Title: Knorg’s Vampire Tarot
Category: Paranormal
Author Pen name:
Knorg
Email: paxgronk@hotmail.com
Description: These card stories use a variety of well-known and
popular as well as more obscure characters, from Marge Simpson to Elvis, from
Bloodrayne to Jon Arbuckle, as well as my own characters. Each story is around
1000 words.
Stories: Death/Rebirth by
Vampire, catfight, sex, girl-on-girl, and similar.
Song lyrics used without
permission.
Characters/places/trademarks
that aren’t mine are used for this parody without permission.
This story concept is a
parody of Fifteen Painted Cards from a Vampire Tarot by Neil Gaiman.
0. The Fool
Light bursts. Random memories. Dream melds with reality. Cleaning the booths. Mopping the floor. Serving a millionth coffee refill to a beer-gutted trucker who doesn’t even slap my ass. Steak and burger meat fumes. The chickens screaming. Sore feet and aching back. Lifetime of toil. The stranger.
The waitress’s eyes
flickered open as a car pulled up outside. Freezing like a winter’s morning.
Focusing on a splash of blood across the strip light in the kitchen, drying
now. She feels no pain even from the bloody neck wound that stains her collar
and black uniform. It itches like grass on a hot summer day. There’s a hunger
building in her cold stomach that twitches her hand towards her neck, and she
feels the wetness.
It’s a hunger even the
legendary he-man burger couldn’t satisfy.
“IRMA?”
Jon Arbuckle stood in the
empty diner doorway – amazed to find for the first time ever that Irma wasn’t
in her customary place behind the diner’s long counter. Dressed in a purple
tartan suit and bow-tie he considered himself the epitome of style and
sophistication. He’d not been the slightest bit put off when his pets had
laughed so hard they’d choked on their food – Garfield had even managed to
choke on some of Odie’s.
‘She probably saw the
suit and ran’ commented the portly
ginger cat as he peeked around Jon’s legs, ‘Let’s go raid the kitchen before
she comes back’
“She keeps this place open
24 hours. She’s probably napping. C’mon Garfield.”
Jon sounded depressed. He
was depressed. As a forty year old almost virgin – he briefly remembered Kimmy,
the girl raised by wolves who, like a typical alpha female, hadn’t taken no for
an answer – he still had a high sex drive and wanted action with the chicks. It
was his persistence in calling them chicks that had in part severely stunted
his chances, as had an over-eagerness that had caused him to ask out almost
every woman he’d ever met.
He’d even hit on Irma
once.
They took their seats at
the diner’s counter, and carefully managed to not touch the slickly glistening
plastic.
“What happened tonight? I
was wowing her! She was wide eyed with awe and amusement… then she ran off…”
Garfield wondered if
delusion had reached new depths.
“Irma! You’re Bleeding!”
“Special sauce, hon…”
Garfield’s claws flicked
out and dug into the counter. Suddenly hyper-aware the ginger cat could smell a
dead body in the kitchen… chef Tony. Irma also smelled… wrong. Her black hair
was down about her shoulders, freed from the constraints of her hairnet. Her
glasses were gone though she held a bloody pad in one hand, and a pencil in
another. She stopped in front of cat and dork and flashed them a grin with
teeth to match the cats.
“Why Miss Irma… you’re
beautiful…” Jon took the dorky stereotypical reaction to Irma with her hair
down and glasses removed.
Garfield’s claws were
stuck fast in the counter. He pulled with all his strength, teeth grinding
together, but couldn’t budge.
Irma reached out and stroked
a blood-spattered finger down Jon’s face. The hunger snarled within her, a
raging beast of lust and fury. The emotions failed to flicker across her
immobile face, worn with years of service in the diner. Jon felt the
frustrations of the night forcing blood into his crotch.
“That’s sweet, hon… sweet
as suger…” She knew what she had to do. He’d seemed like such a nice young
man, coming into the diner on a Saturday night. She could see his friends
slumped in the back seat of the car through the window. Tired from their
journey. “What’ll it be?” she asked. “You.” He punched Tony’s head right off as
the old chef tried to stop him taking her into the kitchen. Slaking his thirst.
Thirst she now shared.
“Well, Irma, a smart
sophisticated guy like m-ARRGGHH”
Irma pulled Jon over the
counter and held down on the sticky, stained surface with just one cold hand.
“Why Irma… this is all so
sudden!”
“I want you, Hon.”
Jon’s leg accidentally
booted Garfield in the head. Now he was seriously annoyed, but even the anger
couldn’t yank his claws from the bench. He hadn’t felt so helpless since he was
too fat to run away from the big dog next door. Irma mounted Jon with cruel
abandon, as he pushed her skirt and apron up, and pushed her knickers aside to
feel for her snatch. He was surprised to find it so cold. With his other hand
he pushed his trousers down as much as he could to pull out his cock.
He was getting laid! Jon
wasn’t even stopping to think of the craziness of Irma pulling him on the
counter, or the blood, or any of it. Irma looked down at his neck and fancied
she could see his jugular pulsing fit to burst. The hunger howled within as Jon
penetrated her, so happy he felt as if his bow-tie was twirling.
‘JON! YOU CRAZY…’ Irma casually flicked out her arm hard enough to
knock Garfield back out through the diner door. He lay stunned on the tarmac as
birds snickered overhead, ‘This is a job for the caped avenger…’ the cat
fuzzily thought before losing consciousness. Jon had his eyes screwed tight as
he held onto Irma’s hips and pumped into her.
“Wow! My sock collection’s
got nothing on this!”
Irma let the hunger build
as she held Jon’s head to the side. Rolling her head back she ran her tongue
across her teeth, letting the anticipation build. She envisioned breaking all
the diner’s customers in the same way, taking their blood.
“Irma! Kiss me!”
“Sure… Hon…” Jon felt like
Iram was crushing him against the counter as she pressed herself close into his
warm body and bit deep into his throat.
“Arrhhh! Lovebite!” Jon
began to cum, hips jerking against without conscious effort against her. Heat
and lust; hunger and death. Jon’s eyes were now wide with panic even as he
pasted her undead womb. With terror lent strength he tried to pry Irma from his
neck. The waitress thrilled as the blood washed her tongue, finer than any
coffee, as Jon’s life pumped into her from neck and crotch.
“Irma… please…” Jon felt
the exquisitely erotic sensation as Irma lapped at his lifeblood, and kept Cumming.
Irma pulled herself off of Jon slickly, and stepped down beside him. He weakly
looked into her eyes and saw the embers of the hunger. Irma rubbed his wilting
penis with one hand, and slurped seminal fluid from her finger.
“Bye hon. Come again soon.”