Undesireable: Chapter 4
TITLE: Undesireable (A vampire novel)
RATING: NC-17 (This chapter PG-13)
GENRE: Porn with plot -- heavy on the plot. Action/adventure, some black humor, some romance.
PAIRINGS: George x everyone. Mostly Slash, some het, three and moresomes. Vampire sex.
WARNINGS: Lots of non-con and coercive themes -- oh howdy. Lots of swearing. Some sexual props. Some bondage. Heavy dominance/submission themes.
WORD COUNT: 3639
CHAPTER FOUR
I'm happy to report those tax dollars we humans have been tithing up each year haven't been wasted on anything altruistic. Lord Jeffrey's feeding room was the model of opulence and questionable taste. It must have cost a fortune to create a room so garish.
In fact, the first thought I had when I saw the room was that I'd some how mistakenly walked into an Old Spaghetti Factory. The furniture, of which there was an awful lot, was made up of antiques and everything was upholstered in gem colored velvet patterned with subtle floral designs and offset by gold stitch work. Lord Jeffrey one-upped the affordable family restaurant with glassy marble walls, copious gold accents, and a blinding amount of leaded crystal. The floor was covered in a soft, cream-colored rug with a subtle but busy design worked into the piling.
Just like with Lady Dingaling, the focus of the place was a huge bed. I had thought that my memory was exaggerating when I pegged that canopy bed as being larger than life, but no, I was right. The bed was a custom job, both wider and longer than a California king by a couple of feet. At least it wasn't a canopy bed. Instead it had heavy looking bedposts, the masculinity of which was somewhat undercut by fanciful leaf and flower motifs. Not only weren't there handcuffs, but there was no obvious place one could cuff a person. Lord Jeffrey liked his food free range, and thank god for small favors.
I stood for a moment just past the threshold, squeezing the carpet with my toes, and trying to get the lay of the expansive land. I finally spotted the teal settee pushed off into one corner and crept over to it, being as stealthy as a guy in his underwear in the middle of a huge room with no cover can be. Apparently that was good enough because no one had even turned their heads by the time I settled myself gingerly on the cushions.
I stared at the bed, or more accurately the two people on the bed: a man and a woman, both brunettes, both gorgeous, and both not doing anything remotely sexual. The dude was propped up against the headboard, a book of sudoku perched on his naked knees. The chick had curled on her side and was reading some romance novel and idly diddling with the tie to her pink satin robe. Tina and Ron I guessed. They had a not-in-charge feel to them.
On the far side of the room, past the bed, there were two men playing what I guessed from the angle to be backgammon. Except for the click of the pieces and a subtle hum of the air conditioning, the room was eerily quiet. One of the guys looked off at something but I couldn't tell what, rang a small bell, then went back to his game.
With my orgy visions roundly dashed, I vowed to give up the notion of even having expectations for the evening. My mind was a blank slate, and I was willing to sit there, mute and still, and just take things as they came. I was one with the furniture, part of the cosmic background all. Ohm.
A minute ticked by. Then another. The bell rang again with a bit more force.
Tina noticed me first, her dark eyes peaking over her novel and meeting mine. She waved at me coyly. I broke my paralysis and waved back. Then she rolled over and went up on her elbow to look at the guys at the table. Then turned her head back at me.
"Sir, there's someone over here."
Just like that I was the focus of everyone's attention. There was a simultaneous bumping and shuffling from all corners of the room. The dude put down his sedoku and leaned forward, quizzically. The two men at the backgammon table stood up and craned their heads in my direction. And even the chick who lead me up chose that moment to open the closet door and peek in. I felt a shameful blush prickle up on my face and I tightened my jaw.
"Oh for… Well, you, why are you there?" asked one of the men at the backgammon table. His voice had a strange lilt that set my gaydar off with full bells and whistles. But beneath the obvious affectation there was something more: a weird carrying quality that made it seemed as if he were talking right in my ear. My flesh tightened up with goosepimples and let out an involuntary shudder. Vampire, definitely. Lord Jeffrey. "Speak up, what are you doing?"
My heart skipped about eight beats. That terror I'd experienced back at the airport kiosk sucker punched my chest. I feared for my life. Everyone knows, the first rule of dealing with vampires is don't piss them off.
"I was told to be here?" I was, wasn't I? I looked helplessly at my guide, who to my horror shook her head and pointed off across the room. "If I'm not supposed to be here, I'll be happy to leave." Please say I can go! The urge to flee battled with my urge to stay absolutely still and pee myself.
The vampire cocked his head "What? No, no, teal, man, not chartreuse! You are sitting on the wrong couch. Are you too stupid to know your colors?"
Apparently yes, I was. In my own defense, teal is green, the couch I was on was green, hence it was a pretty good guess. Besides, teal is one of those words that only chicks and interior decorators use. And poncy vampires who were probably interior decorators before they gave their own race a hearty heave ho and signed on with the enemy. Guys would just call the color bluish-green or maybe turquoise if they were going to be fancy about it. Simple. Direct. Understandable. So it really wasn't my fault that I screwed up, it was Lord Jeffrey's.
I can say this all calmly in retrospect, but at the time my mind just turned wavery and incoherent. It didn't matter whose fault it was. I was still off on the wrong foot, which was the last thing I needed, considering.
"I… sorry?" I managed to say.
And he was right there, standing over me. It was like time had shifted somehow, or he'd teleported. There was a brief stirring of air, like a fan had been turned my way, and then my vision was blocked by a finely textured white shirt. I jumped in my seat, my nerves prickling with adrenaline, and my muscles cramping with the need to move. With almost superhuman self-control, I lifted my eyes and had my first really good look at what would swiftly become the bane of my existence.
He looked in his mid twenties, a narrow faced man with brown hair, closely cropped up the sides, and longer and tousled on top. Handsome in the classical sense, but oddly not as inhumanly attractive as his help. Less plastic-doll perfect - more real, if you know what I mean. His skin was smooth and fine pored, beardless without the hint of the shadow that comes with shaving. He smelled clean with a hint of expensive cologne. And his expression was part exasperation and part amusement. The amusement gave me just the finest ray of hope.
"You kept me waiting," he said, tilting his head in a half-shake and offering up a scolding cluck of his tongue. "I don't generally put up with that sort of behavior."
In case vampires read minds, and at that point I wasn't sure they could, I concentrated on feeling as sincerely contrite as possible. I was the sorriest bugger to ever grace his presence.
His eyes narrowed. "Slippery fellow, aren't you." His hand caught my chin and pulled it in one direction then the other, examining my face. "What's your name?"
"George Handle," I said. I can't exactly describe it, because there is no other experience in the world like it, but I knew right then that the guy was in my mind. There was no question of me holding back the information. I had always assumed that you couldn't lie to vampires because they could tell you were lying, but that's not it at all. You just can't resist answering the question truthfully. It comes out of you like some kinda Tourettes tic.
"And are you really classified as Undesirable?" He was highly doubtful.
As I actually was, I burbled out a truthful "yes," but I immediately felt the prickle of a guilty conscience.
He let go of my chin and stood up, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "Strange -"
"Ah, come on, don't tell me you got another one!" interrupted the second guy at the backgammon table. "That joke's old. I'm ready to wash my mouth with something decent." Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit - that voice. It was deeper than Jeffries and lacked the lilt, but it still had that weird quality. Vampire. Two vampires. Aren't these guys supposed to be territorial?
Jeffrey, who had looked over at his companion, suddenly whipped his attention back to me, "Territorial is a thing of the past. I love the company of my own kind - surprised? I see you are. That feeling is mutual at the moment."
Reading minds confirmed.
He leaned back over, one hand casually on the back of the settee, the other brushed my bangs back in a curiously tender way. "It's always a shame when the pretty ones neglect their looks."
He'd hit one of my hot buttons squarely with that line, but I managed to my teeth and keep my expression really, really placid. Here's the deal: I'll let myself be described as "handsome" or "cute" or even "elfin" if you are geek like Wally, but I am not "pretty." The only guy who can get away with calling me that is a Vampire, because I'm not suicidal enough to try stop him. But any mere mortal will get a face full of fist if he tries that kind of condescension with me. I couldn't have survived high school looking like this if I hadn't learned how to keep people from handing me crap.
"What, you say pretty?" Lord Jeffrey's vampire guest perked up at the word. He strolled across the floor, skirting the bed. "Oh, yeah, I see. Eh, he's not bad." This guy looked a bit older, maybe around thirty or so, bald with a neck tat of a Polynesian design peeking up from a tight, dust-grey T-shirt. "What's his numbers?"
"Well that would be the question, wouldn't it." Lord Jeffrey turned his gaze back and me and I felt pressured. A moment later my mouth bubbled over with my numbers. I felt them form and tumble out of me without the least ability to stop them. It was highly disconcerting.
Both vampires expressions went through the same set of emotions as I spieled. The first was vague surprise, because clearly whatever numbers they were expecting weren't what I was giving. This gave way to look of puzzled concentration, as I'm sure they must have been sorting out what flavors actually went with me. Finally, they exchanged grins.
"Oh how rare!" Jeffrey said with an affected squeal. "I don't think I've ever seen half of those numbers before. What a shame they taste so terrible. If you tasted good, I'd have found myself a commodity."
"Tsk. How bad?" asked the guest, looking somewhat disappointed.
"Puke, I believe," Jeffrey said stepping back, and shrugging up a shoulder. "At least according to my staff. He's already been through a tasting before, so no real surprises."
I winced. Here it comes. My gut did that little wriggly guilty conscience thing, because in a second it was all going to come out. There was no hiding my deception anymore. They'd know it was a lie the moment they tasted me.
Or even before. Mind reading. Crap.
Jeffry stiffened and spun about. "Oh ho! I knew it!" He pointed at me, then gave me a shake of his finger. "Someone hasn't been playing by the rules. So who hacked the system, Gorge? Did you pay someone, or did you do it yourself."
"No!" I cried out waving my hands, "It wasn't like that - I didn't hack -" I didn’t go farther than that, because they were in my mind, both of them, at that moment. And God help me, the first image the two of them pried out was my mother holding that vellum envelope and saying, "We're going to do something about this."
Fuck, fuck, fuck, no!
I'd sold out Mom! Nauseating guilt came crashing in on me, steamrolling out every thought. My eyes bugged out and I sweated, and all I could do was play my self-accusations over and over again. I was a complete scuz of son! Mom had comforted me, cared for me, sacrificed everything for me, and the moment I was pressured, I just tossed her to the wolves. I suck! And oh god, oh god, what were they going to do with her? With me?
"Well, it doesn't get more sour than this," said Jeffrey, sliding onto the couch to one side of me. The tattooed vampire took up the other side and I was sandwiched between them. "On a count of three. One, two…"
They each had one of my arms up to their mouths, and I felt a simultaneous cutting pain in both my wrists. My flesh shredded under their teeth with a tearing burn. My hands spasmed into fists and I squirmed, gritting my teeth as injury followed insult. I was angry and scared, sick and horrified. I wanted nothing better than to punch out both of their faces and flee, but all I could do was yank feebly on my wrists and feel the bruising force of their grip threaten to snap the bones in my forearms. I writhed up, turning on one hip, bringing my heel up to the edge of the settee's seat, trying to get some leverage under me to get away. It hurt, God it hurt, worse than anything I'd ever felt. Finally, my macho facade crumbled. My mouth opened and I let out a barking scream that echoed around the huge room.
And then the pain was gone. Just like a switch. I breathed fast and twitched and felt the cramps in my muscles slowly let up. Blinking the blurriness out of my eyes, I stared at my attackers with alarm and betrayal. That had been a hell of a lot more than just a few harsh words. That was fifteen extremely long seconds of pure torture.
But it was over and I realized they'd let go of me and pulled my arms protectively to my chest, only to realize that instead of being the bloody shreds that seconds ago I was sure I had, they looked absolutely fine. There was no trace of injury on them. Not even a red spot where their grip had nearly pulverized my bones. The only sign was a pair faint pink comma like depressions on each of my wrists, like old faded scars. If not for those I'd have assumed that it was all a head trip.
Swallowing hard, I turned to inspect their expressions. Were they pleased with the results of their sadism? God, I hoped so, because I didn't want to go through all that and still have them pissed at me.
They didn't look pleased, but they weren't pissed off either. They seemed almost in a trance, as though they were puzzling out the experience as much as I was.
"Well, it's not bad," said the tattooed guy first. "Lot better than the others. Kinda weird, but a good weird, you know?"
"It's a bit like…" said Jeffrey, trailing off, tapping the tips of his nails against his lips. He shook his head and tsked. "But no. I think I can honestly say I've never tasted anything remotely like it. Which I suppose I should expect with those numbers, shouldn't I? Well Marc, what do you think of my game?"
Lord Marc clapped his hands together and nodded pointedly at the bed. "I think you haven't broken my will to live. Last guy gave me my appetite back. In fact, I'm really hungry and I've got a taste for something sweet."
"Mmm… yes," said Jeffrey, in a distracted tone of voice. "On to the main meal." They turned around and put their attention on the bed.
I followed their gaze and saw Tina and Ron scrambling to put away their books. Moments later they began alternating between shedding the small amount of clothes left on them, and petting each other. Aside from small, almost furtive glances in our direction, they seemed almost sincere in their act of lovemaking. Tina's hands were sliding up Ron's arms, and he was working pulling down his red silk drawers with one hand, while sliding the other behind her head and pulling her into a kiss. They twisted on their knees, until their taunt bellies rubbed and her peekaboo bra flattened against his pects. Their mouths locked together in a drooly kiss that was nine tenths aimed at titillating their audience.
I didn't want to see it. I really, really didn't want to see it. It's not that they weren't as good looking as the people in the porn I download, because they were. But it's one thing to look at people getting it on from the privacy of your home where you can wank off in peaceful anonymity, and another to watch it go down less than ten feet away where you feel like some sleezy perv if your pants start to tent.
The vampires had lost all interest in me whatsoever. First Marc and then Jeffrey made their way to the bed proper. Marc absentmindedly lifted his shirt up to his arm pits, pulling one then the other arm free before leaving it draped for a moment like a cowl around his shoulders. Jeffrey seemed to have most of his attention on the two in his bed, but what little left over was spent carefully diddling the buttons on his cuffs.
My view of what was going on was pretty effectively blocked by the vampires, but my hearing was perfectly good. After a few uncomfortable minutes, Tina's breathy sighs of pleasure took on a slight upward squeak. There were creaks and the sound of bedding being pushed about. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably and tried to ignore it. Then Ron started moaning as well and I winced.
In my attempt to tune out what was going on right in front of me, my eyes happened to wander back to the unassuming closet door where I'd come in. What had my guide told me? It would take five minutes, they'd sour me and drink, then I'd be dismissed. It was way past five minutes, they'd soured and drunk, and while I hadn't actually heard Lord Jeffrey dismiss me, maybe I was supposed to figure that out from context.
The vampires were no longer paying a particle of attention to me, and hadn't for a while now. On the bed things seemed to be moving to a more crucial stage. The Vampires were mostly disrobed, and I could catch a brief glimpse of Ron on his back while just beyond Marc's shoulder Tina bounced up and down with vigor to match her sobbing gasps.
What are you still doing there? I heard Jeffrey's voice in my mind as clearly as if he actually spoke aloud. I couldn't tell if it was my wishful imagination or if he was somehow projecting his thoughts. I was pretty sure it was him. Maybe.
Right on that thought I did hear Jeffrey's voice, "I'll take the man, you may have the woman." The words were directed at Lord Marc, but it seemed clearly like they had a plan and I wasn't part of it. I'd been forgotten. I could finally go home.
I stood up and crept back to the closet, trying not to disturb the group on the bed, my mind already on what I'd do next. I had five hundred bucks of contingency money wearing a hole in my wallet and I planned of losing a good chunk of it at the nearest non-sleazy bar I could find. I was going to get that beer I craved back in the Lounge. Or maybe whiskey. I didn't drink whiskey that often, but I think this occasion definitely deserved it. I craved to burn away this experience, drown it in a smooth liquid fire that had been mellowing in oak since the day of my birth. This had been one weird-ass experience and it deserved a good solid drunk.
I turned the knob of the door, and pulled it towards me. My nose twitched at the sharp vaguely citrus scent of aerosol disinfectant. I felt just a touch insulted at the implication that my things were so unclean they warranted it, but then I brushed it off. I really didn't care what Lord Jeffrey or his people thought of me and my fellow Undesirables.
In a couple of minutes we'd be out of each other's lives permanently - hallelujah. My whole body tingled in happy anticipation of putting my clothes on and getting the hell out of the place.
Ah beautiful, wonderful freedom! I'd never take you for granted again.
And then, behind me I heard Lord Marc's voice rising above the moans. "You know, I can't get the taste of that last guy out of my mind. I wanna try him again. Where is he?"
Oh fuck.
On to chapter 5
Back to chapter 3
RATING: NC-17 (This chapter PG-13)
GENRE: Porn with plot -- heavy on the plot. Action/adventure, some black humor, some romance.
PAIRINGS: George x everyone. Mostly Slash, some het, three and moresomes. Vampire sex.
WARNINGS: Lots of non-con and coercive themes -- oh howdy. Lots of swearing. Some sexual props. Some bondage. Heavy dominance/submission themes.
WORD COUNT: 3639
CHAPTER FOUR
I'm happy to report those tax dollars we humans have been tithing up each year haven't been wasted on anything altruistic. Lord Jeffrey's feeding room was the model of opulence and questionable taste. It must have cost a fortune to create a room so garish.
In fact, the first thought I had when I saw the room was that I'd some how mistakenly walked into an Old Spaghetti Factory. The furniture, of which there was an awful lot, was made up of antiques and everything was upholstered in gem colored velvet patterned with subtle floral designs and offset by gold stitch work. Lord Jeffrey one-upped the affordable family restaurant with glassy marble walls, copious gold accents, and a blinding amount of leaded crystal. The floor was covered in a soft, cream-colored rug with a subtle but busy design worked into the piling.
Just like with Lady Dingaling, the focus of the place was a huge bed. I had thought that my memory was exaggerating when I pegged that canopy bed as being larger than life, but no, I was right. The bed was a custom job, both wider and longer than a California king by a couple of feet. At least it wasn't a canopy bed. Instead it had heavy looking bedposts, the masculinity of which was somewhat undercut by fanciful leaf and flower motifs. Not only weren't there handcuffs, but there was no obvious place one could cuff a person. Lord Jeffrey liked his food free range, and thank god for small favors.
I stood for a moment just past the threshold, squeezing the carpet with my toes, and trying to get the lay of the expansive land. I finally spotted the teal settee pushed off into one corner and crept over to it, being as stealthy as a guy in his underwear in the middle of a huge room with no cover can be. Apparently that was good enough because no one had even turned their heads by the time I settled myself gingerly on the cushions.
I stared at the bed, or more accurately the two people on the bed: a man and a woman, both brunettes, both gorgeous, and both not doing anything remotely sexual. The dude was propped up against the headboard, a book of sudoku perched on his naked knees. The chick had curled on her side and was reading some romance novel and idly diddling with the tie to her pink satin robe. Tina and Ron I guessed. They had a not-in-charge feel to them.
On the far side of the room, past the bed, there were two men playing what I guessed from the angle to be backgammon. Except for the click of the pieces and a subtle hum of the air conditioning, the room was eerily quiet. One of the guys looked off at something but I couldn't tell what, rang a small bell, then went back to his game.
With my orgy visions roundly dashed, I vowed to give up the notion of even having expectations for the evening. My mind was a blank slate, and I was willing to sit there, mute and still, and just take things as they came. I was one with the furniture, part of the cosmic background all. Ohm.
A minute ticked by. Then another. The bell rang again with a bit more force.
Tina noticed me first, her dark eyes peaking over her novel and meeting mine. She waved at me coyly. I broke my paralysis and waved back. Then she rolled over and went up on her elbow to look at the guys at the table. Then turned her head back at me.
"Sir, there's someone over here."
Just like that I was the focus of everyone's attention. There was a simultaneous bumping and shuffling from all corners of the room. The dude put down his sedoku and leaned forward, quizzically. The two men at the backgammon table stood up and craned their heads in my direction. And even the chick who lead me up chose that moment to open the closet door and peek in. I felt a shameful blush prickle up on my face and I tightened my jaw.
"Oh for… Well, you, why are you there?" asked one of the men at the backgammon table. His voice had a strange lilt that set my gaydar off with full bells and whistles. But beneath the obvious affectation there was something more: a weird carrying quality that made it seemed as if he were talking right in my ear. My flesh tightened up with goosepimples and let out an involuntary shudder. Vampire, definitely. Lord Jeffrey. "Speak up, what are you doing?"
My heart skipped about eight beats. That terror I'd experienced back at the airport kiosk sucker punched my chest. I feared for my life. Everyone knows, the first rule of dealing with vampires is don't piss them off.
"I was told to be here?" I was, wasn't I? I looked helplessly at my guide, who to my horror shook her head and pointed off across the room. "If I'm not supposed to be here, I'll be happy to leave." Please say I can go! The urge to flee battled with my urge to stay absolutely still and pee myself.
The vampire cocked his head "What? No, no, teal, man, not chartreuse! You are sitting on the wrong couch. Are you too stupid to know your colors?"
Apparently yes, I was. In my own defense, teal is green, the couch I was on was green, hence it was a pretty good guess. Besides, teal is one of those words that only chicks and interior decorators use. And poncy vampires who were probably interior decorators before they gave their own race a hearty heave ho and signed on with the enemy. Guys would just call the color bluish-green or maybe turquoise if they were going to be fancy about it. Simple. Direct. Understandable. So it really wasn't my fault that I screwed up, it was Lord Jeffrey's.
I can say this all calmly in retrospect, but at the time my mind just turned wavery and incoherent. It didn't matter whose fault it was. I was still off on the wrong foot, which was the last thing I needed, considering.
"I… sorry?" I managed to say.
And he was right there, standing over me. It was like time had shifted somehow, or he'd teleported. There was a brief stirring of air, like a fan had been turned my way, and then my vision was blocked by a finely textured white shirt. I jumped in my seat, my nerves prickling with adrenaline, and my muscles cramping with the need to move. With almost superhuman self-control, I lifted my eyes and had my first really good look at what would swiftly become the bane of my existence.
He looked in his mid twenties, a narrow faced man with brown hair, closely cropped up the sides, and longer and tousled on top. Handsome in the classical sense, but oddly not as inhumanly attractive as his help. Less plastic-doll perfect - more real, if you know what I mean. His skin was smooth and fine pored, beardless without the hint of the shadow that comes with shaving. He smelled clean with a hint of expensive cologne. And his expression was part exasperation and part amusement. The amusement gave me just the finest ray of hope.
"You kept me waiting," he said, tilting his head in a half-shake and offering up a scolding cluck of his tongue. "I don't generally put up with that sort of behavior."
In case vampires read minds, and at that point I wasn't sure they could, I concentrated on feeling as sincerely contrite as possible. I was the sorriest bugger to ever grace his presence.
His eyes narrowed. "Slippery fellow, aren't you." His hand caught my chin and pulled it in one direction then the other, examining my face. "What's your name?"
"George Handle," I said. I can't exactly describe it, because there is no other experience in the world like it, but I knew right then that the guy was in my mind. There was no question of me holding back the information. I had always assumed that you couldn't lie to vampires because they could tell you were lying, but that's not it at all. You just can't resist answering the question truthfully. It comes out of you like some kinda Tourettes tic.
"And are you really classified as Undesirable?" He was highly doubtful.
As I actually was, I burbled out a truthful "yes," but I immediately felt the prickle of a guilty conscience.
He let go of my chin and stood up, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "Strange -"
"Ah, come on, don't tell me you got another one!" interrupted the second guy at the backgammon table. "That joke's old. I'm ready to wash my mouth with something decent." Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit - that voice. It was deeper than Jeffries and lacked the lilt, but it still had that weird quality. Vampire. Two vampires. Aren't these guys supposed to be territorial?
Jeffrey, who had looked over at his companion, suddenly whipped his attention back to me, "Territorial is a thing of the past. I love the company of my own kind - surprised? I see you are. That feeling is mutual at the moment."
Reading minds confirmed.
He leaned back over, one hand casually on the back of the settee, the other brushed my bangs back in a curiously tender way. "It's always a shame when the pretty ones neglect their looks."
He'd hit one of my hot buttons squarely with that line, but I managed to my teeth and keep my expression really, really placid. Here's the deal: I'll let myself be described as "handsome" or "cute" or even "elfin" if you are geek like Wally, but I am not "pretty." The only guy who can get away with calling me that is a Vampire, because I'm not suicidal enough to try stop him. But any mere mortal will get a face full of fist if he tries that kind of condescension with me. I couldn't have survived high school looking like this if I hadn't learned how to keep people from handing me crap.
"What, you say pretty?" Lord Jeffrey's vampire guest perked up at the word. He strolled across the floor, skirting the bed. "Oh, yeah, I see. Eh, he's not bad." This guy looked a bit older, maybe around thirty or so, bald with a neck tat of a Polynesian design peeking up from a tight, dust-grey T-shirt. "What's his numbers?"
"Well that would be the question, wouldn't it." Lord Jeffrey turned his gaze back and me and I felt pressured. A moment later my mouth bubbled over with my numbers. I felt them form and tumble out of me without the least ability to stop them. It was highly disconcerting.
Both vampires expressions went through the same set of emotions as I spieled. The first was vague surprise, because clearly whatever numbers they were expecting weren't what I was giving. This gave way to look of puzzled concentration, as I'm sure they must have been sorting out what flavors actually went with me. Finally, they exchanged grins.
"Oh how rare!" Jeffrey said with an affected squeal. "I don't think I've ever seen half of those numbers before. What a shame they taste so terrible. If you tasted good, I'd have found myself a commodity."
"Tsk. How bad?" asked the guest, looking somewhat disappointed.
"Puke, I believe," Jeffrey said stepping back, and shrugging up a shoulder. "At least according to my staff. He's already been through a tasting before, so no real surprises."
I winced. Here it comes. My gut did that little wriggly guilty conscience thing, because in a second it was all going to come out. There was no hiding my deception anymore. They'd know it was a lie the moment they tasted me.
Or even before. Mind reading. Crap.
Jeffry stiffened and spun about. "Oh ho! I knew it!" He pointed at me, then gave me a shake of his finger. "Someone hasn't been playing by the rules. So who hacked the system, Gorge? Did you pay someone, or did you do it yourself."
"No!" I cried out waving my hands, "It wasn't like that - I didn't hack -" I didn’t go farther than that, because they were in my mind, both of them, at that moment. And God help me, the first image the two of them pried out was my mother holding that vellum envelope and saying, "We're going to do something about this."
Fuck, fuck, fuck, no!
I'd sold out Mom! Nauseating guilt came crashing in on me, steamrolling out every thought. My eyes bugged out and I sweated, and all I could do was play my self-accusations over and over again. I was a complete scuz of son! Mom had comforted me, cared for me, sacrificed everything for me, and the moment I was pressured, I just tossed her to the wolves. I suck! And oh god, oh god, what were they going to do with her? With me?
"Well, it doesn't get more sour than this," said Jeffrey, sliding onto the couch to one side of me. The tattooed vampire took up the other side and I was sandwiched between them. "On a count of three. One, two…"
They each had one of my arms up to their mouths, and I felt a simultaneous cutting pain in both my wrists. My flesh shredded under their teeth with a tearing burn. My hands spasmed into fists and I squirmed, gritting my teeth as injury followed insult. I was angry and scared, sick and horrified. I wanted nothing better than to punch out both of their faces and flee, but all I could do was yank feebly on my wrists and feel the bruising force of their grip threaten to snap the bones in my forearms. I writhed up, turning on one hip, bringing my heel up to the edge of the settee's seat, trying to get some leverage under me to get away. It hurt, God it hurt, worse than anything I'd ever felt. Finally, my macho facade crumbled. My mouth opened and I let out a barking scream that echoed around the huge room.
And then the pain was gone. Just like a switch. I breathed fast and twitched and felt the cramps in my muscles slowly let up. Blinking the blurriness out of my eyes, I stared at my attackers with alarm and betrayal. That had been a hell of a lot more than just a few harsh words. That was fifteen extremely long seconds of pure torture.
But it was over and I realized they'd let go of me and pulled my arms protectively to my chest, only to realize that instead of being the bloody shreds that seconds ago I was sure I had, they looked absolutely fine. There was no trace of injury on them. Not even a red spot where their grip had nearly pulverized my bones. The only sign was a pair faint pink comma like depressions on each of my wrists, like old faded scars. If not for those I'd have assumed that it was all a head trip.
Swallowing hard, I turned to inspect their expressions. Were they pleased with the results of their sadism? God, I hoped so, because I didn't want to go through all that and still have them pissed at me.
They didn't look pleased, but they weren't pissed off either. They seemed almost in a trance, as though they were puzzling out the experience as much as I was.
"Well, it's not bad," said the tattooed guy first. "Lot better than the others. Kinda weird, but a good weird, you know?"
"It's a bit like…" said Jeffrey, trailing off, tapping the tips of his nails against his lips. He shook his head and tsked. "But no. I think I can honestly say I've never tasted anything remotely like it. Which I suppose I should expect with those numbers, shouldn't I? Well Marc, what do you think of my game?"
Lord Marc clapped his hands together and nodded pointedly at the bed. "I think you haven't broken my will to live. Last guy gave me my appetite back. In fact, I'm really hungry and I've got a taste for something sweet."
"Mmm… yes," said Jeffrey, in a distracted tone of voice. "On to the main meal." They turned around and put their attention on the bed.
I followed their gaze and saw Tina and Ron scrambling to put away their books. Moments later they began alternating between shedding the small amount of clothes left on them, and petting each other. Aside from small, almost furtive glances in our direction, they seemed almost sincere in their act of lovemaking. Tina's hands were sliding up Ron's arms, and he was working pulling down his red silk drawers with one hand, while sliding the other behind her head and pulling her into a kiss. They twisted on their knees, until their taunt bellies rubbed and her peekaboo bra flattened against his pects. Their mouths locked together in a drooly kiss that was nine tenths aimed at titillating their audience.
I didn't want to see it. I really, really didn't want to see it. It's not that they weren't as good looking as the people in the porn I download, because they were. But it's one thing to look at people getting it on from the privacy of your home where you can wank off in peaceful anonymity, and another to watch it go down less than ten feet away where you feel like some sleezy perv if your pants start to tent.
The vampires had lost all interest in me whatsoever. First Marc and then Jeffrey made their way to the bed proper. Marc absentmindedly lifted his shirt up to his arm pits, pulling one then the other arm free before leaving it draped for a moment like a cowl around his shoulders. Jeffrey seemed to have most of his attention on the two in his bed, but what little left over was spent carefully diddling the buttons on his cuffs.
My view of what was going on was pretty effectively blocked by the vampires, but my hearing was perfectly good. After a few uncomfortable minutes, Tina's breathy sighs of pleasure took on a slight upward squeak. There were creaks and the sound of bedding being pushed about. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably and tried to ignore it. Then Ron started moaning as well and I winced.
In my attempt to tune out what was going on right in front of me, my eyes happened to wander back to the unassuming closet door where I'd come in. What had my guide told me? It would take five minutes, they'd sour me and drink, then I'd be dismissed. It was way past five minutes, they'd soured and drunk, and while I hadn't actually heard Lord Jeffrey dismiss me, maybe I was supposed to figure that out from context.
The vampires were no longer paying a particle of attention to me, and hadn't for a while now. On the bed things seemed to be moving to a more crucial stage. The Vampires were mostly disrobed, and I could catch a brief glimpse of Ron on his back while just beyond Marc's shoulder Tina bounced up and down with vigor to match her sobbing gasps.
What are you still doing there? I heard Jeffrey's voice in my mind as clearly as if he actually spoke aloud. I couldn't tell if it was my wishful imagination or if he was somehow projecting his thoughts. I was pretty sure it was him. Maybe.
Right on that thought I did hear Jeffrey's voice, "I'll take the man, you may have the woman." The words were directed at Lord Marc, but it seemed clearly like they had a plan and I wasn't part of it. I'd been forgotten. I could finally go home.
I stood up and crept back to the closet, trying not to disturb the group on the bed, my mind already on what I'd do next. I had five hundred bucks of contingency money wearing a hole in my wallet and I planned of losing a good chunk of it at the nearest non-sleazy bar I could find. I was going to get that beer I craved back in the Lounge. Or maybe whiskey. I didn't drink whiskey that often, but I think this occasion definitely deserved it. I craved to burn away this experience, drown it in a smooth liquid fire that had been mellowing in oak since the day of my birth. This had been one weird-ass experience and it deserved a good solid drunk.
I turned the knob of the door, and pulled it towards me. My nose twitched at the sharp vaguely citrus scent of aerosol disinfectant. I felt just a touch insulted at the implication that my things were so unclean they warranted it, but then I brushed it off. I really didn't care what Lord Jeffrey or his people thought of me and my fellow Undesirables.
In a couple of minutes we'd be out of each other's lives permanently - hallelujah. My whole body tingled in happy anticipation of putting my clothes on and getting the hell out of the place.
Ah beautiful, wonderful freedom! I'd never take you for granted again.
And then, behind me I heard Lord Marc's voice rising above the moans. "You know, I can't get the taste of that last guy out of my mind. I wanna try him again. Where is he?"
Oh fuck.
On to chapter 5
Back to chapter 3