Suckers - Jack Kilborn [57]
The problem with having so many naked women trying to hump me senseless was…
Actually, there was no problem with it at all.
While I can’t admit to being in the peak of physical condition (I get winded tying my shoes, which I can’t see unless I suck in my gut), I’ve got a spring-loaded pelvis and can crack walnuts with my butt cheeks. In fact, I’ve done the walnut thing on a bet before. Watching the guy eat them afterwards was priceless.
That said, I was in good form when the Olympic Copulation began. I’m not quite porn star material, but what I lack in size I make up for in speed.
I figured out early on that not much was required from me in the reciprocation department. Everyone wanted a Bit-O-Harry, and I was happy to oblige. I just laid back, closed my eyes, and let the ladies take what they wanted.
There was a bad moment, when I felt someone with a mustache kissing me, but it turned out not to be a mustache.
Yes, there was sucking. And groping. And fondling. And pulling. And thrusting. And lots of other ing words. And by the time it was finally over, I had to admit that it was indeed the greatest thirty seconds of my life.
“That’s enough, baby.” I forced back an overzealous Harry fan. “No use trying to prime a dry pump.”
I disentangled my legs, pulled my fingers out from wherever they’d been, and shoved away some tattooed vixen writhing on the floor, because she was writhing on my pants.
“Any of you ladies know where the back door is?”
I slapped away an intrusive hand.
“Not that one. The exit.”
“Aren’t you enjoying yourself, Mr. McGlade?”
It was Vlad. He’d taken off the Hefty Bag ensemble, and stood naked in the doorway. The last time I’d seen anything that small, it was stuck in a hors d’oeuvre.
“I’m having a blast, Vladdy old boy. But all good things must end, and frankly, you’re all a bunch of psycho freaks. So I’m afraid that—Jesus!”
The vixen nearest to me had sunk her bridgework into my ankle, and it hurt like…well…getting bitten on the ankle.
I pulled back, then felt a similar pain on my left hand. And then on my right arm. I kicked away my attackers and limped over to an empty corner of the room to finish pulling up my pants.
“Blood is the elixir of life, Mr. McGlade.”
Vlad bared his own fangs, and I noticed Little Vlad waking up to see what all the excitement was about. Even turgid, it was more appropriate for picking locks than satisfying the ladies.
“You’ve got a real tiny rodney there, Vlad. No wonder you’re a power-mad sadist. The shrinkological term is ‘overcompensation’.”
Vlad squeaked his squeaky squeak-laugh.
“You’re to be the ultimate sacrifice, Mr. McGlade. We’re going to eat you alive, then deliver your corpse to the president of the network.”
“I’ve met him. He’d prefer tranny hookers.”
I zipped up and glanced around the room. Naked, drooling vampires were closing in from all directions. There were at least a dozen. The only door to the room was the one Vlad stood in front of. The wall behind me felt solid, final.
“They didn’t listen to our letter writing campaign,” Vlad whined. “Or our Internet petition. So maybe your drained, lifeless corpse will show them we aren’t fooling around.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“What the hell are you talking about, dinky?”
“Fatal Autonomy. We want it back on the air.”
I had enough bravado left to fake a belly laugh.
“You’ve got to be kidding! You lured me here, humped me dry, and now want to kill me, all to get my show renewed?”
Vlad got a crazy look in his eye. Well, a more crazy look.
“The whole warren loved the show. We watched it every Thursday night.” His voice became school-teachery. “What is your favorite TV show, children?”
“Fatal Autonomy,” they droned in unison.
I pinched myself. I’d had this dream before. Usually, though, there were a few recognizable actresses in the orgy pile. Like the chicks from Friends. Or the Golden Girls. And no fat naked vampire guy who was hung like a Smurf.
“Look, Vlad, we’re all upset when our favorite