam off the mirror with a towel. I
look at my face centered in the circle. Damn, I look good!
I pat my skin with the towel. I put lotion on my face and
neck, and on my legs. I pinch my nipples and make them
stand up. Whee! That feels _too_ good! Maybe after
Darlene leaves tonight I'll frig myself off. I didn't do it
this morning like I usually do. Twenty-four hours without a
cum is too long! A long, leisurely late night masturbation
session would probably do me good.
I comb the tangles out of my hair, and the strands hang
blonde and straight around my head. Seeing my hair straight
like this reminds me how flat my hair is. I should get it
done. If only I had enough money for the hairdresser. And
I'd rather have bad hair than go to Supercuts. Sigh.
I dry off one last time, rubbing my skin pink with fluffy
towels, invigorating my skin, making it prickle. I'm
cooling off, and my nipples get all goosey.
I head back into the bedroom and put on a pair of men's
boxers (my sleeping attire of choice). I pull on my thick,
warm bathrobe, tie the belt around my waist. And now I feel
warm and comfortable. I hug myself, feel the warmth.
I go back out into the living room barefoot, pad-pad-pad,
adjust the thermostat to 76. That should be nice. I settle
down into the sofa cushions, get comfortable, and pick up a
three-week-old _Glamour_. I'm looking for a good article, I
remember one article a few years ago that explained how to
give a good blowjob, something like that, or maybe something
funny, but there's just all this shit about job interviews
and I'm flipping through the pages--
Wait! I thought I saw something move out of the corner
of my eye!
I look around but I don't see anything. The dining room
is empty. The kitchen looks empty. Someone could've ducked
back into the bedrooms, they could be lurking there,
waiting.
But I'm probably just seeing things. I glance around one
last time. I look back at my magazine but I'm thinking
about what I saw out of the corner of my eye. I look around
again. Still nothing. And I can't concentrate now. What
if someone _is_ in the room? Hiding. Could someone be
here? It's a security building, and there's a deadbolt.
How could he get in? But I swear I saw something, I swear I
_feel_ something. I shiver. Is someone there? I look
around and strain my ears. I don't hear a thing, and I
don't see a thing. Am I being paranoid? Why do I have this
feeling? My skin goes to goose bumps.
====================
The Fearless Vampire
by Poison Ivan
Part 1a
-30-
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