This week, we return to our regularly scheduled programming, with a little story I found classified under the ‘Erotic Horror’ section of Literotica. So, if everything goes to plan, when you get scared, the blood should drain away from your face, directly into your genitals.

At least, I think that’s how this is supposed to work.

This story comes to us from ‘Tarakan’ of ‘Literotica.com’.

***

(excerpt from a Vampyre Novel)

You know, spelling ‘vampire’ with a ‘y’ doesn’t make it extra-gothic or spooky. It’s just the French variation of the word, derived from the German Vampir, which is also where the English version came from.

In short: You haven’t made your story better, you’ve just made it Frencher.

And that’s terrible.

In agreeing to help, the thanatophobic Baron had one demand: To have the Countess’s new companion be part of his obsession with death, beauty, Victoriana, and all things equine.

One sentence in, and your audience is baffled. New record.

Let’s break this down:

Problem 1)

Thanatophobia is, literally, the fear of death. Which isn’t so unusual that you’d mention it for kicks, so we’re obviously missing some context here. By describing the Baron in such a vague, unhelpful, way, you’ve actually left us with more questions. In effect, we now have negative information about this character.

Problem 2)

Three characters, only two of them named, none introduced, in the first sentence? Really?

Problem 3)

A four point list is just sloppy. In this blog, we defer to the rule of three.

On this special theme night in his club ‘The Lair’, Jessica was his lead horse at a macabre, fetish, Victorian wake

Is it really necessary to specify that a wake is macabre?

The tend to have an open box full of dead person as the centrepiece. I think we can take the grimness as read.

She had spent a bizarre afternoon with the Baron being fitted for her costume. Revelling in selecting her funereal wardrobe, he chose a chokingly tight laced latex basque; a rigid rubber discipline neck collar; horse bridle; check reins, an anal plug pony tail, seamed nylons, and a long ostrich feather nodding plume; all in deathly black.

The ostrich feather really completes the ensemble. Without that it would look ridiculous.

Dressed in the gothic livery of a Victorian funeral mare,

A clause that will render any sentence 1000% more interesting.

her role was to enact the part of a frisky, thoroughbred Lippizaner, groomed and proffered for siring.

You don’t really think of sugar cubes as an aphrodisiac.

Demona had explained the importance of acquiescing to the Baron’s lurid demands, but now, standing alone, with music pumping loudly, she felt scared.

‘Demona’. There is a character named ‘Demon-a’.

Her laboured breathing came in rapid, shallow bursts.

Seriously, why not just call her ‘Skeletor’ and be done with it?

The gamma hydroxybutyrate (GHB)

A drug with the hilarious slang name of ‘Georgia Home Boy’.

as kicking in. Her head swam, colours intensified and a dozen tall, and slender women encased in burnished latex, and shimmering nylon’s – a fetishist’s wet dream – floated toward her from the mirrored walls. She swayed to the syncopated beat resonating deep inside her head, and swaying with her, the twelve voluptuous doppelgangers. She giggled. Her drug, induced imagination ran riot.

How do you go to the trouble of spelling words like ‘syncophated’, ‘voluptuous’ and ‘doppelganger’ correctly, but still manage to clumsily toss apostrophes and commas about willy-nilly?

They were simple reflections, but each was alive, smiling, and carousing with her – she would gladly have fucked any of them, but then her earpiece buzzed.

“It turned out that what she had thought was an earpiece was actually three wasps glued to a walnut. But then again, she was high as fuck, so this wasn’t surprising”

“Take the walk.” A voice commanded. She stood on the first step, careful to set the toe of her calf boot down safely. The rigid collar stopped her looking down, so gingerly she felt her way up the stairs. With each step, she moaned and bit hard on the bridle in her mouth. The plug of the ponytail rubbed against the Chinese steel balls inside her sex, sending electrifying spasms across her pubis.

We go from the weirdly vague ‘sex’, to the uncomfortably specific ‘pubis’.

Hopefully, soon we’ll make the leap to ‘utterly imcomprehensible’, with ‘lady pudding basin’.

Trembling she looked up. Designed by the Baron, the Perspex sphere had steps, bars, ropes, and ledges for every conceivable sexual act. Running along the inner top, a circular tube fed with scented oils sprayed a fine mist into the sphere’s centre. Along the bottom, small holes drained away the oil. On other night’s they drained blood.

Ignoring the Quasimodo-like apostrophe that currently deforms the word ‘nights’, how on earth does everyone keep their balance in a room constantly kept slick with oils?

Fetish heels aren’t conducive to good balance at the best of times. Their addition would only serve to make the whole scene comical, like if you threw a bag of flamingos in a kiddie pool full of butter.

With Jessica in sight, the audience roared excitedly, and ‘Kiss the Chrome’ by Revenge accompanied her ascent into the sphere.

Lyrical excerpt from that song:

“I’m just a man riding high.

When I’m alone then I’ll cry.

I fade in the light and

then pray in the night,

Like a man who has no where to hide.”

Well, that sure makes me want to fuck.

The pneumatic trap door hissed, and closed shut. Her head pounded, and her blood coursed hot through her veins – she was on fire. The Baron had administered the GHB with uncanny timing, ensuring the drugs full effect hit her on entering the sphere. She soughed softly, breathing a rich scented aroma that calmed her pounding head. Within seconds, the aromatic oil had sheathed and permeated every inch of her trussed body making her latex and hose glisten under the hot lights.

Like a christmas turkey, or a fat man on the beach.

Closing her eyes, and lost in the soft, cooling basting of scented balsam she swam among a myriad of vibrant colours flowing inside her head. The mizzling oil soothed her steaming breasts, but her rouged nipples flamed and throbbed. Barely cupping the syrupy 32D’s in her small hands, she rolled each engorged teat between her fingers, trying forlornly to quell the raging heat, but the more she squeezed, the more they burned, and the more the audience cheered.

“Woo, nipples! We see this exact thing dozens of times a night, but we’re somehow still excited!”

The door hissed. She looked around. Covered from sternum to pubis with translucent purple latex, straps and silver buckles stood the Ukrainian identical twins; Yeva and Yana – two febrile, predatory stallions with a cornered mare to mount.

The horse metaphor kind of breaks down when you bring predation into it.

Horses are traditionally prey, after all, and are ridiculously easy to kill. Seriously, prehistoric humans used to literally chase a horse until it died of exhaustion. If you’re an animal evolved specifically to run, and you can be chased to death by some uppity monkey, you’re probably not preying on anything anytime soon.

Wearing glass strap-ons, ostrich plumes, bridles, tails and reins, they looked the part. They licked their lips and grinned mischievously. More spotlights opened, flooding the sphere with hot, white light. Jessica took a deep breath, turned, and with her hands on hips glared at the ruttish twins. If she were to be mounted, it would be on her terms. She bared her teeth and growled. “We have come for you.” Yana’s shrill voice rang inside her head, amplified through her earpiece. Holding the glass phallus she rolled her hips in a mock thrust, and pawed the ground with the toe of her thigh boot, cracking her riding crop against the glossy patent leather. Yeva joined in, swinging her dildo in one hand, and in mock masturbation, smeared KY jelly along its eight-inch length with the other. “We will ride you hard.” Yeva’s voice joined Yana’s.

Professional horse riders are usually tiny Irish men in bright uniforms. Another highly arousing metaphor there.

Jessica saw two leather straps hanging a metre apart above her head. She turned, wrapped them around her wrists, spread her legs wide, bent at the waist, and pumped and thrust her buttocks lasciviously back and forth at the twins, accompanying the steady four, four beat. The audience howled, delighted with Jessica’s brazenness, clapping with each thrash and swish of her tail.

“Despite the leather straps built into the ceiling, this is apprently all new to us! Yay!”

The twins laughed, rotating their hips and thrusting their phalluses in response.

The audience loved the baiting, and roared approval. Jessica turned and snarled. The horse bit stopped her speaking, but her eyes burned and her derisory expression, spoke volumes. With the baiting over, Yeva moved forward, took hold of Jessica’s training reins, and with her head next to hers, pulled hard. Jessica hissed.

“I’m a snake. A snaky-horse. Neighsss. Shut up, it’s hot.”

“We are so looking forward to fucking you.” Yeva’s voice spat malice. Taking Jessica’s collar ring, she tethered it to a chain descending from the sphere top. The chain was drawn, and the audience accompanied the movement with catcalls and whistles. Yana completed Jessica’s imprisonment using padded ankle manacles secured to steel rings set in the floor.

Padded? What kind of pansy-ass dungeon is this?

Yana looked at their prize, spread-eagled, and unable to move. She cracked her riding crop hard across Jessica’s buttocks causing the taut flesh to quiver, and a sheet of oil to dance and swirl.

“You have a tight butt.” Each slash brought a red welt, and a defiant cry from Jessica. Yeva followed, cracking her whip hard across Jessica’s breasts, making her yelp in pain. Jessica’s defiance was evaporating.

Presumably it then condensated on the ceiling and dripped on to the heads of the specatators, leaving dozens of men and women to wake up the next morning with strangely uppity hairdos.

Yana knelt in front of Jessica as Yeva traced the curve of Jessica’s spine with a latex glove, moving slowly down the cross lacing of her corset. The audience buzzed and fell silent. With a large grin, Yeva dipped into the back of Jessica’s thong.

Dipped into it.

Like you would a bag of sweets, or a duckpond.

“Now, let us see……….” Yeva tore the thin latex from Jessica’s sex and the audience cheered again.

WE. FUCKING. LOVE. PAUSES.

“Ooooh…you slut! You shaved for the occasion!” Yeva cooed, sliding a finger along Jessica’s plump denuded vulva, lifting a small gold ring hanging from Jessica’s sex.

“From her sex” implies that her entire vulvic region is pierced with some kind of massive, Sonic the Hedgehog-style ring. Which is a) horrifying, and b) would clank when she walked.

“What do we have here?” She pulled hard. The first steel ball reluctantly emerged, and when the second followed, Yana mashed her tongue stud hard against Jessica’s clit, kneading the raw button roughly between her lips and tongue.

“Raw button” makes me want to fry coat fastenings, and that’s not an impulse I have often.

Gasping with surprise, Jessica pulled on the leather straps and ground her teeth down hard on the bit as a seriatim of spasms rippled across her sex.

This is as creepy and pretentious as an arts student stripping naked in a cemetary to ‘be one with the dead dude vibes’.

She closed her eyes and gave into the waves that flowed over her. For all her bravado, she and Demona were foolish to think she stood a chance. As a fresh vampyre, she was just coming to terms with her new, highly charged libido. Tonight, pumped with GHB, and preyed on by two experienced vampyre sisters, she was putty in the Baron’s hands.

Vampire putty.

Horse vampire putty.

Drugged, leather, horse-vampire putty.

Just so we’re all on the same page.

Yeva watched as Jessica’s body trembled and shook, taken to a swift and merciless orgasm by her sister. With her pleasure subsiding, Jessica hung from the chain like a discarded marionette. “We still have a performance to give.” Yeva rasped into her microphone. Yana looked up into her Jessica eyes. Defeat and resignation stared back. Rubbing her glass phallus against Jessica’s inner thigh, Yeva continued.

That last sentence brought to us by Dirty Yoda.

“Your Mistress said you like it long and hard.” The chain fell slack and she bent Jessica forward raising her glass phallus to her sex. Jessica squirmed. How could she take this eight-inch glass cock when her anus was already stretched?

The eternal question.

Across the wall of video screens she was about to find out. Hypnotised by the sight of her own gaping sex, Jessica watched Yana guide the glass to her labia – a measured thrust – a moment of resistance and then a caterwauling scream, amplified above the music. The bulbous head was engulfed, and her sticky sheath began sucking in the smooth glass, inch by inch.

This whole scene is reminiscent of baby being born in reverse. You start out, brimming to the tits with hope and joy, then you slowly become ever-more disgusted and repulsed by the awfulness that unfolds (re-folds?) before you.

Yeva revelled in the control she and her sister had over both the audience, and Jessica. Glutted with eight inches of glass, and a thick five-inch anal plug, their prisoner could do little but moan and cry.

Jeez, you stretch a couple of orifices, and suddenly it’s all bitch bitch bitch.

Yeva pulled Jessica up by her ponytail, and mauled her breasts, roughly squeezing and pinching the sensitive flesh.

Like a hungry bear.

A bear hungry for breasts.

All the while, Yana teased, sucked and tormented Jessica’s clit. The chanting grew louder, becoming hysterical. Yeva worked the audience with air punches in time with the thumping beat. From within the control booth, the Baron zoomed and panned the sphere’s cameras, occasionally barking orders to the twins.

“Keep having sex!”

The audience watched enthralled. The screens flashed back and forth between the glass dildo gliding in and out of Jessica’s sex, and her pained expressions. Yana now moved to the side and collected a long steel flexible hose, walking it toward the unsuspecting Jessica. Demona, sitting with Anastasia in a box overlooking the sphere suddenly sat up and clasped her chair arms in trepidation. “Oh no, No! Not that!”

“OH GOD NO! NOT THE CHAIR! THE UNDERTAKER IS wait, wrong stadium.”

Yana took a position in front of Jessica, and pointed the nozzle of the tube above her head. Pushing a lever she sent a torrent of red sticky liquid arcing through the air covering Jessica and Yeva in a blanket of red. She was showering them with human blood.

The logistics of having a tank of human blood under a nightclub are just too silly to contemplate. It would be like trying to explain a guest bedroom full of screaming pineapples. You just have to accept that it’s there, and get on with your day.

With an expression of shock and incredulity, Jessica’s eye-teeth descended, and morphed into needle sharp six inch fangs.

When your fangs are six inches long, you’re no longer a vampire. You’re a walrus.

Slowly, her irises changed from round to oval slits. Yeva grinned. She got what she wanted – Jessica’s bloodlust. Possessed with an insatiable desire to gorge on the blood, Jessica thrashed wildly at her restraints. Yana knew all about bloodlust and moved away.

Seriously, a human with canines as big as that is just a ridiculous image. The human head is at completely the wrong angle to do any kind of damage with teeth like that. At best, if you threw your head back, and charged them, like a handicapped child chasing a bird, you could possibly graze someone. At worst, you’re accidentally giving yourself a nipple piercing.

“She doesn’t understand!” Cried Demona, pummelling the glass window. “She’s too young!” Anastasia tried to comfort her Mistress, but it was no use. They both stood in the box, unable to help their new vampyre friend.

“Vampyre Friend”, a phrase that launched a thousand livejournal pages.

“You won’t be eating tonight my lovely.” Yana laughed, looking at Jessica’s shocked face and tiring body. Yana dropped the tube and fell to her knees. Her sister slowed her thrusts. Both sisters knew the end game was close “Come for mummy.” Sighed Yana, slurping at the remaining rivulets of blood dripping down Jessica’s thighs before sucking her clitoris back into her mouth, and gleefully ravaging the nub of flesh.

Just once, I would like a literal example of what the author actually means when they use a word like ‘ravage’ or ‘torture’ in relation to a clit. Seriously, the clitoris (or clih-taur-ruhs if you’re american and weird) is an organ of pleasure. It just doesn’t work to describe it in this context with a pain-associated word.

The tremors grew constant, and Jessica closed her eyes. Deep within her stomach satiating surges of pleasure grew and pulsed, sending spasms through her sex and onto Yana’s eager tongue. Howling like a banshee, and with her orgiastic cries peeling above the music, Jessica dowsed Yana’s face in a hot sticky downpour. The door hissed again. This was not the end. Within minutes, a procession of latex and leather clad funereal beefcake rose into the sphere, accompanied by ecstatic cries from the crowd.

Funereal Beefcake is the name of my Slayer cover band.

It was a blood bath worthy of a Borge’s orgy.

Borgia.

Borgia. The famously hedonistic papal family, known for their depravity.

‘Borge’ is, respectively, an Argentinian novelist and a Danish comedian, both deceased. Presumably, neither of them were known for their latex-based sexual depravity.

Devastated that her calculated risk had backfired, Demona could only sit and watch. Never again would she trust the Baron, or his entourage. They would have to try and save the vampyre race without his help.

Wha?

The point of posting a story extract, which the author has spectacularly missed, is to entice to viewer into reading more of your story. To do this, your snippet must be interesting, evocative of your entire story, and, above all, COMPREHENSIBLE.

***

I don’t know what I was expecting when horses, leather, vampires were all mentioned in the opening paragraphs, but it wasn’t that.

Next week, we have an interview with another erotic fiction author, the inimitable Remmitance Girl!

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-Alex