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.
Memphis, Tennessee,
Thursday, August 17, 1977. High Noon.
Elvis, The King, sang to
himself as he sat atop one of Graceland’s many toilets. He caught a glimpse of
his aging bloated face in the mirror and trailed into silence. He closed his
eyes and smiled to remember the early days, before he hit the big time. Those
incredible nights, listening to his own musical heroes in smoke-filled clubs.
“You ain’t nothin’ but
a…” opening his eyes he saw the
door into the small restroom opened, and a large she-wolf standing in the
doorway, “…hound dog. Oh Lord.”
The She-Wolf pushed up
onto her hind-legs, twisting, filling out. She became a woman in a wolf-skin
coat, a black dress with a scarlet corset, and the darkest hair Elvis had ever
seen. She regarded him with a look he’d seen many times, the look of a fan. The
King cast a sidelong glance at a shelf of pill bottles.
“I never have seen a
werewolf outside the movies…. Must be ‘the drugs.”
“I am… your biggest fan.”
She spoke English with a thick accent that Elvis vaguely knew as eastern
European. Her hair accentuated her pale skin and her skin accentuated her full
ruby lips. Suddenly self-conscious, Elvis wiped his ass and yanked his pants
up. He wondered where the security guys were and how anything had managed to
get past them.
“I come many miles to see
you Elvis. I am Countess Bathory.”
The name meant nothing to
him. Elvis was wondering how the woman had gotten past his security, how come he’d
seen her as a wolf. Then it hit him – she had to be a commie agent sent to kill
him.
“Don’t mess with me, red.
I know Karate!” Elvis cut a pose that looked better when he was younger,
“HAI-YAAAH!”
The stranger looked
confused and then broke into a warm, toothy, grin.
“I only see your film
plays since coming to this land. You are as great an actor as a singer, dancer
and music-maker.”
Maybe she really was a
fan, thought The King. He doubted that she’d even been a wolf as such a thing
was clearly impossible. Instead he began to think about how attractive she was,
and how she didn’t seem interested in his money – if she was past security she
could’ve stolen a lot just walking around. Anyway, she’d claimed to be a
countess and Elvis knew the reds didn’t have any truck with aristocracy.
“Well… Ma’am.. I don’t
usually meet fans in…” he looked around the toilet room, “…in mah home.”
He stepped forward and led
the countess through into a luxuriously appointed room, surreptitiously shoving
a plate of half finished lunch out of sight. Turning around he found her
standing very close, shorter than he, piercing eyes looking into his.
“I want you at my court as
my minstrel. I make you young again to live forever and make music for me.”
Elvis’s brown knit in sudden
thought, the thought being “Shee-it.
She’s crazy.”
“Uh-huh-huh… I really
don’t think so, Ma’am…”
“I do not give you
choice.”
The Countess swung her
arms about his neck and pulled him down with incredible strength. He didn’t
even have time to shout or cry out as she bit into his pumping jugular and
began to drink, feeling the fizz and joy of music of simply being Elvis in his
blood.
The blood is the life; the
blood is the music.
The blood of the King.
Elvis weakly struggled as the
countess pulled away from his neck, her lower face slick with blood, though her
face remained as pale as ever.
“What are… what… you were
a wolf you…?”
“My bloodline are
were-shapers, Elvis. I make you of my bloodline.”
Laying him gently on the
floor, she gently pulled down his pants and underwear and kissed the end of his
flaccid penis. Elvis raised his head to see he swallow his cock down into her
mouth and work the shaft. His own warm blood and her saliva made her mouth
wonderfully wet as she sucked and licked, tasting the dick of the king. He grew
hard as he had in the mouths of many a groupie and ran a slightly shaky hand
through her luscious black hair.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Elvis’
blood was puddling around his neck, the countess’ saliva preventing the wound
from spraying and bleeding a quick death. Elvis became aware of the noise and
the slightly numb sensation in his neck.
“Oh Lordy… I don’t want to
die…”
“You live forever. With
me.” The countess crawled up Elvis’ body and gathered her black skirt up about
herself until she could mount the king’s cock. Elvis could feel the difference
- tighter but colder than a regular girl. It was now her turn to stroke his
famous be-quiffed hair as she rode him, luxuriating that she had conquered the
king, made him hers.
Who needed the music of
the spheres when they had Elvis?
“Lordy, Lordy you are
good…” Elvis saw the countess bite into her own wrist as she rode him,
dribbling more blood onto her red chin, before holding the wounded arm over his
mouth.
“Become one with me. Join
my bloodline.”
The king bucking his hips
into the countess, coming as he tasted her blood. Instantly addictive he found
knew strength and dragged her wrist to his mouth, faintly wondering if he could
get it deep-fried. Her sprayed his seed inside her, sperm for blood.
The countess continued
riding his spurting prick, enjoying the ride as she rarely did. Twisting her
arm so Elvis could continue to feed from her. She bent down to bite again into
his neck and taste him anew. As she bit long fangs into aging flesh she finally
came, yelping through a mouthful of blood, before licking up the warm spillage
and latching again into his neck.
Elvis kept his death grip
on her arm until his human body died and she was able to untwist it and hold
him to her as she continued drinking from him impressed that he still spurted
inside her. The king’s balls gave everything they had as he slipped into death.
It was over. The countess
closed the neck wound with her saliva, cleaned everything up and dumped The
King’s body in the toilet. In a few days he would rise and she would return
with him to her court.