The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Los Angles: 2056

The vampire was decked out in all white: Jacket, pants and two toned white and black shoes. Underneath the jacket his silk shirt was grey with a gold stripped tie. A grey pocket square adorned the corner of his jacket pocket. In one hand he held a metal silver and black walking cane adorned with Dragon heads. This was his last night in LA before he had to move to his sleeping lair. He hoped to go out in style in his last night in Los Angeles.

He had loved his two and a half years in LA like no other time or place. The city was insanely rich, decadent and wild. It was a city of games and chance and risk, winner take all and that appealed to the very core of nature. No rules applied and anything was to be had. The city was wide open for any and all pleasures and he had indulged as never before.

The women were insanely beautiful, devoted to their looks and bodies with obsessive narcissism. They worked out and had surgeries until they looked like goddesses come to earth. They adorned their perfect forms with ink and piercings and all sorts of becoming jewelry and tight revealing cloths. Gone were the soft, round zaftig mounds of previous eras. Now they resembled animals; hard, curved, toned cut perfect made exclusively for lust, pleasure and endless, mindless sex.

And he had corralled many of them, fifteen in all, entrancing them, putting them in his thrall for his use. He found most of them at strip clubs because these women’s bodies were in the peak of condition because they earned their livings from them. Every part of them was exceptional, the tight hard abs, the round hard asses, the gym enhanced arms and legs and their tits, exploding into perfect roundness and attention with silicone implants. It was like Michelangelo had followed him to this time and found a new standard for female beauty in his brilliant mind and made them not from white marble but warm, pink, responsive flesh. He loved how they shaved between their legs, divested of hair, their seductive pussies so conspicuously on display, always seeming to be ready for some new carnal adventure.

He would ask them for a private lap dance and their fates were sealed. And use them he did; sexually he ravaged them until they could not go on, he drank of their blood over and over, switching them often so as not to kill. He reached into their minds and absorbed their emotions and memories, the essence of who they were. They quickly, insidiously became addicts to the otherworldly pleasure he bestowed, desperately craving any sign of his attention, his approbation, which would leave them gasping with pleasure and desire, their pussies twitching and running wet and hot. They longed for the warm, compliant, obedient open feeling of his mind in theirs, taking them over, coring out who they were and replacing it with his own particular brand of intoxicating dark corruption that was so much better than any drug. They became flesh husks, so aesthetically perfect on the outside and so completely empty inside. They no longer cared about family or friends or old lovers they soon discarded with vicious, callous words and actions. Now their only thoughts and desires were the vampires. They lived for him only and nothing else mattered in the slightest.

But despite his proclivity for those women’s bodies they were not the three young women who lived in the house with him. He found the strippers to be dull and vapid. The three who received that honor were members of a local all girls rock and roll band. Yes, they were all young and gorgeous but it was not the main reason they were here. They had captured his favor and imagination with the kick ass music they played, that he loved so much, and their strong, interesting personalities and their ability to engage his intellect in various ways. He needed more than beauty for you could only look at someone for so long. He needed mental stimulation to be satisfied and these three provided that.

And out of the three there was one in particular who met all his requirements. She had a ferocious intelligence, a sense of humor that ran the gamut from playful to savage and an arresting, powerful personality that he greatly enjoyed exploring. She had been wild, adventurous and carefree before they met and was so much more so now. She had a powerful, adroit mind and intellect. They would have long conversations about any conceivable subject and she more than held her own. They would often exchange sly insults and ripostes and her quick wit and ability to spar with him delighted the vampire no end. Out of all the thralls he had in his life she was by far his favorite and he had formed a very personal and unique attachment to her.

As time went on the vampire had come to think of the three as his brides in a fashion. No they had not taken any vows in front of the human’s nonexistent god but they were inexorably bound together in a much stronger way. Their bond was the true one sanctified by him alone. While he thought of them as his brides they thought of themselves as sisters to each other. They shared things, dark twisted desires and they had a special connection to each other that the vampire had created. Not only were they sisters but also lovers. They were sisters born of a father they loved more than they ever had their biological ones.

The vampire had entertained numerous trick or treaters on his last night in LA. He had been the most genial of hosts, laughing, talking relating to the kids who had invaded his house with fervid hopes of succulent treasure. And he had let them all leave, smiling and happy, thinking what a nice couple they were, the handsome man in the blinding white suit and his young girlfriend. He was looking for something special this night and if it did not arrive, so be it. There would always be other nights for divertissement when he awoke again in three hundred years.

He was on a couch, watching the four hundred inch TV on his wall. Hell, it was the whole wall. But his sensitive hearing had picked up every bit of the conversation Lauren had with his new guests.

He took a very quick, furtive glance back: A teenager and a child. With the quickness of an adder he sent the tendrils of his mind to the girl, to see what was there inside. What he felt almost made him gasp. It took all of his considerable control to keep his face placid. What he had felt in her was unlike mind he had experienced before. He doubted what he felt could actually be so! He had to find out. He knew immediately that now, finally, the game was afoot and almost instantaneously he extrapolated how it would evolve and play out. His mind was just that frighteningly quick. But that girl! What he had felt inside her! Was it really true? He had to find out more.

Even though he was not even looking at them, Brad and Sammi now had the vampire’s full and undivided attention.

He withdrew his preliminary tendrils from her mind and focused on the TV. Leonardo Decaprio, The Great Gatsby, was throwing a party for his friends at his ill gotten mansion. The vampire’s suit was exactly like his for on this Halloween night his role was Gatsby which was why that particular movie played.

The vampire had lost his expectations for this night. He felt it would end in failure until this girl; this amazing, unusual girl had arrived with her brother. He licked his lips involuntarily, waiting for the game to start.

Kat was at the huge, old oak table, gazing at all the expensive chocolate and candy. They held those exotic names as they had before and even more. It was the mother lode of candy: A Halloween El Dorado made for Sammi’s Pizarro. Lauren and Brad smiled at each other as Sammi’s eyes gazed in childish wonder.

Brad looked into the adjoining room and could see the massive TV in all its glorious technological wonder. He gasped audibly. The TV was a magnet to him just the candy was to Sammi.

Lauren giggled and nodded her head. “Go take a look. My boyfriend won’t mind. He enjoys company. He doesn’t bite,” she said slyly, a friendly grin gracing her full red lips. “I’ll stay here with Kat.”

“Hey Kat, I’m going to go check out that cool TV, OK?” he asked.

She nodded. “OK Scat.” She looked up at Lauren, pleading. “Can you please help me pick out the best ones?”

Lauren laughed and put her hand on Sammi’s shoulder. “Sure sweetie pie, I know what all of them are and I’ll help you all you want.”

Sammi jumped up and down with excitement, her Little Mermaid tail bouncing up and down. “Oh thank you! You’re so nice Lauren!”

Lauren ran her long red fingernails through Sammi’s blonde hair. “So are you. We’re going to be really good friends. I can tell.”

Lauren nodded her head to the TV. “Go ahead,” she mouthed silently. Brad nodded back and walked into the next room.

When Brad entered the room the first thing that caught his eye was a large, very well done painting of a man. The man was dressed as old time royalty and obviously lived long ago. His archaic yet beautiful clothes clearly showed that fact. He had a sharp, intelligent face, a roman nose and a dark, thick well groomed mustache that matched his eyebrows. He looked like a man born to lead and command others. But there was something else about him that captured Brad’s attention the more he looked at that visage. The man’s eyes and face were hard, cruel, like a piece of steel. It was there, unmistakable, right under the surface. The more you studied the painting the more it came to the fore. Brad knew he would not have enjoyed meeting this man. He felt a small involuntary shudder run up his back looking at the man’s gaze. He quickly had enough of him and turned to the TV which was much more apropos to his to his 21st century sixteen year old tastes.

Brad was mesmerized the closer he came to the TV. He was a videophile and knew exactly what this one was. It was the new Sony XT5000 with perfect black and, hydrostatic color and brightness, meaning it was life like in every way possible. It was his dream TV. It also ran over thirty thousand dollars. It was his dream TV.

The man on the couch turned his head slowly to Brad and smiled. He had a cigarette in his right hand. The ash tray on the table to his left was filled with butts. There was no smoke in the room because the air vent in the roof above was assiduously drawing and sucking it out. The vampire was not concerned about getting cancer or any of the other damage smoking could cause. He was immune to those horrors. Also on the table were seven empty whiskey glasses. Brad wondered if this man was drunk. How long had he been drinking?

His smile was congenial, inviting. He was uncommonly handsome. Brad figured he would be. I mean how else he would get a total young hottie like Lauren? Money and looks. Wow is this guy lucky. He has everything.

But what captivated Brad more than anything was the man’s eyes. They seemed to be pure black. He had never seen any like them. They had a very exotic beauty and seemed to pull at him, invite close inspection.

The man nodded to the TV. “You like?” he asked, simply and without preamble.

“Hell yeah!” blurted Brad. “It’s the XT5000! There are no better TV’s made.”

The man nodded appreciably. “That’s right. You know your stuff.”

“I love cinema. Oh god, I can’t believe this thing.” Brad walked right up to it. The picture was so real it looked like he could gain entrance to the Gatsby party, have a cold drink and dance with one of the sexy, vivacious flappers who were having such a marvelous time.

“You almost feel like you could walk through it, no?” asked the man. “As though one could travel to some unattainable…….age….that would normally seem beyond times permit. That it is right there to do if one wished and knew…..how.” His voice held a dreamy odd cadence and tone, as though he were far away. It almost sounded to Brad as though the man thought there was some recondite trick of science or sorcery that could make this possible.

Brad walked over to the man feeling embarrassed. Here he was in his house, his sister taking his food, watching his TV and he hadn’t even introduced himself. Damn it, where are my manners? His mom would be ashamed of him. She had taught him better. So had his father.

He held out his hand. “Hi, my name is Brad. It’s a real pleasure to be here. Thanks for your hospitality,” he said, trying to sound adult.

The man rose and took it. His grip was firm and cool. He smiled. “Believe me, Brad, the pleasure of this night is strictly mine. You have no idea how pleased I am you arrived. I do love company so. My name is…Billy Ray.” At least for the purposes of this game, tonight.

Billy Ray motioned smoothly to the couch. “Take off your….ah…cape and jacket. Sit for a while, old sport.”

Brad nodded. Despite all the empties on the table Billy did not seem remotely drunk. He removed his cape and thin jacket and sat down on the couch. There was something about that term, old sport, which he felt he should know but it was hovering there, just out of reach of his memory. Billy Ray sat back down. Soon, imperceptibly, he reached into Brad’s mind, examining what he was feeling.

Brad watched the movie for a while. It was one he had never seen. The old actor Leonardo Dicaprio was in it, hosting some huge blowout at his fabulous estate. He was old now, had to be in his seventies or eighties but here he was handsome, becoming, in the flush of his manhood. He had seen some of his movies but had never caught this one.

“What movie is this?” he asked, curious.

Billy Ray gave him a sidelong glance and tight smile. “It’s the Great Gatsby, old sport.”

Bam! It hit Brad like a ton of bricks. Old sport! That was what Gatsby called people in the book he had read for class way back in sixth grade.

Brad looked at Dicaprio, that perfect white suit and brown shirt and looked over at his host and grinned. They were wearing the exact same clothes!

“Oh, I know it! I read the book in school. You’re playing Gatsby for Halloween. Not just up there,” he pointed at the TV, “but here.” He gave Billy Ray the once over. “You are Gatsby tonight. It’s your costume.”

Billy Ray nodded his face alight, pleased. “Bravo old sport. You have hit the proverbial nail right square on the head. Very good! See, no matter how old one may be, never be embarrassed to enjoy Halloween. To be someone else, someone you truly know and understand, to know their very origin and deepest desires. It is a great pleasure.”

Brad heard a strange intensity in Billy Ray’s voice as he spoke. It was odd. He was also a little surprised about how he seemed to be addressing Brad’s own embarrassment as to wearing his Batman costume. It was as though the man had read his very thoughts and feelings. It had to be a coincidence.

“Is the movie any good?” he asked, changing the subject.

Billy Ray shook his head wistfully. “They made two Gatsbys. The first was with Robert Redford.”

“Oh yeah, he goes way back. He’s been dead a long time,” Brad chipped in.

“Yes, such a long time ago it was. One can hardly imagine it. To answer your question, it is a mediocre film as was the first attempt. They just can’t seem to capture Fitzgerald’s novel. Perhaps it is one of those books impervious to translation to the screen. What do you think, old sport?”

Brad looked at Billy Ray. He was really going with this Gatsby thing. Ray kept staring at the screen, that funny faraway look on his face. It almost seemed a look of longing or desire.

The other odd thing was Billy Ray would never look at him long or maintained eye contact. He seemed shy, very introverted. He seemed so small and fragile, sitting there burrowed in the couch. Brad had friends like that and they behaved exactly like Ray was when they met someone new. Brad was an extrovert and didn’t envy anyone who had that much of an issue dealing with new acquaintances. That was tough way to be since meeting new people was one of life’s necessities. He wondered what he could do to put the man more at ease but there really was no way. Just be nice and friendly. What else was there?

Suddenly he heard footsteps coming at him from his right; the unmistakable sound of high heels clacking on wood floor. A door opened and young girl, she had to be around Lauren’s age, entered. Brad’s jaw almost dropped. She was even more beautiful than Lauren and was showing off her exquisite, perfectly curved body to even greater effect than the first girl had. Her jet black hair was done in an obviously expert, short layered bob. The curled ends, dyed dark red, alluringly bounced against her smooth cheeks, firm jaw line and graceful neck as she moved. As she walked past him her body moved like she was riding on air and owned everything beneath those high heels. He had never seen anyone like her, not even on social media which featured endless, ubiquitous hot young women who made their enviable living posting pictures of their vapid stares and smiles and dream perfect bodies.

She had large breasts, definitely fake, that jutted out in glorious full attention wrapped up only in a dark lacy bra. The outlines of her small nipples were clearly visible under the thin material. They were sticking out, hard, as though reaching out for something. Like Lauren she wore cut off blue jeans. And like Lauren, her hard tummy, arms and legs showed the effects of many hours in the gym. Her ass stuck out like a fully inflated basketball but no basketball or ass that Brad had played with held the allure of this one. It was geometric perfection.

She was very partial to piercings as witnessed by the stud in her nose, the ring in her eyebrow and another in her exposed belly button. Her nipples were also pierced with metal hearts that hugged and surrounded them. They too were transparent under the thin material of the bra. She wore a golden belly chain that fit so very snugly around her thin waste. She wore a dark choker with a pretty golden heart at the center. It hugged her throat just so, emphasized the graceful lines of her long neck. It looked very possessive of the glowing skin it circled. To intensify this effect she also wore a thin gold chain around the lower part of her neck and it dipped down over her gorgeous collar bones like liquid, then to the middle of her chest where it nestled a silver skull pendant in the scrumptious, deep hollow between her breasts. Brad stared at that necklace, how it rode so gently on her perfect skin, how the skull moved slightly, first touching the side of one breast then the other when she moved. The necklace looked like it would rather be right where it was than any other place in the world. He had a quick fantasy of his dick bouncing back and forth touching her breasts just as the pendant was doing. His boner which had first been launched by Lauren and had started to settle down now reemerged with brand new extra enthusiasm.

Brad shook his head slightly in disbelief. Oh man, trick or treat is right! This is ridiculous!

She had gloriously full, lush lips and a pert up turned nose, just the way Brad liked. Her makeup was breathtaking. Her lips were so wet, like a rain slick with a deeper pink gloss than Brad had ever seen. Her eyelashes were long and thick and inky like black smoke. Around her eyes and on her eyelids sat an alluring dark purple tone.

On her pale left shoulder was a spectacular vividly colored sugar skull girl. The image was obviously patterned on herself. The tattoo girl’s face held a seductive very knowing smile. It seemed to say she knew things. Things she might share with the lucky right person. It seemed to hold just the faintest kiss of inviting evil. But the whole of it also seemed to tell a story. The tattoo girl was sitting in front of a drum kit, the sticks in her hand. Below the picture in very artistic scrip were the words Wet Cunt. The whole effect of the woman was absolutely mesmerizing. She looked like the supreme seductress, like she was born for sex, to give unimaginable pleasure. And the tattoo was no exaggerated personification of the wearer. The real woman was beautiful enough to be an actress playing a flapper in the movie. In fact Brad realized she was so much hotter than any girl in that film. Fuck, she made all of them look like dog shit. Brad couldn’t help wonder what she did for a living and what her relationship to Billy Ray was.

He could feel his stomach doing flip flops just inhabiting the same room with her, being so very close to her, breathing the same air that came out of her lungs.

She gave Brad a brief easy glance and walked over to Billy Ray, leaned in and gave him a long, sensuous kiss on the lips. She did most of the kissing because he didn’t seem to respond at all. Brad was surprised by this. He knew what he would do if this women kissed him. A moment later he laughed honestly, sardonically to himself about the stupid manly fantasy. Yeah, he knew what he would have done; he would have shot a load in his pants. He blushed thinking about it. He had the indelible impression that this woman could do to things to his mind and body that even he hadn’t conceived in his darkest fantasies. He was certain she could. He would be a quivering wreck in this woman’s hands in a matter of seconds and he knew it. She was as far out of his league both in looks and experience as pro football was to the high school game he played.

She was carrying a very expensive silver tray with three thick whiskey glasses filled with ice and a full bottle of bourbon. She handed a glass to Ray. He took it without even looking at her. First the kiss and now this. His eyes never left the movie. He did not give a word of thanks. He seemed so self contained, almost divorced from the people around him. Brad felt these small interactions contained an implicit insult to her. Had they been fighting earlier? In any case she kept total composure, not giving even a semblance of umbrage. She was as graceful and controlled as she was beautiful and he immediately admired that quality in her. No egotistic raving diva here. She placed the bottle of whiskey on the table besides Billy.

She turned to Brad. “And who is this very handsome young man?” she asked in a honey sweet voice that was low and husky and so very female. Brad knew he was good looking. He saw his reflection in the mirror and so many of the girls at school had made a play for him, all of which he had rebuffed because of his relationship with Lisa. But now the very sound of that voice coming from that mouth left his head humming like a well rung tuning fork. Hearing her say it seemed so different, so much more a compliment than coming from the lips of callow high school girls.

Ray interrupted his thoughts. “This is Scat. And the lovely young girl with Lauren, raiding our candy supply is his sister Kat.”

Brad felt annoyance rising in his gut. He did not like how Billy Ray had treated this girl and now he had expropriated Sammi’s diminutive for him. Coming from Billy Ray’s lips to this woman it sounded nothing like the loving nickname his sister had given him, more like the dismissal of a mere child, very similar to what he had done to this woman. He also didn’t appreciate the man taking it upon himself to answer for him.

The woman gracefully, nonchalantly plopped down on the couch with the singular confidence and extreme cools that very hot young women seemed to own as a birthright, right next to Brad, leaving him sandwiched between the two. He immediately felt warmth pouring from her perfect body enveloping his. It was like a blast furnace. But no furnace manufactured heat even in the deepest of winter warmed him like she was right now.

“My name is Brad,” he said stressing his name strongly, making his displeasure of what Billy Ray had done clear enough. No one was going to make him look like a fool or belittle him in front of this woman. No fucking way. He thought he noticed Billy Ray smile momentarily at this: A playful amused gesture. You could suddenly smell testosterone in the air.

“And I’m Staci,” replied the woman, gazing at Brad point blank with the most amazing green eyes he had ever seen. When she smiled at him Brad’s heart started to pound like trip hammer. Her smile was beyond dazzling. Her mouth was a perfect, wet pink bow framing brilliant white teeth. She had this small dimple on her chin and these tiny little half moon lines that sat so adorably at the corners of her lips at both sides of her mouth when she smiled. Brad found himself wanting to kiss those little lines at the end of her lips. Not just smother them with kisses, he wanted to lick them, rub his whole face on them.

Yeah just lean in there nice and close…keep eye contact…..open my mouth slightly…and….

“I’m Billy Ray’s inamorta,” she said, breaking him out of his fun, dizzy daydream.

“Inamorta?” he asked, unfamiliar with the word.

This exchange finally seemed to rouse Ray from the spell the movie had on him. He picked up the glass of bourbon and downed the whole thing in three quick swallows. He leisurely refilled the glass from the bottle then turned to Brad slowly, his lips holding a long, lazy smile as he raised an indolent eyebrow.

“She’s my cherry pie, tastes so good make a grown man cry. Understand now, old sport?” he said in a cat that ate the canary tone. He took a long hit on his ciggy and blew out a big blue-grey cloud that immediately was sucked up towards the vent.

Brad recognized the words. It was from a very old rock and roll song that still got air play due to its wicked musical hook and double entendre lyrics. Brad realized Ray really liked to play games with his allusions and comments.

Staci took a deep, soft breath in through that cute as a button nose, making her perfect boobs swell out towards him, coming just that much closer. “Yeah, his lover. You know.”

Brad laughed nervously. “Oh OK. Right,” he spluttered. Lauren and Staci! Both of them? This is too much! What the hell is up with this guy? Is he a billionaire? Some kind of tech genius? A stock wizard? What is he doing with all these hot girls? Brad wondered. His friends at school were not going to believe this shit. Brad felt like Alice fallen down the rabbit hole but instead of finding the Cheshire Cat his prize was the Great Gatsby and two super fine women. Alice had nothing on him.

He wanted to find out more about this man who seemed to have it all, bring him of the shell he seemed to be in. He nodded at the painting that dominated the room. “That’s a beautiful painting. Who is he?”

Staci looked at the painting then laid her eyes on Ray as though curious of his answer.

“His name was Vlad Tepes,” said Billy, still watching the TV. “He was a prince in Wallachia,” Ray paused and closed his eyes for a moment. “Over six hundred years back now he lived and died.”

Then he asked Brad a question. “Have you heard of him?”

Brad shook his head. “No. But he looks like a prince.”

Ray smiled. “Yes, he was. An absolute ruler. He brooked no opposition.”

Yeah he looks like one mean fuck. I’m sure his subjects loved him.

Ray turned to Brad for a rare instance. The look on his face was so shy. “But you know, old sport, sometimes one knows more than he realizes. I suspect that may be the case with you and Tepes.”

“No. I would remember him. The...um....look on his face and that name.”

Billy Ray drummed his fingers on his knee with a hypnotic, steady rhythm. “You may know of him by another title: Dracula.”

Brad blinked in surprise. “Dracula? But he’s not real. He’s a movie and book monster, a vampire. How could Vlad be him?”

When Ray spoke Brad thought he picked up distaste in his tone. “The same way so many things come to pass. With a big lie. Bram Stoker who wrote Dracula based the......monster….on the real life Prince Vlad.”

“Really?” Brad was surprised. He never had heard this.

Ray turned back to his safe haven of the TV as though to look at Brad too long was more than he could endure. “Yes, he conflated some of the more…sanguine…acts Tepes instituted with rumors and folk tales of the vampire preying on the maiden’s of Wallachia and thus Dracula was born.” Ray’s lip curled up in a tiny sneer. “A very, effective, simple lie to put across. Stoker was a consumate liar and he fooled people into believing untruths.”

Brad sensed this man almost had a hate for Stoker as he spoke those words. It seemed so strange. And didn’t all writers of fiction make things up and in essence lie to the reader?

“Well, one thing we know for sure is that Vlad was not a vampire,” Brad replied, not knowing what else to say.

Billy Ray glanced at Brad, giving him the oddest look. “That’s right, Tepes was not the vampire.”

“Who painted the picture?”

“Billy did,” responded Staci before Ray could respond. “Painting is one of his many hobbies.”

“Wow,” said Brad, genuinely impressed. “He looks so…real…the detail of his clothes, his face…all of it.”

Yet again Ray’s face took on that distanced, faraway look. “I tried to capture the essence of the man. He was so very complicated. His reputation has become that of a savage but that is a misconception. He was very deliberate in what he did. It was all so measured. It is hard to show everything he was. The painting barely does him scant justice.”

Brad once again found Ray’s response strange and off kilter. He talked as though he had known the man. But he was also glad that he was bringing his host a bit out of his shell. He could tell Ray was enjoying their conversation.

“Are you like a historian? Is…Prince Vlad someone you’re interested in?”

“Tepes is of interest to me. He was an unusual man even for that time. And yes, history is fascinating to me for as long as…..I can remember.”

He turned to Brad. “This may seem odd to you, but you have to try and live history to understand it, its nuances and the true reasons for what people believed and did. It’s how you learn what really happened.”

Ray’s eyes narrowed. “But it is the future that interests me most, what will happen long after those alive now are dead,” he said flatly, as though he planned to still be around to see it.

This man had a way of throwing Brad off with his queer declarative statements.

Staci interrupted the conversation. She held out the glass to Brad. “Join me for a drink?” she asked in a very hopeful voice sounding like it would be an insult if he declined.

Brad had drunk alcohol before with his friends at their parties. He had even gotten drunk before. But he had never touched it in front of Sammi. He knew Sammi would never rat him out to their mom, they always had each other’s backs. But that wasn’t the thing. He didn’t want to let her down, disappoint her by doing something wrong in her eyes. That would kill him. His first inclination was to decline. And drinking alcohol while escorting his sister on trick or treat was so fundamentally wrong on every level.

Staci was gazing right into his eyes like he was the only person in her world. The smell of her subtle, sweet perfume mixing with the scent of her glorious fresh skin was wafting to him, invading his lungs like with every breath as though some unstoppable pillaging marauder was battering down the doors of his castle. His head began to swim in the intoxicating scent of her. He found himself taking deeper breaths in order to get more of her in him. He wanted the marauders to break down the doors and occupy his castle completely.

Suddenly a new emotion took precedence over the old one. The last thing he wanted was to look like some silly, out of league boy to this woman. He wanted to impress her like a composed man, experienced and urbane in social situations. He glanced back at Sammi who was laughing uproariously at something Lauren was saying.

Brad licked his suddenly very dry lips. He desperately wanted to sound like a man of the world when he answered, the way he was certain Ray would. “Sure, I’d love a drink.” he said. His voice sounded two octaves higher to his ears than it normally did, like he had just hit the puberty. It resonated with a squeak. When he reached out for the glass he detected a slight quiver in his hand. He wondered if Staci noticed these things. How could she not have? She gave him a sweet half smile, one that acknowledged a secret just between them. She had noticed and was signaling that it was OK. Staci was as nice and sophisticated as she was beautiful. You fucking idiot loser, he thought. He never felt so humiliated in his life.

Why am I so damn nervous around her? I mean just because she is the all time goddess of the entire universe. He couldn’t help but laugh inside at the sardonic answer to his own question.

Brad quickly took a drink; trying to forget what had just happened, change the mood of it, to look more like a man. He was shocked at how smooth it went down. Not like the cheap crap he and his friends got for their parties. “Wow. That is good.”

Ray nodded. “It is. Over a hundred and fifty years old.” He chuckled softly. “Older than all of us in this room put together.”

Brad’s eyes shifted to the sugar skull on Staci’s shoulder again. It was so vibrant, so alive and it seemed to call to him with certain promises.

She raised her perfect eyebrows. “You like?” He looked at her face, the cute way her eyebrows rose in question. They were thick and dark, perfectly formed silky islands against her glowing skin, etched in almost straight lines above her green eyes. He wished he could reach out and run his finger tip on them. He knew how good they would feel.

Instead he nodded. “Yeah, the artwork is amazing. It must have cost a lot.”

She didn’t reply to that but instead said, “That’s me you know.”

“Oh yeah, I can tell. The artist did a great job.”

Then she slid a long, red nail under the words Wet Cunt, tracing along them like a fire red pointer. She looked him right in the eye. “That’s me too,” she said in a matter of fact voice.

Brad swallowed. Jesus Christ! Did she just say that? How the hell do you respond to that? He wracked his brain for a witty rejoinder but his mind was as blank as virgin paper.

Staci watched him for a moment and then continued smoothly. “I mean that’s the name of my band. I started it and I play in it. I’m the drummer. You know rock and roll and all that good stuff. I’m Wet Cunt.” She paused for a beat, then two, then three. “Well along with Lauren and Nastia. She’s not here right now.”

Brad exhaled and let out a nervous bark of a laugh. “Oh right, right. I mean the drums and all. Of course. It’s a band.”

She giggled, amused. “You did know that right, Brad? Have you heard of Wet Cunt?”

This time, surprisingly an answer he liked leapt to his mind. “I know about it, Staci. Just not in regards to your band,” he replied nonchalantly. He capped it off by taking a slow sip of his whiskey, taking his time, twirling the glass a little to make the ice tinkle then giving her an amused smile. Christ he had felt like freaking James Bond there! He wondered if he looked and sounded as suave as he thought he had. His heart was racing under his cool exterior.

She responded with an appreciative laugh. It sounded like heavenly music to Brad. Her face suddenly grew more interested as though he had pressed the right button. “Oh you are a clever devil, aren’t you?”

Brad felt his fragile teenage pride surge, all previous damage done to it washed away on this new hormonal tide of triumph. He had said something she found interesting, amusing and funny. It was like he a scored a touchdown in the big game! I can do this. I can do this. Just relax and talk to her like I do my friends. Just treat her like a friend, like anyone else I talk with.

She continued with enthusiasm. “Yeah I started the band four years ago with Lauren, Nastia and Sharon. She was our front girl but she…..left. Looking for a replacement now.” Brad noticed Ray slide his eyes over to Staci at this remark for just the briefest moment.

Staci quickly moved on, ignoring Ray. “We are getting real good play and reception at the local LA clubs. I think we have a chance to make it. It’s really exciting. We don’t play this shit music you hear now, rather old time stripped down killer rock but with our own sound. We bring the fuckin’ energy and the noise.”

“You girls are good, Staci,” chimed in Ray, eyes now back at the TV.

“Billy actually writes some of our songs. They are pretty bad ass too.”

“Damn,” said Brad. “Painting and wring rock and roll. You must be a real renaissance man.”

Ray laughed at this. “Thank you. That was a very generous compliment. I do write some songs but the girls write most of them and they have the musical talent. To write great music you have to have lived it and despite their young years they have had their adventures. You should check them out sometime.”

Brad gave Staci a wink. “I’d love to.” Brad felt really into the flow now, nice and comfy.

But then just as quickly Staci shifted gears, as though Brad’s victorious repartee a few moments ago was a signal to her to up the ante.

“Want to touch it?” she opened simply.

“Touch what?”

“My Wet Cunt,” she replied, the very edges of the corners of her mouth curling up. Brad couldn’t help but notice the striking similarity now of the tattoo to her, that slight kiss of wanton evil now transferred to her face. God she looked so fucking good, so freaking hot. He realized she was having a bit of fun with him, responding to his earlier adult remark, teasing him. It was cool, it was fun really. She was letting him into an adult thing. He had passed the test. He just had to play along.

Brad glanced at Ray but he was glued to the movie as always. Brad was getting the strong feeling that this man did not live by conventional rules. That he really didn’t give a shit about what Staci did. He suspected theirs was a very loose relationship, very open and extremely wild. He wondered if Staci did things with men or women while Ray watched. Or maybe they all participated in orgies together.

He turned back to Staci, frozen.

She smiled warmly and nodded. “Well, have at it Scat. No need to be shy with me.” she urged him on.

He reached out gently, like he was on the verge of touching something fragile and precious. He never wanted to touch something so much in his life as that tattoo on this woman’s flawless skin. He ran his shaking hand over the sugar skull. Her skin was so smooth, better than silk because it was alive and so warm. He moved his hand over the words Wet Cunt. He felt currents of electricity shoot up his arm. Much to his surprise she reacted as well. Her mouth opened in a sensuous O shape. Then she looked at him with half lidded eyes.

She looked him up and down very slowly from his head down to his groin. Her brazen once over got Brad’s heart pounding like a runaway malfunctioning jackhammer. Once again he felt his cock loving every second of this interaction. It had now reached its zenith. It felt so god damn hard, like this woman had made it grow an inch longer than it ever had before.

Holy fuck. She’s checking me out! This all time freaking goddess is checking me out! He couldn’t believe this was happening. His friends at school would never believe this in a million years if he told them. He would give anything to whip out his phone and take a picture of her. No, not a picture, ten or twenty would be way better! He would not only show his friends but better yet he would beat off to them relentlessly in his bedroom. But no way in hell he could do it. It wouldn’t look cool to Staci. It would look so totally teenager. His disappointment in this fact was immense.

She leaned her pretty face closer, her eyes never leaving his, the heavenly scent of her skin and perfume even stronger. That soft, sweet smell was just driving him nuts. It was nothing like what his mother wore or even Lisa. It was the scent of a stunning young woman who always got what she wanted and what she wanted was not hard to guess. He started to feel positively high, a massive stroke of vertigo twirling the room around him as his face grew hot as an oven.

She gave him a soft grin. It was the sexiest grin he had ever seen in his life. It was crooked and put those tiny little creases at the corners of her lips again. It seemed to offer sticky sweet, wet promises. Sweet sweet cherry pie, suddenly echoed in his head. Yes, he understood now. He understood completely. All one had to do was accept one kiss, her kiss, just lose yourself to her and never come back. It would be so easy to do.

She scooted over to Brad, burrowing in nice and close now, reaching out and running a long red finger nail along his bare arm that immediately broke out in goose bumps and started tingling.

“Ooooh, you have muscles,” she cooed quietly, obviously impressed, for his ears only, now moving her small, warm, hand over his bicep. She was correct. He did rigorous weight room work for football and it showed.

“I’ve always been a sucker for men with muscles. It screams bad boy. Are you a bad boy, Scat?” The hopeful, inquisitive pout on her adorable face gave a clear signal to the answer she wanted.

When his nickname came out of Staci’s mouth it did not sound one bit like when Sammi said it nor as when Billy Ray had just moments ago. Not even when Lisa used it when seducing him. No, the way Staci said it gave it a whole different meaning altogether. It made him sound like an all world stud, some all knowing lover. Brad liked how she said his diminutive. And his cock absolutely loved what her voice did to his nickname and signaled its hearty approval by throbbing against his jeans uncontrollably. It was about ready to blow and he hadn’t even touched it. That had never happened before. What this exotic woman was doing to his body felt so fucking good.

She leaned closer still. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she purred like a feline, her voice a low hum, her eyes now smoky with suggestion. “I’m a very bad girl. You won’t believe the things I’ve done.”

Brad glanced over at Billy Ray again, now feeling very nervous. This was going too far too fast. But the man still seemed oblivious to what Staci was doing, his eyes glued to the huge TV. It didn’t seem like he heard her quiet whispers.

“I don’t think this is such a good idea, do you?” he murmured back to her quietly.

“I know it’s not. That’s why I like it so much,” she responded playfully, bathing him in a sneaky, gorgeous, conspiratorial smile.

God she was killing him. She was so stunningly attractive and so wild and fun and alive. She always came up with sexy or funny or smart killer remarks that just made him laugh and think. She was utterly amazing, just so vivacious and alluring always keeping him engaged and off balance with the things she said. He had a feeling he would never meet someone like her again no matter how long he lived. And he knew above all else that he had to get away from her before he did something he would regret for the rest of his life.

Staci lowered her hand and placed it on his thigh. Her lips were closed now, held tight, a confident little smirk dancing on them. Those huge fiery green eyes gazed at his crotch, unblinking, so sexily vapid and empty, taking in his clear erection. “Mmmmmm...,” the noise came out of her cupid mouth with low girlish enthusiasm. His cock jumped again at the sound. Staci’s voice had a timber and inflection unlike anything he had ever heard come from any woman’s mouth and it drove him crazy. Brad squirmed. This whole thing was just flat out nuts, insane. He felt like he was in some kind of weird dream and desperately wanted to wake up. As much as he wanted this, as desperately as his mind and body longed for her, none of this was right. He thought of Lisa. Her smiling face, how much she loved him, how much he loved her. He thought of Sammi, just a room away. He had to stop this no matter how good it felt, despite how much his body was telling him it needed this.

He gently took hold of her hand and removed it, placing it on her lap. She looked at him and he shook his head mouthing NO! “I have a girlfriend,” he whispered. He hoped to god she would desist. Staci gave him a slightly sad understanding smile then turned to the TV. She wasn’t going to press him, back him into a corner. She understood. Relief flooded his mind. She was so fucking cool.

He wanted to get up and leave but his boner was so damn huge he knew it would be beyond conspicuous if he rose. He never felt more embarrassed in his life. OK, stay chill. Just relax, talk a bit about something, cool off then get the hell out of here.

Just then Billy Ray spoke. “Pause,” Billy Ray said to the wall TV, leaving Leonardo stuck stock still, right in the middle of giving a toast to his friend. Gatsby peered out from the wall at Brad, a wry, smile on his lips, his eyes sparkling with contentment. He looked so debonair, so satisfied and so completely unaware that through his actions, a fateful decision he made for a girl he loved completely, his death was already ordained.

Ray turned to Brad, his black eyes curious. “So my young friend, I want to ask you something.”

Brad’s started sweating. This whole thing had pissed Ray off! Of course he had noticed everything. Now the hammer was going to fall and it would get ugly. The question now was how ugly? All he could think about was Sammi. What would happen when Ray exploded on him? What would she think? How scared would she get? How could he have been so fucking stupid and let things go so far? It had been like he was a different person. It was as though Staci had cast a spell on him that only allowed him to think with his cock forgetting who he was with and what he was supposed to be doing: Chaperoning his little sister on Halloween! He could feel his breath catch in his throat as he waited for Ray to continue.

Ray looked at him for a long time with those strange, beautiful black eyes. Then he spoke, his voice very mild. “When you read the book, what was your impression of Gatsby?”

Brad let out an audible sigh of relief. He shook his head and laughed slightly. It felt like the weight of the world had lifted from him. It was going to be alright. He just wanted to talk about the stupid freaking book!

“Well, he was not living in reality. It was all a fantasy, doomed to fail. You can’t turn reality upside down. It doesn’t work that way.”

Ray looked genuinely puzzled by this remark then turned back to the TV as though any prolonged eye contact with Brad was beyond the scope of his personality. “Really? I formed just the opposite view. Gatsby understood the nature of the reality he existed in. That is why he determined to change events to suite himself. He saw something he wanted and had the will power and determination to go after it.”

Brad shook his head. “I don’t think so. The reality was what he was forced to live in, like we all do. The fantasy was what he wanted, what he had long ago. But like I said, you can’t turn reality upside down. I mean Fitzgerald said it better than I can through Nick when told Gatsby ‘You can’t relive the past.’ That’s clearly the theme of the book. It’s why Gatsby failed.”

Ray knocked back another full glass of whiskey in a couple seconds. Brad could not understand how this man could drink like this and not show any effects at all. All those empty glasses and he sucked them down like shots. He should be on his knees crawling by now yet his words were not slurred, his movements still so graceful and with purpose, his black eyes sparkling clear. Ray lit up another cigarette, pondering Brad’s comments. The lighter he used was very old, very ornate; something from Gatsby’s era, all part of his impersonation taken even to that minute level of detail. Brad looked at Staci. She suddenly appeared tense. She gave him an edgy smile.

Ray clicked the lighter wheel thoughtfully. Click. Again. Click. Again. Click. Click. Click. Every click seemed to get louder till it almost echoed in the silent room like a clock...or a bomb counting down.

When he spoke he stared at Gatsby, still smiling on the screen, holding out that toast. “I think you may not understand the real reason he failed. His idea was sound. You can as you so aptly put it turn reality upside down, recreate it to what you want….what you need,” he paused here; thinking, measuring his words carefully, then continued, “if you have the will, the intelligence, the foresight, the patience. You can’t rush it. You have to plan it in meticulous detail and act at all the right times. Surely you must understand that?”

Brad thought on this. The man was obviously not going to change his mind. It was like discussing politics with a fanatic from one side. It was beginning to make him uncomfortable. He decided to end it. “Well Billy, I understand what you’re saying. I just can’t agree. When I did my report I read a lot of interpretations of the book and none of them mentioned what you’re saying.” He held up hands in a placating gesture. “That’s not saying you’re wrong or I’m right. I mean really, when you think about it we all put our own interpretations on everything, right?” He gave Ray a friendly conciliatory smile.

Staci scooted close to Brad again, her bare shoulder now touching his. Was she trembling slightly?

Ray continued on, no hesitation or concession on the points Brad had made. Brad began to get a vague impression that their conversation was turning into a subtle, intellectual battle; that this man had decided to declare a war of sorts on him. “There is no interpretation, old sport. All those fools are wrong because they were not in his shoes. They didn’t have the vision Gatsby had!” spat Ray with vehemence. Then calmly, “See what Gatsby didn’t realize hence all who read the book do not understand is he really wasn’t trying to recreate the past. He was really trying to turn reality on its head and create a new one with Daisy; to start something new with her.” Ray took a deep breath then continued. His voice was quiet now, emotionless. “The reason Gatsby failed was because he did not realize that fact and he wasn’t strong enough, smart enough….ruthless enough….to prosecute what had to be done. If he had been he would have gotten everything he wanted. Sometimes in life, old sport, you just have to get fucking mean and take what you want.”

Billy Ray wasn’t looking at the TV anymore. Oh no. His strange marvelous black eyes were now locked on Brad’s like some kind of fucking radar. And the weirdest thing was he didn’t even blink. He was as still as the Gatsby on the TV. Brad could swear the temperature in the room had dropped twenty degrees and he felt himself shiver. How was that possible? Brad couldn’t help but muse that he felt bad that Ray would not look at him all this time but now suddenly he wished Ray would look anywhere but at him.

Ray continued, calmly, logically. “Gatsby ignored the ineluctable essence of his situation once Daisy killed Myrtle.” He held out one hand and made a chopping motion into it with the side of his other hand. “At that point he was left no choice at all about what he needed to do to keep his dream alive. You understand that, right, old sport? It’s so very clear.”

But Brad didn’t understand. Nothing this man was saying seemed clear at all. He couldn’t fathom where Ray was going with this strange interpretation of fictional events and why it held such obvious importance with him. Something deep within told him he didn’t want to know. But another part of him was fascinated by what Ray was trying to say. And in the end that part won out. “I’m not sure I do.”

Don’t do it. Don’t ask him. But he had to. He was much like his mother: he had to know. “What did Gatsby have to do?” he asked in a quiet, curious voice. He regretted asking the question as soon as the words escaped his mouth.

Ray smiled, a dead smile, one that would brook no argument. “He had to kill George Wilson. You see, once Myrtle was killed Wilson became a torch, a threat. And a torch can become a fire, a conflagration that destroys everything. It’s best to put a torch out while it’s still a torch.” Ray’s eyes grew distant and oddly disconnected. He seemed to be in the throes of a memory. “A very clever man told me that many, many years ago. He was a good friend. One of the very few I have had,” he glanced at Staci.

Yeah I can believe that, thought Brad. The voice Ray used in answering the question made it seem like killing a man was of no more consequence than putting a shoe on or pouring a glass of milk.

Brad had enough of this. He needed to get Sammi out this house now. Ray was not his idea of stability and staying here any longer just wasn’t a good idea. He felt bad for Staci. He didn’t know what her situation was with Ray but he hoped she would realize how fucked up this man was and end their association. She had so much to offer. She was the total package: vivacious, fun, talented, smart, great personality, jaw dropping looks. She could have anyone she wanted. He didn’t understand what the hell she was even doing with his strange man.

He turned to her to say his goodbyes. He really liked her so much. She was fun as hell and he could tell she was a good person.

He looked into her eyes and was stopped cold. If he didn’t know better he would think she was scared shitless. She put her hand in his lap and glanced down at it.

His eyes followed hers down. Her hand was open. Written in thin magic marker were the words: He has been messing with my mind but I am still fighting it. Please help me I’m so scared. Help yourself. He’s going to kill everyone in this house tonight. Every single one of us.

Brad kept reading the words, blinking, as though if he looked long enough they would change. But they never did. Had she simply taken their fun and games too far, crossed the line into a very stupid, unfunny Halloween joke, a stinker of a trick? Had she laid a devil’s fart? But when his eyes slowly rose and met hers he didn’t see the hoped for complicit grin of humor nor a gentle teasing smile. Her eyes held no hint of her old amusement at all, only true, fearsome terror and a desperate plea for help. And in that instant of truth, Brad’s heart became encased in ice.

And just like that Brad understood with full certainty that Ray had been right all along. That one could turn reality on its head because in the space of less than half a minute it had happened to him like a hammer crushing his skull open.

And suddenly certain things echoed through his fractured mind: Sammi trapped in this house with this crazy man and Ray’s words of terrible wisdom spoken to him moments ago about how to make it happen, how to turn reality upside down: You had to be strong enough, smart enough….ruthless enough….to do what had to be done: Even if it meant killing.

The other thing that went through his mind was his mother saying she loved him when he left the house and how he had not said it back. He regretted that now so very much. Why hadn’t he told her he loved her?

And at that very moment Ray turned and looked at him with those ink black eyes. Contrails of cigarette smoke drifted out of his nostrils as though in slow motion, flowing hypnotically up towards the vent. It gave him a sinister, demonic bent. Suddenly he didn’t look shy or introverted at all. Brad had wanted him to come out of his shell and now he had; like some monstrous snapping turtle, ready to strike, finally revealing itself to a sadly unaware fish. He seemed to physically grow and expand. His face took on the cold, arrogant and confident mien of a supreme ruler. No, Ray didn’t look in the least bit shy now. He looked like a man who had total command of any situation one could imagine. He looked cruel and uncompromising and savage.

Brad had seen that same look before on this very night. It was the one worn by the long dead man in the painting done by Billy Ray: Vlad Tepes, the great prince, now better known as the monster of popular culture, Dracula. And as Brad glanced at it again, then back at Ray, he realized the man looking at him now could well have painted a self portrait when he did that work.

Ray picked up the bottle, no need for a glass now, and took several massive swigs. Brad could see his adams apple bob as the whiskey just disappeared from the bottle as though down a gaping drain. Brad thought of the two girls and how Ray attacked the whiskey and chain smoked and realized here was a man of voracious appetites who indulged fully in them. And a question occurred to him: What other appetites did he have?

When Ray was done he put the now empty bottle down so softly it made not a sound.

“Having second thoughts about the issue old sport?” Ray asked in a voice as chilly as a deep winter’s Lake Erie gale.