Coyote vs. the Sex Vampires

COYOTE VERSUS THE SEX VAMPIRES By C

It was a dark and stormy night. Coyote was in the cold, mountainous nothern reaches of his hunting territory. The rain--really a cross between rain and hail--was hitting him with stinging force. He had to find shelter or he might not get out of this alive. Just as this thought occurred to him, he saw lights in the foothills of Mount Golgoth, about a mile to his west. He put his head down and grimly made his way in that direction.

After what seemed like hours of trudging, he saw, on a spur of the great mountain, what could only be a castle! A soft yellow glow came from several of its windows. He braced himself for an upward hike and painfully made his way toward the squat, ominous-looking structure.

Finally, he reached the castle's main door. He pounded on this for all he was worth. The door now slowly creaked open, its hinges squealing as if they had not been used in a century. More of the soft, yellow glow he had seen coming from the windows now flooded out onto the doorstep. He went inside.

He walked through one great hall after another, his wet feet making slapping sounds on the cold, stone floor. The light, he could now see, came from torches, set in sconces in every room he entered. But who had lit the torches? He called out repeatedly, but no one answered. Every room was empty.

Finally, he heard, as if from a great distance, the brittle tinkle of harpsichord music. He headed toward the sound, through yet more empty halls and hallways, until finally he came to a door, from behind which he could hear the music pretty clearly. It was strangely modern-sounding music for a harpsichord. In fact, it sounded like--Motown! ("Stop in the Name of Love," to be exact.) He slowly, cautiously opened the door (yet more creaking and squealing) and looked in.

It was another torchlit hall, with this difference: it was inhabited. Gathered around a big harpsichord in the middle of the hall, or lounging on couches, or dancing together, were thirty or more stunningly beautiful young women. They had blond hair, brown hair, red hair. They were white, black, East Asian, South Asian--you name it. Some were dressed in mini-skirts of various colors, with matching stiletto heels. Some had mini-skirts with matching knee-length boots. Some wore only blouses and panties (white or red), with white or red heels or white or red boots. Others wore teddies: white, pink, blue, yellow, green, etc., etc., again with appropriately colored heels. A few were unabashedly naked, though they still had heels (this time matching their hair color). Beauty and coordinated footwear appeared to be their two common features.

Seated at the harpsichord was a woman somewhat older than the others, but at least as beautiful as any of them. She had astonishingly bright red hair. She wore a spotless white mini-dress, with white pumps.

As if on a signal, the harpsichord stopped its tinkling. The dazzling woman looked over to where Coyote stood gaping, and said: "Hello, stranger! You look as if you need a place to stay for the night."

The girls around her began to giggle. One of them said: "My, he's cute. Fuzzy, but cute." "And so . . . gifted, too!" another observed, staring brazenly below his waist.

"Uh, hmm," said Coyote, feeling his face redden beneath his fur. "If, gracious Madam, I could just have a warm place to rest, and maybe something to eat, I'd be eternally in your debt."

"Eternally!" said the woman, and gave a throaty laugh. The others all laughed as well. "We wouldn't dream of asking for any quid pro quo. Our hospitality is freely, and generously, granted. And no one has ever complained about it afterwards." She snapped her fingers and said: "Come girls, set up the dinner table!"

"Yes, the dinner table!" they all said in unison. What eccentric, though lovely, ladies , thought Coyote. At just this moment, his vision blurred a little. When he could see clearly again, a long dinner table had indeed been brought into the room and decked out with a full service. There were seats for over thirty people. Savory dishes covered the table from one end to the other. The aromas of several different daintily prepared meats almost made him swoon. He hadn't realized quite how hungry he was. He sighed and let his sodden backpack drop to the floor.

The red-haired woman came up to him and gently took him by the arm. Her skin was smooth and cool. "Come be our guest of honor, Mr. . . . ."

"Coyote--just call me Coyote."

"Quite," she said, and seated him at the head of the table. "My name, Mr. Coyote, is Lucretia."

When he'd been installed, and she had sat down next to him, the others all took seats as well. "Now girls," said Lucretia; "it's time for you to introduce yourselves." So, for the next several minutes, Anastasia, Tanaquil, Theodora, Abigail, Bambi, Violetta, Rebecca, Siobhan, Solveig, Iman, Atsuko, Indira, Connie, Colleen, and a whole bunch of others made his acquaintance in turn. All had bewitchingly beautiful voices, and a penchant for giggling.

All this while, no one reached for food or drink. Instead, they looked at him and smiled expectantly. "Oh . . . do I start it off? Why, thank you," he said, and dropped an enormous leg of lamb on his plate. He cut into it eagerly. When he took a bite, he found it to be the tastiest, most tender he had ever had. "Thith ith delithiouth," he said, not waiting to swallow.

The girls all giggled. A few clapped their hands with evident delight. "We're so glad we can please you," said Lucretia. "Please try some other dishes, too."

So he did, then noticed after a few minutes that he was still the only one eating. "Isn't anybody else hungry?" he asked.

"Oh," said Lucretia, "you've found us out! We all had a very full meal about an hour ago. But we didn't want to be rude to a guest, so we put on the best spread we could on such short notice. And we want to keep you company, right to the end."

They need to learn how to cook smaller portions , thought Coyote, but he wasn't complaining. To change the subject, he asked: "These lovely girls aren't all related to you, are they?"

"Oh my, no!" laughed Lucretia. "They're . . . how should I put it . . . my acolytes."

"Are you some sort of religious order?"

"In a manner of speaking," she said, with another throaty laugh. The girls all giggled once again. "We are devotees of the religion of Pleasure, and we dedicate all our waking hours to our god's easy service. We believe, by the way, that a woman can make no finer offering to Pleasure than when she is pleasing a man--or, if the occasion demands it, a male coyote."

More giggling. They really are a dizzy bunch , said Coyote to himself. Cute though . "That's, uh, great," he said. "I think we may belong to the same religion. Aside from feeding him . . . what else would you, uh, do to . . . well, please him?"

"Just wait and see," said Lucretia and snapped her fingers again. Seven or eight of the girls jumped up and began to perform a wildly gyrating dance next to the table. Coyote's vision blurred again for some reason or other, and when his eyes could once more see, he noticed that some of the girls had fewer clothes on then before.

When it was over, the dancers stood in a line and curtseyed, like little girls after a recital. Coyote clapped his paws vigorously and--he was that charmed by the whole thing--gave his wolf whistle.

"Quite," said Lucretia. The dancers laughed delightedly, towled themselves off, and sat back down.

"The lamb's not too dry, is it?" asked Lucretia. Since Coyote's mouth was full, he just shook his head vigorously. "Still, I think you should wash it down with some of this wine from our cellar. You won't believe what a cheeky little vintage it is until you've tried it!"

"Thankth," said Coyote, his mouth still crammed with food. He took the glass she'd filled for him and tossed it in on top of everything else.

His vision blurred yet again. When it returned to normal, he looked along the table at the girls and noticed something different about them. They were just as pretty as before, but . . . but . . . now he knew what it was! Each now sported a pair of fangs. Some giggled once again; some ran their tongues lasciviously over their new dental equipment; all gazed at him with something in their eyes that looked very much like hunger. He turned to Lucretia, and she too was fanged, with a ravenous expression on her face. "Oh, thit," he said, and his face fell forward into his plate.

Hours must have gone by, but Coyote finally awakened. His mouth tasted like a dragon's litter box. He couldn't move his arms or legs, and he was so groggy, it took him a while to figure out that he'd been tied down.

In fact, he was tied to the dinner table, and was now the only object on it. He looked to one side, and there they all were, including Lucretia at the front--sitting on couches and staring at him with a frightful eagerness. They had not retracted their fangs in the meantime.

Coyote noticed something else about himself: an erection, the biggest he'd ever had. Gosh, this is embarrassing! he thought . I may just die! "You know by now what we are, Mr. Coyote!" said Lucretia in a loud voice that filled the hall. "And yet, maybe, you don't. We aren't just vampires. We're sex vampires, an inexplicable but delightful mutation!"

"I thought you were created by a horny wizard named Shmendrake," said Coyote. "He had a few cracks at you, you got tired of him, and . . . ."

"Silence! That's just a nasty and, I must say, really hurtful rumor. No . . .we believe that the Lord of Darkness and Shadows fashioned us from the ebb and flux of Nature, to fulfill some dark

purpose we can as yet only guess at! And we tear everyone to bits who says otherwise. Let me tell you a little more about us . . . ." "Do I have a choice?" he asked.

"No you do not. Our fangs, though stylish, are really just relics of a more primitive state of evolution. Mr. Coyote, we love our prey to death!" This broad loves the sound of her own voice , he thought. Well, as long as she's running her mouth, she's not killing me. I've got to come up with a plan . Just then, he turned his head away from his beautiful but vicious captors and glanced in the other direction, towards the door. Next to it one of the girls had laid his backpack! Inside were objects that could spell salvation for him, and something very different for the sex vampires. But how to reach the pack?

"Are you listening to me?!" Lucretia shrieked.

"Yes'm," said Coyote. "I've, uh, just got a terrible crick in my neck." He'd figured out a plan.

"As I was saying," droned Lucretia. "We love our prey to death. In just a short while, one after the other, my acolytes will mount you, bringing you to higher and still-higher plateaus of ecstasy. Then will come my turn. I will break loose in you a series of climaxes such as you have never before known, climaxes that will drain you of your life force. We will share that force among us, my followers and I."

"That's despicable," said Coyote, trying to look and sound as natural as he could.

"Everyone has to eat, Mr. Coyote. You should understand that better than anyone."

"You, uh, have a point, ma'am. But before the fun starts, I wonder if you could . . . grant me a last wish?"

"Mr. Coyote, we'd be dreadful hostesses if we didn't! Just tell me what you need!"

"My chewing tobacco. It's in my backpack. A little chaw always calms me down . . . I hope you understand."

"Well," said Lucretia, "I think it's a pretty icky habit, but far be it from me to deny a coyote's last wish." She nodded to one of the girls–Atsuko, or was it Miao-Miao?–and the evil lovely ran over to the backpack and began rummaging through it. Coyote held his breath; the proximity of a vampire should do the trick, but you never could tell with these Acme gadgets.

Suddenly there was a loud, roaring sound. Atsuko (Miao-Miao?) gave a little shriek and fell back on her shapely derriere. Coyote shouted out to the startled vampires: "Aha, you evil harpies, prepare to meet your doom!" Then the backpack tipped over on its side, there was a sharp crack like gunfire, and a few hundred cloves of garlic shot out and skittered across the floor in front of the women.

Lucretia and her sexy minions stood in complete stupefaction for a few moments. Then they began to laugh. "Garlic? Garlic! You foolish boy, you think we're vulnerable to garlic. We're sex vampires, as I thought I'd already told you. None of the standard stuff hurts us!" More laughter from the wicked harem.

"Just you wait!" said Coyote. "There's more! Yes there is. More . . . a lot more. . . really." The seconds drew on, and he began to believe that the Acme Vacuum-Packed Anti-Vampire Kit must be defective. Then came another explosion, and this time, hundreds of crosses shot across the floor.

"Crosses! Crosses!" the sultry succubi shouted, laughing even harder. I guess that's another one that doesn't bother them , said Coyote to himself.

The backpack now bounced up and down, emitted pink steam, and gave off a wooka wooka wooka sound. The voluptuous vixens were beside themselves with laughter. Some had fallen back on the couches and just lay there, their sides heaving, tears of mirth streaming down their pretty faces.

There was another explosion: several packages and a Swiss Army knife landed on the table right next to Coyote's head. Then another explosion, and hundreds of what looked like . . .yes, that's what they were, chives, shot across the floor in the direction of the still-laughing vampires.

When they saw the chives, the laughing stopped. In an instant, their expressions changed from hilarity to terror. They shrieked, their breasts trembled, and they turned to run. The only exit, however, was the one doorway near the backpack, and it was blocked by an impressive pile of chives. So they ran instead to the corners of the great hall or behind the columns that lined its walls. There they cowered, screaming and crying. Lucretia was cringing and whimpering with the rest of them.

Of course! thought Coyote. The Sacred Chives of al-Andalus! He remembered hearing somewhere that these knocked the wind out of sex vampires, somewhat in the way garlic affected their more conventional cousins. He hadn't even looked at the contents of his Anti-Vampire Kit when he'd tossed it into his backpack. It was lucky for him that the R & D team at Acme considered every eventuality.

First he seized the Swiss Army knife in his jaws and used it to cut his bonds. Then he grabbed two big fistsful of the Sacred Chives and strode up to the cornered cuties. They shook their heads; they wailed; they begged; they stamped their pretty little feet; but he was relentless. He slipped a chive into each girl's trembling cleavage. As it went in, each uttered a harrowing cry, then slipped unconscious to the floor. When Lucretia's turn came, she was shaking like a sapling in a strong wind. "Time to join your girls," he said. One choked sob, and down she went.

While they were out, he checked the other Acme packages and then rested a bit. About an hour later, he could tell from their moans that they were coming back to consciousness. He had read all the instructions in the Kit now, so he was ready for them.

"Get up," he said. And thirty or so fatal females climbed unsteadily to their feet. He next explained that he wanted them to clear away the couches and harpsichord and stand in several rows in front of him. They did so, for the chives left them no choice. Now they held their heads down, no longer the haughty wenches they had been. Lucretia, of course, stood at the front, her head down as well.

"So, you were going to suck out my life force, were you? Well, let's see how you take your own medicine!" The women quailed at his stern expression and harsh words. Some cried "No! Please, no!" One said: "Please, we can serve you, and you can enjoy us any time you want!"

"Like that putz the wizard? Hardly. Now where did I put those things? Here they are." He picked up one of the Acme packages that had landed next to him and emptied its contents onto the table. These were a dozen slender wooden stakes. The other packages had more of the same, plus a big wooden mallet.

When Lucretia saw the stakes, all of her arrogance returned. "You fool!" she crowed. "How many times do I have to tell you we're not like other vampires! A stake through the heart means nothing to us!"

"Who said anything about the heart?" Coyote picked up a sheet of paper. "Listen to Acme's description of its product: ' . . . Patented Acme Anti-Sex Vampire Stakes. Slenderer than conventional stakes, and more gently tapered for easier insertion. Also 25% more absorbent. Guaranteed: they kill sex vampires dead!'"

Now that they knew exactly what was in store for them, the supernatural love-toys began to scream and carry on even more than before.

"Quiet!" Coyote yelled. In response, they just stood there trembling, the tears sluicing down their faces. "Those of you who have panties, pull them down to your knees!" Slowly, unwillingly, they slipped their undergarments down their quivering legs. Many a pair of panties was obviously soaked.

"Now, get on your backs!" Down they went. "Legs up--that's right: back, back, back; put your knees right up against your chests!" They did just that. "Keep your hands on the floor at your sides!" Again, they obeyed. "Excellent," he said, rubbing his paws with anticipation.

He went to the nearest girl: a pretty little auburn thing whose name he remembered was Colleen. Her breasts were heaving. She shook her head and cried "No! Please good master, no!" In response, he slipped in the stake and brought the mallet down on it smartly. Colleen screamed, and the scream lasted for several seconds. He pounded the stake again. Another prolonged scream. Then he kept pounding, till he'd hammered the thing all the way home. The hall echoed with the doomed girl's shrieks, and the shrieks of the others, foreseeing their own fate in hers.

When the stake was in as far as it could go, some of the talismanic power of the Sacred Chive was lost, and Colleen's legs kicked forward, almost catching Coyote in the face. She kicked and kicked, her high heels clattering on the floor. As she kicked, she started to come: once . . . twice . . . then again and again and again. She also tried, with her diminishing strength, to pull out the stake, but that was hopeless.

"Ohhhh, Dark Lord!" she groaned. "The pain . . . the pain . . . and . . . and . . . the PLEASURE! Ohhhhhh!"

Finally, Colleen could come no more. She gave a last, despairing whimper and was still. A heady mix of blood and fay honey seeped out from between her legs.

And so it went, until Coyote had staked every girl and savored the music of their death-cries. Now it was Lucretia's turn. He couldn't help feeling a little sorry for her, on her back as she was, with her legs up and her exquisite snatch exposed.

"It . . . it was a good thing we had here," she said. "We played music, we made love, we killed people. It was great fun. And then . . . you came! You ruined it! You destroyed us! Oh dear Devil, my panties! I-I love taking them down, but now . . . now they're . . . down for good!" And she cried with complete, bitter abandon.

Coyote crouched down beside her and, for a few moments, gently ran his paws along her thighs. (They were as smooth and cold as polished marble.) Then he staked her, too. One last episode of groans, tears, and kicky death-orgasms; at last, like the others, she was still.

Coyote collapsed on the floor and slept--for how long, he never knew. When he awoke, he surveyed the rows of beautiful, dead vampires, their eyes wide and staring, their panties bunched at their knees. Once again, he was very hungry. Unlike conventional vampires, who crumble into dust within seconds of being killed, sex vampires stay sweet and juicy for a long time. He ate well that day, and the next, and the next. Then he took up his trusty backpack and moved on.

THE END