The Byte

by

Steve Fitzsimmons

I never knew that there were so many genre sites on the web; in fact I only found out just how many when I was surfing for a bit of alternative porn, not the run of the mill tasters that you get as an incentive to join whatever it is you're into.

That's not to say that I was looking for something bizarre, like monopede mania or big-breasted girls in Army surplus gas masks: more something in the line of 'the girl next door'. Actually, I do fancy the girl next door and actually, she doesn't fancy me.

Anyway, by a tortured trail of links, I found myself on a vampire website called Red Milk - quite a jump from typing in 'secret desires'. I've never been into the vampire thing, except for those 1930's B&W hissing and crackling films with Bela Lugosi that I used to watch at midnight when I was younger. They were brilliant. Despite the corny special effects, the hair on the back of my neck and arms used to rise like a Mohican's haircut when Count Alucard moved in for the kill.

Those Hammer Horror films with Christopher Lee and his 'morning after the night before' eyes were pretty good, too - you could always count on the Count serving the serving wenches with something they'd never had before as they lay on a bed with their tits out. Anything used to get me going when I was sixteen. Still does, but a bit slower.

Where was I? Oh, yeah - the website. There was a film clip download section and one of the stills looked promising. The Women of Arteria, it was called. Two girls and a man. Sounded OK and looked even better. I downloaded a twenty-minute clip. The girls were giving it what for in a dungeon and a Kevin Keegan look-alike with Lassie fangs was hovering around with a look on his pallid face as if somebody was eating a meal he'd paid for.

I don't know what the plot was about, except for the obvious, but the girls more than made up for that. Keegan lobbed one over the blonde's head and the other got her fingers to it just before it dribbled in. There was a bit of dirty play and Keegan got to put it on the spot. Then the crowd went mad when the blonde was fouled on the edge of the box and she was carried off, bleeding. Good game. Good result.

I got a Grolsch from the fridge, watched an action replay and got down to reading the rest of the site. Most of it I skimmed over but Carnal Crypt caught my eye. It was a Vamperotica short story section. I checked out the first one; it was called When The Reign Falls. It was raunchy stuff by someone called Anneka and the ending was neat - who'd have expected the Royal Family to have more than blue blood in their veins?

I read one more story before my eyes gave out and went to the home page. Surprise, surprise - there was a head-shot of this Anneka. It seemed that she was a sub-editor of Red Milk and what's more, she was a stunner. Imagine Kate Bush when she was younger. That was her to a T. It's meeee, ohhh, Catheeee, I've come home nowwww. Her hair, her cheekbones, her lips - she could have been a double or maybe the music business was slack. Anyway, it obviously couldn't have been her, but it was nice to imagine.

Before I went to bed, I blew her face up to life-size in Corel Draw and put her on the computer as my desktop wallpaper. She looked even better when I did the old trick of leaning back and squinted at her: all the rough edges where she'd been enlarged faded away and it was like she was really there. You should try it sometime - all those 'anonymous interviewees' on the news with those colour-squared faces to hide their characteristics are suddenly revealed in their true identity.

I woke up at half past six, remembered what day it was, and went back to sleep for another three hours. Aren't weekends fucking great!

Anneka smiled at me from the screen when I turned her on. She turned me on as well; I felt like a love-struck teenager. That's when I decided to find out a bit more about her. I looked up the Red Milk e-mail address on their home page. There was only one - the editor's.

Dear Darvula (man or woman?), I typed, with two fingers, Just to let you let you know how much I enjoyed Anneka's story in the Carnal Crypt. It was the best one that I've ever read on your site. (True - the other one wasn't a patch on it.) Please pass on my compliments. Do you have a bio? Regards, Rick, Nottingham.

Off it went and I settled down to a weekend of waste. It was Thursday before I heard anything, and it wasn't from this Darvula specimen, it was from Anneka herself.

Dear Rick, said the message, I apologise for the delay in replying but I am living in Amsterdam at the moment and I've been away on business. Darvula forwarded your e-mail to me - thank you for your kind comments. As for a biography, I am half-Dutch, half-English and have been writing for seven years. She went on to list the magazines and web sites that she'd been published in. It was all vampire and erotica stuff. I have just had a book published by Blood and Butts called 'A Raging Thirst', which you might enjoy. XXX Love and bites, Anneka.

There was an attachment, a JPEG image of her rigged out in black and red. She was lying on a couch with her arms behind her head and she was flashing a lot of cleavage. That was a better one for the desktop, so on it went.

When I checked the bookstores on Saturday; no one seemed to know anything about it and without an ISBN, they couldn't order one. So I sent Anneka another e-mail.

Dear Anneka, Thank you for your message. Could you please forward the ISBN of your book as I am having difficulty in finding it in the UK. I'm a little bit envious of you living in Amsterdam; I spent a month there once and didn't want to leave. Is the Bulldog still as good as ever? XXX Rick.

She was back to me, three days later, with the details. …Yes, the Bulldog's still the place to be. If you're planning to visit Amsterdam again, let me know and I'll let you buy me a drink there. Love and more bites, Anneka.

She was smiling at from the screen as I flicked through a calendar. I reckoned that I had at least twelve days holiday due to me. I was very partial to Dutch beer.

***

I gave it a month before I got back to her; I didn't want her to think that I was a stalker. It also gave me the chance to read A Raging Thirst. Talk about steamy - I could hardly see the words through the billowing clouds of eroticism. It was all about an ex-nun who had a fixation on a priest. It was set in the 1920's and it ended with her seducing him. It seemed that her form of vampire scored impressive points for screwing one of God's agents.

She'd been raped by a priest when she was a novice nun and turned to The Dark Arts in revenge. On the final page, the priest's congregation drank the blood that she'd squeezed from him when he was drugged.

I was getting quite hooked on vampire fiction.

Dear Anneka, I've just finished reading your book and I think it's brilliant. Our talk of Amsterdam got my travel bug out of its mattress and I've decided to have a few days in Holland. I'll take you up on your kind offer to let me buy you a drink; can I call you when I'm passing through? I'll be over in the first week of August. Picture attached so you'll know what to expect. XXX Rick.

Her reply was in my Inbox the next morning.

Dear Rick. Look forward to it. She gave me her Cellphone number.

The sun was hot on my face as I stepped off the KLM flight at Schipol. I caught the train to Centraal Station and had a beer in the Damrak while I made up my mind where to stay. The budget hotels were all full except for the dormitory rooms so I caught the tram to Leidseplein and checked in at a cheap place I'd stayed at before, near Vondel Park. I had a couple more beers and called Anneka.

"Hallo - Anneka Agterkamp." Her voice had that sensual Dutch rasp; it tickled my ear like a rough feather.

"Hi, Anneka; this is Rick."

"Rick! Where are you?"

"I'm at a hotel near Vondel Park. How about that drink when you've finished work?"

"Yes, great. I'll be finished around four o'clock. Let's meet up in the -" She gave me an impossible name to pronounce: you have to gargle with sand and broken glass to speak Dutch like the Dutch speak it. She explained how to find it. It was only about two minutes from the hotel. "How about five o'clock? That'll give me time to freshen up."

"That's great," I said, "See you later, then."

"Don't get too drunk. Bye."

I looked at my watch - three hours to kill. I took a shower and lay on the bed for a while. The room was hot and stuffy and the window wouldn't open so I took a walk around Vondel Park. Some women had taken their blouses off and were soaking up the sun and one or two others were topless. You don't see too much of that in Nottingham. A lot of the women in Holland are like Amazons - about six feet tall. My mate reckons it's natural selection - all the shorter ones get drowned when the dikes burst. Darwin never mentioned that in his books.

The time dragged, as it does when you're waiting for something special. I took a slow walk back, had a beer at a coffee shop and bought some goodies for later. At twenty to five, I found the bar that Anneka had told me about.

There were three businessmen in there, judging by their suits, some old guy pissed out of his box with about ten shorts glasses in front of him and a couple who sat and drank and said nothing to each other. I ordered an Amstel and waited.

A hand fell onto my shoulder. I looked up and there was my Windows Wallpaper. I didn't need to squint my eyes to take her in this time. She was tall, about five foot, ten, and still looked like Kate Bush. Her black jeans were tight on her long legs and she wore a white blouse with short sleeves. I was lost for words for a moment. She looked at me with brown eyes that I could have swam in; they were deep and warm and seemed to take in everything that was going through my mind.

"Hello, Rick," she smiled.

I got up from the bar stool and nearly knocked my beer over. "Hello, Anneka." I didn't know what to say next, so I stuck my hand out and said: "You're very beautiful." What a dumb thing to come out with.

Her smile grew larger. She took my hand and said: "Thank you, Rick. Would you like to buy me that beer, it's very hot, today."

Her English was perfect and there wasn't a trace of accent in it at all. I ordered two Amstels and we sat down in the corner. As soon as we sipped our drinks, the ice was broken. "So what do you do in Amsterdam," I asked, "other than write erotic stories and raunchy novels?"

"I'm a translator," she said, "Anything in Dutch, English and Latin. Right now, I'm working on a modernized version of Malleus Malificarum."

"Oh," I said.

"But I prefer to translate the works of Stoker, Hawthorne and Faulkner."

"Oh," I said again.

"And yourself, Rick?"

"Er, James Herbert." I said.

"Oh," she said.

"But I quite like Edgar Allen Poe," I said, looking for safer ground to fall on, "Can I get you another drink?"

She rubbed her finger along the rim of her glass. "How about we both have a Jagermeister? It's very popular in Holland."

What I expected to be a mediocre lager turned out to be small glasses of something brown that smelt like cough mixture and induced the very same thing that its odour claimed to cure.

"Your first time?" Anneka laughed, as I did my impersonation of a chameleon.

She had a good sense of humour and the evening flew by. She told me of her interests in vampirism and Gothic literature and the art of erotic writing. I told her of my interests in rock music, football and beer. Her knowledge of the darker side of life was extensive. Aldous Huxley's The Devils of Loudun had been her reference for A Raging Thirst. My knowledge of the darker side of life had been a visit to Millwall Football Club's away end.

After about five drinks, we went to another bar on the Leidseplein. It was a jazz-blues outfit, hot and sticky and full of young people. We squeezed into a corner table and watched a five-piece band play a Louis Armstrong medley. They were pretty good. Then a gawky woman in a black dress and silver stole got on stage and warbled a Nina Simone number. That went down well. Then she did an Edith Piaf song that didn't go down so well because she fell off the stage, drunk. She wouldn't be singing Non, je ne regrette rien when she woke up, that was for sure.

"Let's go somewhere else," said Anneka, as the woman was dragged away, "There's a club I know that's a little more interesting than this."

She held my arm as we weaved between the tables. It was a lot cooler when we got outside. The lights of Amsterdam sparkled on the spider's web of canals as we rode a tram to the centre. We got off a few minutes later and she led me along one of the brightly lit pedestrian side streets; it was heaving with people and many of the shops were still open: take-away food, amusement arcades, bars and sex shops. I looked through the open door of one of them. There were about ten customers in there, two with sunglasses on. Brits, to be sure. We turned left and down an alley. The place that Anneka was talking about was at the very end. The Hot Blood Club flashed above the door in neon violet.

"Here we are," said Anneka and pressed a bell button that looked like a nipple. The door opened and a man dressed up like something from Cabaret stuck his head out. Anneka rattled away in Dutch and he ushered us in. We were in a foyer that opened up onto an area the size of a tennis court. There was a bar on the left and the floor in front of a stage area was filled with people sitting around a dozen small tables. It was dimly lit and smelt of old velvet and beer, just like my grandmother. A black chick was squirming around a mock Roman pillar; she was naked except for a white G-string and high heels.

A sign above the reception desk said Admission - 100 Guilders. I paid for both of us and a cheeky-looking redhead in a nurse's outfit led us to a table and took our drinks order.

"Interesting place," I said to Anneka. There were photos of half-naked women all over the walls and a video screen near the bar gave the punters at the back a good view of what was happening on stage.

"It gets very lively later," she said, "I come here when I need to recharge my writing batteries." Her hair was purple-haloed in the neon lights and I could see the dark circles of her nipples through her blouse and bra. There was a ripple of applause as the black girl finished her act but it was over within seconds. I imagined that she was an entrée and the audience were whetting their appetites for the main course. The drinks arrived, a beer for me and a Bloody Mary for Anneka. Seven quid bit the dust.

She moved closer and whispered into my ear. Her tongue flicked my lobe as she spoke.

"Did you really come to Holland for a break or did you come to see me?"

I didn't expect that one. "Both. But I mainly came because you fascinate me." I was pissed enough to be honest.

She sipped her drink. "Because of my stories?"

"And your photograph."

She put her hand on my thigh and kissed my cheek. "How sweet. Did you masturbate over me?"

I don't know what colour my face must have been in the neon light but it felt as red as the tomato juice in her glass. It was like admitting to your girlfriend's mother that you'd just run her Pekinese over - it had to be done, there was no avoiding the issue. "Yes," I said. At least I managed to look her in the eye.

The lights dimmed, as if they were saving my embarrassment. She settled back in her seat. "Let's watch the show," she said. Her eyes were sparkling with amusement.

Two girls in low-cut milkmaid blouses and skirts appeared on the stage, under a bright spotlight. One was blonde and the other brunette. They were both wearing red lipstick and black eyeliner. The music started - it was a pounding version of You Can Keep Your Hat On. The girls began to dance to it, pouting and jerking their hips forward on the drum accents. My balls started to tingle. The dancing and grinding went on for a couple of minutes, the girl's eyes were almost closed and their faces were sheened with perspiration. I was getting into it as much as they were.

How it was done, I don't know - the background began to turn purple and suddenly a giant of a man appeared between them, right out of nowhere. I jumped. A woman near the front screamed. The two girls shrieked and flew towards each other as the man turned on them. He must have been at least six and a half feet tall, a black pony-tail hung down his back and he was dressed in a long black cape with nothing underneath except for a pair of red briefs. A fan started to blow dry ice over the stage. The girls fell onto a couch and clutched each other in fear as he moved towards them with his arms outstretched. Then the music started up again, I didn't even realise that it had stopped; this time it was Black Velvet, by Alannah Myles.

The dry ice rolled onto the floor and lapped around our feet; more coloured lights gave the stage an eerie appearance. Everybody was fixed on what was happening. The giant loomed above the girls and one of them, the brunette, raised her arms defensively and drew her legs up to her chin. He threw the cape over his shoulder and sparks cascaded from its purple lining: red, blue, silver. Semi-transparent bats with eyes like burning coals fluttered wildly above them; the giant reached out and tore the brunette's blouse clean from her body. The blonde lashed out at him but he caught her wrist and wrenched her to the floor. A new religion that will bring you to your knees … Black velvet, if you please …

She struggled and clawed at him; he grabbed her by the neck with a huge hand and said something in a strange language; his voice was deep and amplified; there was a weird sort of echo to it.

Then the girl slumped and slid to the floor, under the mist. The giant turned back to the brunette. She was still cowering on the couch and she had both hands over her mouth. He spoke in that same peculiar tone and touched her forehead. She relaxed, stretched out on the couch and opened her arms to him. Her tits were a nice size and I noticed that she hadn't shaved her armpits. I thought only German women were like that. For a moment, the tufts of hair made me think of a pair of fannies.

The giant knelt down beside her and fondled her tits while he nibbled her ears and neck: she raised her knees and opened her legs when he slid his hand under her skirt. As soon as he hit the spot, she groaned and jerked herself against his hand.

The dry ice was about knee-deep now and there was no sign of the blonde. I looked at the screen. It showed a different angle: obviously there were several cameras catching the action. The brunette's skirt was up around her waist and you could see the guy's fingers rubbing her through her black panties; they covered so little that there was hardly any point in wearing them. My erection was trapped under a fold in my trousers; I crossed my legs and tried to free it but it was pushing too hard, I had to nudge it through my pocket. That made it worse; it only found another niche to settle in. Anneka must have twigged what was going on because she looked at me and grinned.

I looked around at the other tables. Everybody was riveted. Even the waitresses were watching as the giant frigged the brunette into a frenzy. Meanwhile, back in Nottingham, my mates would be playing pool in the pub and looking forward to a doner kebab on the way home, followed by Match of the Day and a Saturday-nighter from their missus if their luck was in.

Black Velvet came to a sudden end and at that exact moment, I'm sure that everybody in the house jumped. I know that I did because I almost knocked the table over as my leg shot out.

The blonde who'd disappeared under the dry ice leapt up from the floor, about ten feet away from our table. There was a tide of gasps. She was butt-naked, electric purple in the light; her eyes were wide open, though probably not as much as mine, and her arms slashed the air, like the claws of a pissed-off cat. She bared her teeth and screamed; a long, piercing scream that twisted itself into a chilling animal howl.

All this happened in about three seconds; no wonder everybody was terrified. Then she fell to the mist-carpeted floor again and disappeared. Everyone looked down at their feet as if a stunted Rottweiler was about to snap at their ankles.

My balls tightened; it took me back to when I was a kid and you'd play together in a darkened room with your mates and one of them was a man-eating monster who would get to bite your head off if he managed to touch you. It was a sort of deeelicious anticipation; you were frightened but you perversely wanted to feel those fingers as they gripped your neck from behind and pressed the nerve points that made you act like a kitten when you pick it up by the scruff.

It was the same here. Who was going to get the horrors next? The tension was almost unbearable and every passing second made it worse. One eye was on the stage and the other was wary for the next surprise. I'd missed a bit of the action; the brunette had pulled the guy's prick out of his briefs and was holding it in both hands while she kissed the end. Blardy Hell! He was a giant in more ways than one - she could have gotten five more hands on it and there would still have been room for a tonsil-tickler. Long John Holmes was a mere John Gnolmes, compared to him. I'd seen better-endowed donkeys, but only just.

He threw the cape over his shoulder again and held her hair while she sucked away. I didn't realise that a mouth could take something like that - imagine trying to get your lips over the end of a can of baked beans. That's what it looked like.

There was a shrill scream from the back: the blonde had obviously resurfaced again. By the time I turned, she'd gone back under. A guy in a business suit looked at the floor, sheepishly. Anneka looked at me and raised her eyebrows. Yes, this certainly was something else. My hard-on had gone down a bit after that last noisy materialisation but my hand was shaking as I picked up my drink.

Those hologram bat things were still swishing around over the stage and some of them darted towards the front tables before disappearing into the darkness. Meanwhile, the brunette had gotten into second gear. The guy's prick was like a well-oiled piston as it slid in and out of her mouth and she was rolling the other nine inches of it from side to side with her hands, like you do with a strip of Plasticine when you want to make it thinner. She had a long way to go with the Caped Colossus.

It seemed to be having the right effect on him; he threw his head back and jerked as if he was getting an electric shock; she responded by slipping into overdrive. Every time her lips slid down his prick, her hands were sliding the other way to meet them. He was shuddering now and it looked as if he was going to come at any second.

But no - he reached behind, grabbed his cloak and threw it forward over his head as he bent down over her. She disappeared under the folds. The sparks dripped from its lining again, like multicoloured fireflies.

We leaned forward in suspense. But nobody expected what happened next. He looked over his shoulder at us with a sort of sneer and then whipped the cloak back. The blonde was sucking his prick - the brunette had disappeared! How the fuck did they do that! Somebody tapped my arm. I looked up.

Jumping Jeeesus! The last time I'd screamed like that was when my bell-end got caught in my zipper when I was pissed.

The brunette was standing behind me. My hands gripped the side of the chair. Her skirt and panties had gone and she looked like a corpse in the neon lighting. As if that wasn't bad enough, she slitted her eyes and reared over me. As I jerked back in my seat, she opened her mouth - tendrils of dry ice trickled from it, a horrible purple. But worse of all, her teeth were bared and the incisors were long fangs. I screamed again, like a baby. She screeched and lunged at my neck. I ducked. Then she was gone. The mist rolled in on the vortex she had made as she slithered away. My heart was thudding against my ribs and I could see everybody looking at me. Especially Anneka.

For fuck's-sake! British man, 25, dies of heart attack in Sin City nightclub. Anneka squeezed my hand. I was still clinging onto the chair like grim death. I swallowed and gave her a sickly smile. The audience turned their attention back to the stage, thank fuck.

The blonde was bending over the couch and the guy was sliding his prick along the cheeks of her arse. She had her hands between her legs and was rubbing herself as he massaged her tits. My prick began to get hard again, despite what had just happened to me. It takes a lot to keep a man's carnal instincts down, even when he's just been terrified to within an inch of his sweat-beaded life.

I almost felt the audience's collective release of breath as the brunette rose out of the mist behind him. Now they could get down to watching the heavy action without being frightened out of their wits. Lucky bastards - I'd been the sacrificial lamb.

The brunette put her hand around the guy's waist and grabbed his prick as it rode up and down the other's back. He stepped back and she took his place; one hand went to the tits and the other into the blonde's cunt from behind. The guy stood there, waving his massive prick in the air, making it harder. It must have taken a lot of blood to fill it - if that had been me, I'd have passed out.

When it was rigid, he ran his fingers down the brunette's spine. She leant back against him and pulled the blonde towards her so that she could kiss her neck. This time, the audience's gasps were of appreciation and probably envy on the part of the men.

The giant bent his knees and put his prick between the brunette's legs. He pushed more. It reappeared in front of the blonde's cunt! She got hold of it and started to wank him - there was so much sticking out that it looked as though she was a hermaphrodite tossing herself off. He cupped the brunette's tits and nibbled at her neck; she did the same to the blonde. Then he leant back. Both of the girl's feet left the floor!

The audience went wild. They clapped their hands, they stamped on the floor, they banged their glasses on their tables. Anneka's eyes were shining as she watched him.

Bastard! I bet he couldn't name the 1966 English World Cup squad.

Well, nobody could keep that up for long. A circular table about ten feet across pushed its way through the bubbling mist and stopped at waist level. The brunette poured herself onto it and lay on her back. Then the guy got onto the table, lay on his side and lifted her leg slightly. Her face was screwed up to start with as he slid his prick into her twat but the further it went, the more she relaxed. He stopped when he was half his prick's-length inside her. Her gasps were loud over the microphone as he began to screw her. He moved in slow, short jerks; a little more slid into her pussy.

The blonde got onto the table as well and got down to where it was all happening. She started to lick the brunette's cunt; you could see her tongue lapping at the clitoris, just above the jerking prick.

My tool was like a steel rod; if I'd been watching this at home, it would have been out and earning its keep. I once had a sly wank in a cinema over Confessions Of A Taxi Driver and shot my load over my shirt before I could get a handkerchief out. Going home was a nightmare - it was summer and I didn't have anything to cover myself with. The bus driver gave me a funny look. Had to be a woman, of course.

I glanced at Anneka. She was biting her lower lip as she watched the performance; she was obviously getting off on this. I heard glasses suddenly rattle on the table behind. I didn't dare look to see what was going on.

The brunette thrust her arse off the table, stiffened and came. Her scream was as loud as the one that she'd caused me before. The guy pulled his prick out; the other girl climbed on top of him and lowered herself onto its glistening length. He cupped her arse and held her off when her cunt was halfway down. She threw her head back and fucked him. Sweat dripped from her and her hair was lank as it clung to her face. The other girl held the lower half of his prick; her fist acted like a buffer as the blonde rode him; she put her thumb against the protruding clit and rubbed it. Low moans trickled from the speakers.

The bats fluttered around them as the fuck tempo increased; the lights changed colour from purple to green to red as Meatloaf's Bat Out Of Hell kicked in.

I swallowed hard. My senses were in a rush. I could hear blood pounding through my ears on its way south and it wouldn't take much for Emission Control Centre to crash. I stretched my legs out and tried to ease my discomfort. That made it worse and the bulge was clearly visible, even in the low lighting. Then I thought: fuck it - that's why people come to these places, to get turned on. They'd be too busy with their own desires to pay attention to other people's topographical disturbances. But Anneka noticed, just the same. I saw her staring at the knot in my trousers. That turned me on because I knew that she was turned on, too.

The giant started bucking and twisting - it looked as if the climax of the performance was coming, in more ways than one. He lifted the blonde from his prick and rolled her next to the brunette. Then he lay down and they both began to lick his prick like an ice cream, one on either side. He tensed and arched his back until only his shoulders and heels were on the table. The dry ice billowed from the side of the stage and swirled around them; still they clung to him, sucking and licking. Lightning flashed. Then he came like a volcano erupting.

His spunk gushed over their faces and hair; it jetted into the darkness as they jerked his prick upright; the translucent bats that flapped around them blossomed into 3D as it fell back down in pearly globs.

A screeching filled the club as the table descended. The giant leapt upright with his prick still huge and dripping and threw his cloak over the girls. He sank down into the bubbling mist and then they were gone - the two girls, the bats and him. Gone into nowhere …

There was a stunned silence for a moment and then the audience went mad again; it had certainly been one hell of a performance. We were still clapping and shouting as the lights came up. And then everybody screamed.

Beside each table, squatting in the mist, were blue-tinged girls, all naked, all grotesquely made-up, hollow-eyed and dripping blood from their lips. They'd obviously crept there as the finale was gathering pace.

Fucking Hell comes out well in most languages. A glass shattered somewhere near the bar. Then the girls leapt up and ran cackling through the audience, to disappear into the darkness beside the stage.

When we'd got our hearts back to a more acceptable beat, the applause started again. The star performers came back on stage for a few moments, bowed and disappeared once again.

What a show!

Anneka leant over. Her face was flushed. "Well - what did you think of that, Rick?"

"I've never seen anything quite like that before," I croaked, "I've never been so frightened and turned on at the same time."

"They change the performance every week," she said, "This is the first time that I've seen it, as well." She looked at my crotch. "I can see that you enjoyed it."

My erection was still clinging on, despite the shock of those crouching vampire figures. "Well, I can see why you come here for inspiration."

The lights came up. Most of the audience were chattering excitedly - to their partners, to the people on the next table, to the waitresses. Anneka finished her drink. "Let's go upstairs; it's a bit quieter there."

I followed her up a flight of stairs. It came out onto a small bar. There were three or four couples sitting at low tables and the barmaids were topless. Anneka asked for two beers and we sat down. An oriental with pert tits and stiff nipples brought the drinks.

My hands were trembling as I picked up the glass. The hormones were still racing through my reproductive circuit as if Michael Schumacher were hot on their bumpers.

We talked about the show. Then, right out of the blue, she said: "Do you want to fuck me?"

I'd just taken a drink. Beer sprayed into the air. A couple looked over at me. I wiped my mouth. Well, of course I wanted to fuck her. "Yes," I spluttered. There wasn't much else to say to a question like that.

"Let's have another drink before we do anything that we won't regret, then."

***

Her apartment was on the third floor near the Nieuwmarkt. My eyes were glued to Anneka's arse as we walked up the creaking wooden stairs. I had that tingle that you get when you know there's a good time coming; the show at the Hot Blood Club had already got my sap rising.

She opened the door with a magnetic swipe card and I followed her in. There must have been good money in translation because the place was a dream. The furniture was modern; a music centre filled the corner of the lounge and a swish-looking computer sat against the window. There were beanbags and foreign souvenirs everywhere: rugs, carvings, paintings and even a hubbly-bubbly. A wide-screen television, decoder and video took up the space in front of a black leather settee.

She went into the kitchen, came back with two beers and sat down next to me.

"Is there anything special that you like," she asked.

"Grolsch," I said.

She put her glass down, leant over and kissed me. "No, Rick - I'm not talking about beer."

I can be a real dumbass sometimes. "Er, well, nothing in particular, I suppose." That was a lie, but I like to know what I'm letting myself in for, before I open my heart and flies. "What do you have in mind?"

"Do you have a good imagination, Rick?"

Ah - this was getting better. "I imagine a lot of things," I said.

"Like when you masturbated over me?"

"Er, yes."

She rubbed her fingers over my crotch. I kissed her. She undid my flies. I touched her breasts. Then she went mad. The room was a blur as she pushed me onto my back, grabbed my hair and rammed my head against a cushion. Her breath was heavy in my ear as she squirmed on top of me. I was hard almost immediately; she ground herself against me and worked her hips in frantic circles. There weren't going to be any inhibitions tonight; her urgent cries told me that. Her hands clawed at my trousers and tore them over my thighs. My briefs followed them; my prick stood hard in her hand. She grunted and wanked me hard as I pulled her blouse from her jeans and put my hands up her back. I slid my fingers along her spine, over her soft, moist skin and under her bra. She sighed as I cupped her breasts and lifted the bra over her tits. Her nipples hardened and she raised herself, letting me unbutton her blouse. Her tits fell free; they were swollen with fuck fever; full and firm, like peaches. She leant over me. I took one in my mouth and caressed the other.

She had sensitive nipples. She shuddered as I flicked my tongue and fingers over them and pushed herself against my face. I slid my hand down the back of her jeans; they were tight against her arse, she reached underneath, undid the button and loosened her zip. I put my hands inside her panties, pulled her against my hard-on and thrust against her.

"Not here, Rick - on the bed." Her voice was insistent. She rolled off me and ripped my shirt open. I followed her to the bedroom and almost fell over my dragging trousers. Anneka threw her blouse and bra onto the floor and kicked off her shoes as I tugged at her jeans. She fell back onto the bed, drew her knees up and let me pull them off; they were tight over her long slim legs and I could hardly get them over her ankles in my frantic fumblings. Her panties were sheer and I could see that she'd shaved her cunt; the material around her lips was dark with love juice. I knelt on the floor, parted her legs and buried my face into her mound. I inhaled her sex; she oozed sensuality and the thought of plunging my tool into her naked snatch put me on a knife-edge. She pulled her panties to one side and exposed her rosy slot. My tongue ran over it and I spread her lips with my fingers. Her clit protruded from its hood like a cherry waiting to be picked. I plucked it. She shivered and moaned. I tore her panties off and darted my tongue around her sodden pussy with the occasional flick against her love button. She reared against my face. I had her now; there would be no going back for either of us.

She was a screamer when she came. She gripped my neck and rammed my face against her cunt. Her thighs clamped around my head; she stiffened, held it while the orgasms surged through her body and made small animal sounds at the back of her throat as they faded away.

She lay back. Her eyes were closed and she was panting. I looked up over her hot, wet pussy and watched her breasts as they rose and subsided, shiny with sweat. My prick was straining for relief.

"Ohhh, Rick, wait for a moment," she gasped, as I tried to mount her.

The moment felt like a lifetime; my impulses were shrieking to be unleashed.

"There's something I like," she murmured when her body had quietened, "Would you

help me?"

I crawled beside her; my erection was hard against her thigh and it left a glistening streamer on her skin. "Will it make you come like that again?"

"More than that."

So I lay back with my head on the pillow as she stripped me and fastened my arms and legs to the bedposts with silk scarves. This was new to me. Bondage had never been high on my list of things to try out.

She ran her fingers up and down my prick. "Would you like Anneka to suck you, Rick?"

Yes - Rick would like Anneka to suck him very much. I watched as her mouth swallowed me up. She knew exactly what to do, how to do it and when. My blood was boiling and the situation of being helpless in her hands and mouth gave me a kick like I'd never had before. She brought me to the edge and stopped, leaving me in tantalising sexual agony.

"Tell me, Rick," she said, "do you believe in vampires?"

"What - human vampires?" What a time to ask me something like that.

"Yes."

"Dracula and Nosferatu and that sort of thing? Er, not really." Now I could see what her fantasies were: how she could write so fluently and passionately about white-hot sex and blood-red feasting. The Hot Blood Club was obviously a watering hole for her fertile imagination.

She flicked the tip of my prick with her tongue. "Would you like to meet someone who could convince you? - she's not far away."

Oh, what! Lesbians. Now that is a fantasy of mine. I imagined Anneka and this other chick rolling around between each other's legs. She must have seen my prick twitch.

"Is she anything like you?" I said.

"Oh, yes. She's very much like me. We share the same tastes."

"Christ - go and get her, then!" I said, hoarsely. This was one for the guys back in Nottingham. I didn't mind fuelling her fantasies if she was going to fuel mine.

She kissed me and drew her lips from my face all the way down to my balls. I watched her as she tightened the scarves around my wrists. It was going to be torture watching them together.

"Won't be long," she whispered.

She got up and closed the door.

"I'm here," she hissed as she turned around…

(c) Steve Fitzsimmons / Richard Kanwack. All Rights Reserved.

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