Part 23 (1/2)
”Yes,” somebody replied. My heart gave such a jolt that for a second I thought it had popped free of its tubing and rolled down next to my stomach.
It was a woman's voice. She sounded like a grandmother.
”I'm here, too,” said another elderly-sounding woman, her voice coming from the other side of the room.
Both women giggled.
I heard something that sounded like chains rattling. I stayed put, hoping that my eyes would quickly adjust to the dark. C'mon, eyes, let's get a move on. Let me see the freaky grandmothers. Let's go. Aw, man, this sucks.
”Who are you?” I asked.
More giggling. More chains rattling.
”Who are you?” asked the woman to my left. She sounded like she was maybe five or six feet away. Not nearly far enough.
”I'm Andrew Mayhem,” I said. ”I mean you no harm.”
The giggling turned into outright laughter. I figured I deserved it. I wiped some sweat off my forehead and continued to stay where I was.
”We mean you lots of harm,” said the woman to my right.
”Lots and lots and lots,” her companion added.
”I bet your blood tastes gooooooooood.”
”Real, real good.”
As I looked from side to side, I could now vaguely see the two figures. They seemed to be chained to the wall. I slowly backed up against the door, hoping that their chains were sufficiently short to keep them from tasting my blood.
I knew they weren't vampires. I didn't believe in vampires. I did, however, believe in crazy old ladies with a blood fetish, and I found them rather unnerving.
”Should we bite him?” asked the woman to my left.
”Bite him and drink him all up?”
”Yes, indeedy.”
”Mmmmmmmmmm.”
I clenched my fists. ”I don't want to have to hurt you,” I announced. ”But I will. I'll do it.”
The women began to slowly walk toward me, chains dragging on the floor behind them. I was terrified, but at the same time I tried to convince myself that they weren't exactly unbeatable opponents. A halfway decent kick should take care of the problem, right?
”Tasty, salty blood...”
”Warm, sticky blood...”
”So, uh, do either of you ladies know why they call this room the Pit? Seems kind of silly to me, don't you think?”
The old women were now only a couple of feet away. I still couldn't see well enough in the darkness to be sure, but it looked like both of them had really long fingernails, almost claws.
I tried to kick the woman on my left and missed. Not because it was a lame kick, but because the woman moved with unexpected agility.
”Gooey, slimy blood...”
”Spraying, showery blood...”
”Spurty, sticky blood...”
They'd already said ”sticky” but I didn't mention it. I threw a punch at the woman on the right that also missed. Both women let out a delighted squeal and pounced at the same time, pulling me to the ground. I felt teeth on my arms, and so help me I screamed like a little girl.
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 b.u.t.t 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 p.o.r.n 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 s.a.d.i.s.t. The shrinkological term is 'overcompensation'.”