Welcome back to DOSF and especially to Vampirella!
I keep this old, unfinished story in my records and I'm posting it since it was and still is very hot! Unfortunately the 2nd part has never been written or maybe got lost I can't remember just now... anyway the 1st one looks very promising... who knows Vampirella could finish it eventually...here you go Vampirella's friends!
When Housewives Attack by Amber K part 1
Hands thrust deep in the pockets of his jeans; Greg marched down the side of the interstate, his breath puffing out in a white cloud of mist. Occasionally his foot would slip off of the ridge of blacktop and crunch on the frozen ground beyond. His chest burned with the frigid night air and for the fortieth time Greg cursed his junker of a truck. The headlight glare of oncoming traffic, making the hike even more treacherous, also nurtured a dull throbbing in his temples with each passing vehicle. It was fucking colder than it had a right to be in February. Greg could picture his mom, dad and sisters sitting around the dining room table chewing cheerfully. The thought irritated him profoundly. By all rights he should be away at Stanford, but no … his father insisted that he take at least two semesters at community before he was willing to cough up the cash. Apparently, neither high school grades, SAT scores nor the acceptance letters from Stanford, Davis and USC, among others, were enough. “University is a completely different world, son. Complex. I’ll be damned if I waste my money just to find out you can’t hack it,” Greg grumbled in a fair imitation of his father. The worst insult had been his mother’s insistence that he remain at home while he attended community. All of Greg’s buddies had their own places, setting their own rules. “It's what your mother wants, boy,” Greg continued in his mock-father voice, “if she wants you close to home for another 1,000 years of your worthless life, let her have it. She gave birth to you for Christ sake. Have some compassion!” The only problem was that “close to home” meant living is his painfully small bedroom, eating all of his meals with “the family” and worse yet having a curfew. It didn’t matter that Greg was eighteen and technically an adult … his mother’s well placed tears won every dispute. Case closed. And then there was the truck. Greg could still remember, on the day of his seventeenth birthday, his father proudly handing him the keys. Greg wasn’t expecting much when he made his way out back to the driveway; his family in tow all grinning likes idiots. He was sure it would be a used car, but the prospect of having a vehicle made it a moot point. The last thing he expected to see was a 1973 Ford pickup with a peeling orange paintjob and one flat tire darkening the drive. In a daze, Greg had circled the truck and noticed the dull outline of the word FREE still discernable on the back window. Obviously his father hadn’t had much luck obliterating the soap written letters nor had he bothered to sweep out the half dozen sun bleached beer cans, empty condom wrappers and various other detritus in the truck’s bed. “Start her up,” his father had chimed in with a glowing grin. The door screamed with a rusty howl and after Greg climbed in and pulled the door shut the hollow, metallic thud made him think of being in a tank. The seats were torn and smelled of urine. More beer cans and a bit of what looked to be moldering hay decorated the interior floorboards. Greg desperately wanted to think it all a sick joke, but the look of self-satisfied pleasure on his old man’s face told a contrary tale. The biggest irony was that the wretched vehicle wouldn’t even turn over. It made a few hacks and coughs like a dieing donkey before finally spitting out a cloud of black, sooty smoke. Greg tried three more times, unsuccessfully, before his father cheerfully announced “it needs a little work” only moments after the ancient battery gave up the ghost. From that moment on all of Greg’s meager salary, earned at the corner store, went into that truck. The final insult had come just a month ago on his younger sister’s 16th birthday. The exact same “handing over of the keys ceremony” was enacted … yet when the family walked out back they were all treated to the vision of a brand-new Toyota Tercell, turquoise and sparkling in the sun. Beth had squealed like a chipmunk on crack while jumping up and down as if she were a winner on some dumb game show. Greg could have punched her … and gladly. He eyed his sister with undisguised malice as she slid behind the wheel, giggling like a fiend, and started the engine. She honked the horn and revved the engine to a round of applause from the entire family, minus Greg. When Greg heard his mother whisper tearfully, “Oh, our little girl’s all grown up,” he made a quick exit before murdering the lot of them. And so it went. Everyone went about their daily routines as Greg sat in his room and starred at the ceiling. The courses at community were laughable which left a mass of spare time with nothing to fill it. Greg was condemned to be inside by 10pm every night, 11pm on Fridays and Saturdays. Thus began his multiple visits to the movie theater. Thankfully one of his old high school chums worked the ticket booth Monday through Thursday and sometimes Saturdays as well. This meant free movies and bargain basement prices on snacks and pop. With the free film and cheap treats, he hadn’t budgeted in a long cold-as-hell walk home … courteously of his Sanford and Son cast off truck. Now here he was. Walking on a frozen highway … miles from hell-and-gone. The fuck of it was, every emergency phone Greg passed was busted; the yellow boxes hanging by threads and the phones inside either missing or a twisted, black hulk of metal plastic and wire. Each phone box was tagged with some kind of Latino graffiti … nonsensical symbols and Spanish obscenities announcing proudly the shit-heels who seemed to have nothing else better to do than bust every phone in a ten mile radius. Obviously they never had car trouble. With a whoosh a white van sped by, spraying Greg with a wave of icy slush and mud. Trembling with rage and cold, Greg watched the van proceed down the road and leisurely pull off at the next exit. “FUCK!” Greg bellowed. It felt good to scream, but it didn’t do much in the way of curbing the chattering of his teeth or the numbness of his feet. Pulling his now soggy jacket closer around his shaking shoulder, Greg marched onward with murder on the brain … thoughts of his family in their nice warm house dancing in his head. Groovy. “Well, what do you think?” The driver was a mere silhouette framed in the sickly green glow of the dash lights. She spoke over her shoulder to other shadows hovering in the back of the van. “He looked good to me,” another female voice responded. “Me too,” came the response from another of the van’s passengers. “OK,” the driver spoke up. Her smile, though invisible in the dark of the cab, was more than evident in the tone of her voice, “I’ll swing back around. Get ready.” Greg paused for a moment and rummaged in his coat pocket for his cigarettes. His calves felt stiff and sore and he honestly wondered if he would make it into town before collapsing. Hitchhiking. Greg’s jaw fell open as he marveled at his own stupidity. He’d walked miles already and had been so preoccupied with his ruminations of self-pity that the thought had never even occurred to him. His shadow extended out in front of him in a shifting light as a vehicle approached from behind. The hum of the engine was soon discernable and Greg abandoned his cigarette hunt. Turning to face the blinding headlights Greg trust out his thumb with hope in his heart. He could tell the vehicle was slowing and his relief was almost palatable. Whoever the driver was still had their lights set to high beams and Greg was forced to shade his eyes with the flat of his hand. During his brief moment of blindness the vehicle passed him by and came to a stop. Oddly enough, it looked to be the same white van that had drenched him only minutes before. Forcing his tortured legs into movement, Greg trotted towards his waiting ride. The passenger side window was rolled up and Greg could barely make out the shadowed figure behind the wheel. With a yank he tried the door handle but found it locked. Suddenly a sinking sense of unease invaded Greg’s joy at finding a ride. He nearly shrieked as the side door of the van rumbled open. Cautiously he approached the yawning black portal and peered inside. It was too dark to make our anything within, but the dash lights drew his attention back to the driver. Leaning his head into the vehicle Greg opened his mouth to speak but the words died on his lips. The driver was still seated! Who had opened the door? Multiple hands shot out of the blackness of the van, grabbing him about the wrists, arms and shoulders. The van lurched forward as the hands pulled him off his feet. Before Greg realized fully what had happened the vehicle was speeding off with an ear piercing squeal of tires. The track door slid shut with a finalistic boom. In utter silence hands pulled and shoved him in the darkness of the van’s belly. The vehicle was positively pregnant with passengers. As the van sped beneath an overpass, lights briefly illuminated five figures crouched over him … their faces horribly flattened like leering gargoyles with black holes for mouths. Greg felt a choked scream lodged in his throat. His lips writhed as he tried to gain air to let the yell forth. Suddenly soft material was thrust into his open mouth. His tongue lighted against the foreign object, which felt like stiff cotton, and quickly pulled back in disgust. The thing tasted bitter and salty. Greg felt his gorge rise as a thick band of tape was slapped down over the cloth, trapping it in place. Unceremoniously Greg was flipped onto his stomach. The faceless things in the van roughly bound his wrists and ankles. Greg tried to fight but their sheer number easily restrained his flailing limbs. With a grunt, Greg was flipped onto his back again. Adding to his mounting horror, Greg felt his belt being loosened and fingers digging into his button fly. Within seconds his pants were undone and yanked down to his ankles. His boxers soon followed and he felt the cold corrugated steel floor of the van against his bare ass. Passing beneath another overpass and its bay of lights revealed a second glimpse of his attackers. The five figures were closer now. Greg could now see that they wore nylon stockings over their heads … their smashed feature appearance was nothing more than the result of donning such a garment. Oddly the stockings had mouth holes cut into them lending his grim assailants an even more disturbing and ghoulish appearance. As the flash of lights faded Greg saw one of the figures reaching towards his now exposed cock. His body tensed in apprehension. Cool, thin fingers caressed his manhood gently before grabbing it in a full fisted hold. The hand squeezed his flaccid penis and Greg felt it growing semi erect. Horrified at his body’s betrayal, Greg began to buck his body as much as he could. His shoulders where soon pinned down with multiples hands as someone sat on his legs. With the weight on his legs and hands pinning his shoulders Greg was completely immobilized. The long hike on the interstate suddenly and painfully took its toll on his legs. Cramps seized his calves in a white hot grip, traveling down to his feet, curling his toes at a forced angle. He tried to gasp in air through his nostrils. A foul odor, sharp and vinegary, invaded his nose. The stench was the most abominable smell of dirty feet Greg had ever had the misfortune of sniffing. It had taken but a fraction of a second for his brain to process the aroma’s origin … it came from the foul tasting piece of clothe filling his mouth. It was a sock … a horribly stinky and befouled sock … the stiff cotton fibers prickling his tongue could only be the result of massive repeated use. Greg moaned in revulsion. Thankfully the spasm-like cramps were beginning to fade from his legs though it left the muscles limp and useless. As the blinding pain receded, Greg became aware of the hand still grasping his penis. The thin, strong fingers were again kneading the soft flesh of his flaccid member, inexorably summoning blood to engorge it. The figures in the van began to loss their indistinct and shadowed appearance. Light filled the vehicle and Greg could see through the side windows that they had reached town. Lying bound and helpless in the back of a van, multiple kidnappers molesting him whilst simultaneously seeing the familiar giant orange globe of the Union 76 service station spinning lazily on its axis, Greg was overcome with a sense of intense surrealism. Soon they passed the row of fast food restaurants: Burger King, McDonalds, Carl’s Junior … Reluctantly Greg turned his attention away from the normalcy outside to instead look upon his tormentors. They were all women! The shock of it hit Greg like a thunderclap. Each was dressed in tight fitting jumpsuits that looked more conducive to jogging than terrorist activities. Even painted with the bright neon lights of the fast food strip, their nylon covered faces still held a fearsome aspect … the mouth holes cut in the nylon masks, still lending them a horrific and unearthly appearance. It was more than enough to make Greg shutter involuntarily. Now that he had been granted the dubious boon of sight, he wondered if he indeed preferred the blindness of shadow. Seeing the masked women crouching over him like obscene vultures eyeing a dying animal was almost too much to take. The helplessness of his situation frayed the bonds of sanity. Greg had read in numerous horror novels and true crime books that “victims” would be struck with a petrifying fear that prohibited movement or the possibility of escape. He’d repeatedly scoffed at such an idea, sure that if he found himself in such a situation he would most assuredly kick ass and take names, yet now understood the truism with profundity. Even if the cords that bound his arms and legs were miraculously discarded, Greg knew the impossibility of willing his leaden limbs into mobility. He was imprisoned by his fear in as much as he was by his captors. In a systematic fashion, his mind began to fold in on itself and shut down. His extremities began to go numb until it felt as if he were floating. He could sense a grey fuzziness filling his vision and his heart was soon the only thing he could hear; all other ambient sounds dulled as if heard through a wall of billowy cotton. Distantly he caught a voice speaking close by yet at the same time seeming a million miles away. Part of Greg was aware that he was loosing consciousness. The blissful unknowing that beckoned from the other side was a welcome sanctuary. Greg flew into its sheltering arms with abandon. A sharp and painful tug on his penis snatched him from the comfort of apathetic shock. The engine sounds of the van and hiss of the tires on wet asphalt crashed into sudden clarity with the concussive force of an oil drum exploding in his befuddled head. His body jerked violently nearly dislodging the weight of the kidnapper perched on his legs. The unwanted return to reality followed the onrush of sounds and again panic swelled in his breast, dispersing the lethargy of fright. Adrenaline coursed through him like wildfire. With the new found strength Greg attempted once more to escape. After an extremely brief struggle he was soon abashed of his effort and disheartened to find his success as utterly unattainable as before. The adrenaline deserted him as quickly as it had come, slinking off leaving his stomach a knot of queasy cramps. His captors weathered the tantrum with stoic silence and it was then that Greg realized thus far his kidnappers had remained utterly silent throughout the abduction. No threats or warnings had been spoken nor commands for his cooperation. The lack of any human sounds or explanations on which to legitimize the reality or non-reality of the situation fragmented Greg’s grasp on the events into a constant state of flux. Bereft of anything on which to base an understanding, Greg was sentenced to an overwhelming ebb and sway of emotional detachment. He began to wonder if he was indeed losing his mind. Was this all really happening or was he lying on the side of the road somewhere babbling incoherently? Maybe he had fallen and hit his head. Had someone slipped something into his drink at the theater? Or worse … plowed down like Stephen King! Struggling to get a grip on himself, Greg forced himself back to cognizance. He felt himself returning to his body and donning it like a too small glove. Again he felt the cold steel beneath his bare ass, the bite of the cords binding his wrists and ankles, the awkward arch of his back from lying on his own arms bound behind him. He was disgusted to realize that the incessant tugging on his penis had at some point assumed a lulling effect, soothing his body whilst he weathered the maelstrom of his scattered thoughts of ragged, frayed sanity. He tried to fight the feeling and push it out of its nesting place in his traitorous loins, yet his recent lethargy was again caressing his consciousness in an attempt to take hold once more. As if seeing through someone else’s eyes, Greg noted his cock standing thick and rigged from the tangle of his pubic hair. The skin of his penis seemed to glisten as if oiled … seeing the thin fingered hand of one of his abductors gliding effortlessly over the bulk of his member stood testament to the truth of the appearance. At some point his penis had been greased and was now fully responding to the ministrations. His, up until then, quiet captors turned to look upon his towering erection. An uneasy-making undulation of moans that bespoke of hunger filled the van. For an irrational instant Greg decided they were all vampires and he their next meal! Unable to stop the thought from ping-ponging around in his head, Greg squeezed his eyes shut and uttered a muffled wail from beneath the soiled sock. The piteous cry seemed to harmonize with the throaty sounds issuing from the five women until the vehicle seemed to brim with the sounds of lost souls. The purgatorial cacophony unhinged Greg even further, cutting of his own moan abruptly. All eyes seemed to be trained on the woman slowly and methodically milking his now erect penis. Of course he couldn’t be sure, but the women holding him down seemed taunt with emotion … the two holding his shoulders were kneading the flesh beneath their hands as if in unconscious imitation of their comrade’s attention to Greg’s cock. Their unintentionally massage, Greg was sure it couldn’t be out of purposeful kindness, was having a lulling effect as well. The woman stroking his cock took a firm hold at its base and waggled it from side to side until the fleshy pole faded into a blur of motion. Droplets of oil spattered from its head, sprinkling Greg’s inner thighs. The sensation of the act forced Greg to arch his back. The moaning from the women resumed as the captor holding his penis clambered onto her knees and lowered her face towards Greg’s cock. The moans rose in pitch as Greg watched the tip of his cock disappear into the mouth hole of the nylon mask she wore. Wet lips surrounded his swollen member and a lashing tongue played across the sensitive and taut skin of his head. Greg had seen a television special on sharks when he was ten. Something described as a “feeding frenzy” was displayed toward the end of the program. A bloody morsel was thrown into the water … first attacked by one shark and then by many more until the sea was filled with the froth of blood and twisting shark bodies. The sight of the woman now sucking his cock apparently had much the same effect on her comrades. The sudden motion of the five other women drew Greg’s attention away from the forced blowjob he was receiving. Now all eyes were on him. Hands ran up beneath his shirt to play across his chest. Fingers found his nipples and pinched and flicked until the nubs of flesh were erect and stiff. Fingers trailed tickling lines down his ribcage and over his naked thighs. The disturbing idea that he’d been abducted by vampires returned with suddenness as three of the women bent down over his face … mouths gaping. Instead of protruding fangs, Greg saw the flicking of moist, pink tongues framed in the black openings of the stockings. In an instant his face was bathed in saliva. They licked his eyes and forehead … thrusting their wet tongues deep into his ears. The sounds of the world blotted out to a warm wet squishing as the fleshy probes filled his ear canals. As two of the women concentrated on tonguing Greg’s ears and nipping at his ear lobes the third tongued his nostrils, each in turn. Somehow it was the most violating sensation of the experience. Her thin tipped tongue forced its way in, spreading each nostril to its extreme. The stink of the woman’s saliva filled his nose and a more intense stink of feet became apparent as well. It only took him a moment to rationalize that the smell was coming from the woman’s nylon mask. Who in the name of Christ would don a pair of used and stinky stockings as a mask? The tonguing continued for a number of uncomfortable minutes until the woman, either tiring of probing his nostrils or feeling satisfied with the effort, fastened her mouth over Greg’s entire nose and began to suck. Black fear gripped him in an instant. He was no longer able to breath. With the fouled, sweat-stiff sock still blocking one airway, having his nose sealed prevented any oxygen whatsoever. Greg tried to thrash about and felt his hardened cock push deep into the woman’s throat, sucking him off. For a moment he could feel cold air play across the saliva and oil wet flesh of his penis as she spit it out before it was once again swallowed by the warm mouth. Weakening quickly, Greg’s mind struggled from some kind of plan to breath. His vision began to blur. Suddenly the mouth was gone from his nose. Greg hungrily sucked in air as the grey flecks clouding his vision slowly faded. The hint of stink from the dirty sock in his mouth melded with that of the woman’s saliva presenting an abhorrent aroma. Greg shivered despite the bliss of being able to breathe unhindered. As his senses slowly returned Greg realized his erection had faded. The masked woman was still intently sucking as if willing the flaccid cock to return to its former, rigid glory. Whatever aberrant physiology had allowed the woman to tease him to hardness, in spite of the situation’s trauma, had departed. Greg’s fear of suffocation had quit plainly rendered him impotent, for which he was thankful. The conflicting emotions caused by the added stress of sexual pleasure had been maddening to say the very least. The wet tongues still delved his ears maintaining a level of shivery discomfort, but Greg mentally pushed the sensation aside. Finally he was able to think with a certain amount of clarity. The foremost thought was that of mortality. Was his life at risk? They all wore masks, which from Greg’s perusing of True Crime novels suggested a strong possibility of him surviving the event. As long as they remained faceless and unidentifiable Greg was no threat to them. Then again … that was only a guess. Greg decided any hope, no matter how slim, was still something to hold onto. Though both ears were plugged by wriggling tongues, Greg heard one of the women speak … though the sound of her voice was muffled. The tongues immediately abandoned his ears, the women moaning with something akin to regret. Greg noticed that they had left the bright lights of downtown. The tops of trees and the long necked street lights visible outside could only mean they had entered a residential area. Greg fervently wished the windows of the van were positioned lower so he could at least catch some type of landmark or street sign to announce their whereabouts. It felt like they’d been driving for hours … they could be anywhere … even the next town over. It was as if he’d suddenly been forgotten by his captors. All of the women were intently starring out the windows, though their hold on his shoulders and legs remained as steadfast as ever. The one who had sucked his cock glanced down at him briefly and despite her nylon mask, Greg got the impression that she was smiling. The van slowed and turned sharply to the right. Greg was joggled on the steel floor of the van as they lurched up a steep incline. He had a quick glimpse of a white lattice board entwined with ivy before his vision was snuffed. Nibble fingers looped a pair of blindfolds over his head. From their silky texture and tickle of lace on the bridge of his nose, Greg marked them as the type worn as sleeping aids by women. They smelled faintly of perfume. Denied sight, Greg concentrated on all the information he could take in via his ears. With the quality of a shallow echo the rumble of the van’s engine increased with marked suddenness. Greg may have been blinded but he still had wits enough to translate the sound change as an entrance into some sort of garage or carport. The driver killed the motor and Greg could hear the ticking of the cooling engine echoing inside whatever spacious structure they had pulled into.