Vampira Dentata (1)

I was starting to worry that I wouldn't have anything written today. I've gone every day for so long, such a nice streak. But I had a busy day, and I almost didn't write anything.

Thankfully, I had an idea that has been ruminating. An idea that LeLe gave me.

So I present to you the first vampire story to show up on this site:

Vampira Dentata (1)

Valerie Day walked down the street, shaking her head and scolding herself as she walked. All that time of people trying to say that girls don't ask for it, that rape is never invited, that it is not the woman's fault, and she's actively going against that.

Her heels are a few inches too high to let her really run, the black vinyl making the light caress her long legs, drawing attention to the pale skin below her short skirt, designed to draw the eye up. Her shirt barely covers anything, the t-shirt already cut at the collar for easier ripping. She walks through darkened alleys with a clutch purse, sticking to areas that aren't well lit, stumbling a little as she walks as if she is drunk.

Rape is not okay. Rape is not the woman's fault. The woman is not asking for it.

Valerie is. But she has her reasons. She has a reason why she's walking with a skirt that provides more the suggestion of decent coverage than the reality of it. She has a reason why her nipples are pressing hard against the t-shirt that is clearly too small for her. A reason her midriff is showing, a reason there's a visible tattoo on her back, one that even says 'asking for it.' She has a reason for all of it. She actually is asking for it, despite how that makes her feel.

She's asking for it, because she wants revenge.

Sometimes it takes only a few minutes. Sometimes, she'll go the whole night and never get a nibble. But she knows the right -or rather, the wrong- parts of town. She knows the alleys that have obstructed views. She knows the places where a scream won't bring anyone running.

She walks, stumbling on huge hooker heels, a look on her face like she has very little awareness of her surrounding. Her slender, almost emaciated frame makes it clear that even if she wanted to, she couldn't put up much of a fight. And she sings softly to herself.

The only way she could be more obvious is to hang a sign around her neck that actually said 'rape bait.' She had tried that once, at a club. It had turned out better than she had expected.

Tonight felt like a good night. It was a new moon; outside the rings of streetlight, there was practically no way for a human being to see. The darkness was ever present and oppressive, hugging the alleyway and offering sanctuary to those who wished to hide.

She has been walking for an hour already. She tried going into a bar, drinking enough to knock someone her size out, and then stumbling out the back. But there were no takers. She tried leaning against a light post, one where the bulb had been shot out. But no one made a move. She is about to start making plans to move on, to try a new city or even a new technique, but she decides to try just one more thing.

She hears him watching her. He's pretty far away, and pretty sure she has no idea he is there. But he's watching her. She can smell his lust. It's almost as if she can read his mind. So she tries one last play. 

The cell phone.

She pulls out her cell phone, not having to fake the surprised look or the pull away from the light when it turns on. She puts it to her ear.

“Hello?” Drunk girls have very little control over their volume, so Valerie makes no attempt to be quiet. “What? No, no. This is Val. He's not here right now. Can I take a message?” She slurs her words, then laughs as if she just said something hilarious. Then she flips the phone closed and moves as if to put it back into her purse.

But she misses the purse, and the phone crashes to the ground. It breaks, but she pretends not to notice. She pretends that she has no idea she missed, and just stumbles on a bit more, slightly more blind than she had been just a second ago.

He takes the bait. He comes up behind her and pushes her out of the street and into an alley. She stumbles and falls, skinning her knee on the ground. She doesn't wince. Doesn't make any noise at all. A girl as wasted as she is pretending to be wouldn't even notice something as simple as a skinned knee or the shard of glass in her hand.

So instead, she groans and rolls over, not bothering to get up, not bothering to get her legs closer together. If all he wanted to do was rob her, he could just take her purse and go. Mugging happens. Mugging is understandable. Arguably, she actually is asking for that. It will be disappointing, but understandable.

Lucky for her, he isn't after her money. She can see his erection straining against his pants, and rolls her head to the side, opening her legs open just a little bit more as if she has no idea what's going on. She glances at him long enough to see where he is looking, to see that he is noticing that she isn't wearing panties.

She can just guess his thoughts. He's probably thinking that this just fell into his lap. That it's his lucky day. That she was just gift wrapped for him. So high, so wasted, she probably won't even remember. And she's not wearing panties, so it's not like it's even forced. She wants it. She's asking for it.

It doesn't take much decision for him to pull his pants down. She makes a noise, a confused and questioning one, and moves to get up. He slaps her across the face and then pushes her down, hard. Her head cracks against the pavement, and she lets herself go limp. No need to even pretend to struggle anymore.

He plunges himself into her, grunting and murmuring to himself. She's wet. She really was asking for it. She was teasing him. All the normal things that a first time rapist might say to justify his actions. No different from when the boys at the fraternities think they've roofied her.

She lets him hump away, feeling more and more blood flow away from the rest of his body and into his crotch. Once he gets really moving, he doesn't register how strange it is that she moves her arms. He doesn't register how strange it is that she puts her hands on his hips, that she begins to hold on to him. He just assumes that she is enjoying it. That she really does like it. He just sees it as justifying his act. He grunts again, getting closer and closer to cumming.

Then he screams.

It's not a scream of pleasure. It's a scream first of shock, then of pain. Of all the things that had ever happened to him, this one has to be new. He may have felt teeth on his cock before, but never fangs. And never, ever, has he felt those teeth while his cock was in a girl's pussy.

Valerie snakes one arm around and covers his mouth with it. She smiles at him, her eyes fully focused, completely alert. She shakes her head and makes a chastising sound as her nether fangs begin training the blood.

His eyes are wide, he struggles against her, but he can't move. He can't break her grip. For such a small thing, she's much stronger than she looks. He bucks, he tries to pull his way out of her, not seeming to care if it castrates him. But she's still hungry, so she doesn't let him go. She doesn't let him pull away. He struggles, but his strength is failing. There's no blood to pump to his muscles, no way to carry the adrenaline that is desperately pumping into his blood, making it taste like sour candy. She smiles and moans as he looks at her in terror, as he whimpers.

As he dies.

She lets go of his cock and pulls her fangs back beneath the skin. Her juices heal the bite marks, leaving him just one more dead rapist with a bit less blood than he should have.

Valerie stands up and dusts herself off, flaking away the already healed scab on her knee. The glass from her hand makes a sharp sound as it falls to the ground. Then she goes through his pockets, to see if he has anything of interest.

She looks over at a dumpster, picks up her meal, and carries him as if he weighs less than her purse. She tosses him in with one hand, then retrieves her purse.

The strap is broken. No matter. The fifty dollars he had will more than pay to fix that.

And she has a new cell phone now. One that already has a bunch of numbers programmed into it.

Numbers that might belong to other rapists.

To other meals.