Chapter 100 - The German Pornographer Tells All part 5

Lukas made the call, or rather, I made the call for him. I dialed the numbers as he ran them off for me, tapping the keyboard of my modern little phone with my long, white finger. I was unsure as I held my cell phone to his lips if he would actually betray his friend, or if he would dare to warn him off-- maybe even plead to the man for assistance-- but he did pretty much what I asked of him, and I have to give him credit: he's a very persuasive fellow. Despite the hour, he enticed and cajoled Hans until he'd convinced the man to get up, throw some sexy duds on, and drive across town to my suite. My prisoner looked up at me with a strange mixture of fear and hate and excitement when I snapped the phone shut and ended the call.

"He's coming," he said. "He'll be here in thirty minutes."

I left the room without speaking. As I neared the door, the pornographer called out behind me: "Remember what you promised!"

I closed the door and crossed my apartment to my dressing room. There, I tied back my hair and applied cosmetics to my hands and face and throat so that I would appear, at least for a few moments, like a living man. The flesh-colored foundation, manufactured by a company called Lancome, concealed the pallor of my flesh and the wriggling blue worms of my blood-starved veins. Except for the eyes, I looked… almost human.

The eyes would give it away, but I only needed the man to step inside. He would not notice the strange gleam of my stare. Not until I'd closed the door and locked it behind him. Then it would not matter.

As a final bit of preparation, I set the stage for the second act of this evening's performance. I put a CD in my stereo system and turned the volume up loud, then mussed up my living room, pulling a couple pillows askew on my sofa. I surveyed the room, my hands on my hips, then grabbed a pair of my trousers and tossed them on the floor.

Smiling at my handiwork, I recalled a line from the old children's poem:

'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the Spider to the Fly…

I waited patiently near the door, my appetite increasing with every passing moment. The hunger inside me was a fire sizzling in my guts, burning inside every wriggling vein. Thirty minutes passed. Then forty. Lukas called from my bedchamber: "Is he here yet?" and I commanded him to be silent. Forty-five minutes after my captive had convinced his associate to come and party with us, I heard the elevator down the hallway ding! The doors slid open and footsteps trod toward my apartment. Heavy footfalls. A big man.

I could smell him as he drew near. Too much cologne. Cigarettes on his fingertips and lips. I could smell the leather jacket he wore. The mints in his pocket. The odor of his flesh. His sexual excitement (Lukas had told him there were women waiting, young and drunk and willing, looking for a fourth).

The doorbell chimed. I waited. On the second ring, I opened the door.

"Hello?" I said.

Lukas was not exaggerating. Hans was a huge man. Almost seven foot tall, and powerfully built. He was dressed in a leather jacket and white silk shirt, open to the breastbone to expose his sculpted pectorals and a large gold crucifix.

(Don't worry, my readers. As you'll recall, religious icons have no effect on me!)

His horn rim glasses were fogged from the cold outside. His lank blond hair—so pale it was almost white—hung down in a stylish shag from beneath a toboggan speckled with melting snowflakes. His nose was red from the cold, and he was sporting American blue jeans so tight the full length of his cock could be seen running several inches down his pants leg.

What is the motto?

Ah, yes! If you've got it, flaunt it.

The large man looked down at me with surprise, then his one good eye narrowed with suspicion. "Who are you?" he asked. He had to yell to speak over the pulsing music.

I told him I was the Diener… the butler.

"Please, come in," I said, standing aside and sweeping my arm out.

He walked in, scanned the room as he slipped off his jacket. "Is Mr. Jaeger still here?" he asked. The puckered scar on his face was deep. I wonder how he'd gotten it. His glass eye didn't quite align with the eye that was still sighted. It peered off at a disconcerting angle, rimmed with a bit of mucous.

"The group has retired to the bedroom," I said with just a hint of feigned disdain. He tossed his leather jacket into my arms and I folded it and draped it upon a settee. I shut the door, locked it, threw the deadbolt. After a moment of consideration, I chained it, too.

"Where?" he yelled.

I turned and gestured toward the door across the room.

"Lukas?" he called, as he plodded toward the bedroom. "Hey! Don't start the party without me!"

I stalked quietly behind him. The scent of his blood was maddening. I inhaled the smell as it billowed around me in his wake, hot and salty and nourishing.

Hans opened the door.

Lukas ogled him, bound to my Louis the Fifteenth with silver duct tape.

"What the fuck?" the giant exclaimed.

Even for his bulk, the big man was quick. He spun around as I lunged at him. His fist shot out like a cannon, but for all his speed, I was faster. He might as well have been moving in slow motion.

I pivoted, arched back. His strike pierced only air.

Hans stumbled forward into my arms, and I swung him around and onto my bed. His eyewear clattered on the floor. We collapsed upon my sheets like lovers. I looked at Lukas for a second, saw him watching with wide eyes and a stunned—but rapt—expression, then I curled my lips back from my fangs and sank my teeth into the big man's neck.

Hans howled in agony. He tried to push me away, but I was too powerful for him. I was snarling. The world went red and hazy as I fed. The pleasure was orgasmic. I gripped his blond hair and jerked his head sideways. I heard his vertebrae crunch. I nearly pulled his head completely off, but I was beyond care. I was beyond reason, beyond mercy. Well beyond good manners! I was so hungry, and the blood was so hot and tasty… and there was so much of it! This giant was a veritable smorgasbord. An all you can eat buffet of blood!

My chin was dripping. My sheets and mattress, I'm sure, were ruined.

He was dead, but I was still hungry.

I tore his shirt open and plunged my fist into his sternum, punching through flesh and bone. I pried open his ribs, ripped out his heart and squeezed it into my mouth. I lapped at the blood that drizzled from his entrails, then finally, thinking of all the runaways and kidnapped children he had raped and murdered, I shucked down his jeans—despite the cold, he was wearing no underwear—and I tore his cock and balls from between his quivering legs.

I wheeled toward my captive, holding the man's organs in my bloody fist.

Lukas was watching in horror… but he was also aroused. I could smell his sexual excitement. I could see the evidence of it pressing the front of his slacks out.

"You covet this?" I demanded, the rapist's penis flopping in my fist. "This is what you serve? This is your god?" Not meaning Hans's penis specifically, but The Penis. Lust, and its gratification. 

Lukas shook his head no.

I flashed toward him, moving faster than he could see. As the speed of my movement blew back his expensively styled bangs, I grabbed him by the hair and forced the mutilated genitals into his mouth… as much as would fit in there. They really were quite enormous!

"The Catholics eat the flesh of their god. You can do the same!" I hissed. I was enraged, trembling. I turned brusquely away, tried to reign in my emotions.

Lukas spat the torn and shriveled cock from his mouth and screamed. It was an outraged, womanish cry. His face and clothes were smeared with his associate's blood. "You bastard!" he howled. "You fucking monster!" He retched, then vomited into his own lap.

My back still turned to him, I started laughing. "Yes, that's right. I am a monster! What did you think you were dealing with?"

He puked again, then groaned, dry heaved a couple more times. He raised his head, his eyes bleary, snot hanging from his nose. He began to thrash against his bonds. Hysteria had taken his reason. He wrenched back and forth in the chair, making it hop and scoot on the floor.

I turned and struck him with my foot. The blow drove him across the room, chair and all, and he crashed against the wall.

The impact shattered my expensive antique chair.

Oh, now that was a waste! That chair was 300 years old!

Lukas lay crumpled and unconscious on his side, plaster dust drifting from the chipped drywall above.

I sighed, disappointed with my loss of control. After a moment, I walked to the pornographer and checked to see if he still lived.