When you said that in the bar, “Nothing moves me, baby. There’s nothing new,” I grinned. I just took it as a challenge. But now, Denny thought, I would do anything for you. Anything.

Denny’s arm, tattooed, clad in bands of black leather, held a wide ripple-bladed knife, and she slashed at the girl’s throat again and again, ripping pieces of meat, splattering flesh and blood across the pillows, sheets, and walls.

The girl reached for the bottle of cheap champagne on the nightstand, took half of it in one sloppy gulp. The bubbly mixed with the sheets of blood racing down between her breasts. It made Denny think of cherry soda. It made Denny want to retch.

“Nope,” she gurgled. “Not doing it for me.”

Denny thrust harder, both with the knife and with her spiked dildo. She rammed so hard she nearly took the girl’s head off. The young thing was slick with her own blood, but she wasn’t really wet between her legs. Not wet with anything important. And not even a drop of sweat on her forehead.

Denny slipped out, exhausted, and sank to her knees. She rested her cheek against the girl’s torn and bruised thighs, tried to slow her breathing.

She was surprised to feel the girl’s hand in her hair. Denny looked up.

“It’s all right,” the girl said, gurgling less, her throat already starting to heal.

Fuck, Denny thought.

“Baby,” the girl said in a terse whisper, “get the message. I know what you’re going to do even before you do. I know exactly what my reaction’s going to be every single time. There’s nothing you can show me. There’s nothing new under the sun.” She frowned, and now she stabbed her finger at the air in front of Denny. “I’ve done it all, baby. And nothing works for me. You did your best. You did it better than most.” She waved her hand like she was brushing away a fly, then took another hit of champagne. “The thrill is gone. And so are
you.” She closed her eyes.

Denny had met her only a few nights ago.

In the late evening, she’d slowed her bike, pulled off the winding mountain road, crunched into the parking lot of the worn-out old honky-tonk, looking to have a few beers. The place was dark and dirty, just the kind of place Denny liked, all yellow linoleum, small wooden tables covered with gouges and carved initials, and stained white plastic chairs. Obscene scrawls ran up and down the walls like muscular tattoos. Something metal was raging down loud from overhead speakers; it was nothing Denny knew, but it was fast and heavy.

There were other bikers at the bar, and one thing led to another. She’d played few games of pool, drank more than a few shots of tequila, got in a friendly arm-wrestle that had turned into a small sort of brawl. It was fixing to be a pretty good night.

All the while, the young girl had sat there at a corner table, sipping her drink, watching. Denny eyed her every now and then. She was small, but she filled out her white blouse
nicely. A lovely face, pale even half in the shadows, long dark hair brushed over her shoulders. Hard to see her eyes. The ass on the chair looked soft; slim ivory legs teased out from a short, dark blue skirt. She held her drink tightly, hardly ever putting it down, but hardly ever letting it touch her lips.

By closing time, Denny’d gotten curious enough to ask who she was. The guy she was playing pool with had only said, “You don’t want to fuck with her, man,” as he leaned over the table and made his shot.

“Oh yeah? Somebody’s girlfriend or somethin’?” Denny’d challenged.

“No, man,” the guy had repeated, “I’m just sayin’ she’s nobody to fuck with.”

Well, Denny hadn’t liked that, being told who she could or couldn’t fuck with. She’d pushed the guy into the barstools, walked over to the pretty thing.

It had all gone out of her control so quickly.

It had started easily enough. Denny’d fucked her in various positions. She’d sucked her until her tongue felt numb. She’d pushed that nasty spiked vibrating dildo a long time in that tight pussy. The girl was cool with it, letting Denny have her fun, but clearly not getting too excited herself. Denny’d fucked her pretty face like she’d fuck a cunt, then made the girl suck her.
She’d turned the bitch over and fucked her soft little ass. Then she’d traded up to serious B&D, tying her up, whipping her with a black leather belt. Finally, she’d turned the belt around and whipped the girl with the heavy buckle end.

Still, not a whimper; just a few heavy sighs, a sad smile. She wasn’t like any other woman Denny’d ever encountered; the bitch had politely thanked her. The bitch was bored.

When morning came, the girl said she had to go, and Denny let her. When she strolled into the bar the next night, Denny took her immediately back to the motel.

She tried the worst tricks she knew on her. She tried the gentlest tricks she knew. She beat her. She caressed her. She licked her little white feet. She worshiped at her pussy. She tied her up. Tied needles through her pink nipples and laced them together with bootlaces. Hung her up. She’s a masochist, Denny thought, make her happy.

Still, nothing seemed to get the pretty bitch off. When morning came, Denny didn’t want her to go. Then she wanted to know where she went. But mostly, Denny wanted to know why nothing she did satisfied. It was simple: everything Denny’d done to her, every trick she knew, this girl had done it a thousand thousand times.

It had gone on for most of a week. DO NOT DISTURB was permanently attached to the doorknob. Every day, Denny threatened the desk clerk with a beating. “Do you love me?” the girl had asked.

Denny didn’t know anything about love. Didn’t care. The girl looked at her with those big blue eyes, that fake pout on her face. Yeah, right, Denny thought. Sure, I love you.

But as they went on, as the sex got rougher, as Denny held her and watched the girl’s body shockingly heal over and over again, something changed.

And the healing was a shock. It was more of a shock the way she healed than anything Denny did to her. Bedding girls, fucking boys up the ass, Denny knew what she was about. She didn’t think of herself as a gay, bi, straight, or trans biker: just the meanest, toughest, hardest. And the strange, rare creature in her arms made her feel useless. It was Denny who was confused, taken, seduced. Off her stride on this one, and she knew it.

She tried to get the girl’s name out of her. That was like pulling teeth. (Something Denny hadn’t done to the girl. More dentist’s office, not sexy at all, in Denny’s mind, pulling teeth. And this girl’s teeth were sharp. Very sharp.) The girl demurred. Denny begged her. Just a first name. Who are you? Tell me.

She’d finally rolled her eyes and said, “Call me Jane.” Rebuked, Denny decided not to call her anything. Yet, now she thought of her as Jane, anyway. Couldn’t help it. Jane, Jane. See Jane run. See blood run. How stupid. Denny was dizzy and her mind swirling, yes, like blood circling the Jane drain.

And what was a little blood between friends? A little for me, up there on the walls. A little for you, right now, while you’re nuzzling my throat. Dizzy and stupid.

Yep, Denny thought, I took this as a challenge. And she’s beaten me. Five days of the most sadistic and vicious sex imaginable, and all I’ve done is wear myself out, wreck my knees and my tongue, and scrape most of the skin off my fingers. And I’m so fucking tired. What was that old Velvet Underground song? Na na na if she ever comes now now . . .

Denny sighed, looked out the window. It was getting to be dawn. Time for Jane to get in her hole in the ground, Denny to collapse exhausted on the bloody bed. This would be the end of it. She’d done all she could, and there was no reason the girl would want her anymore. And it wasn’t like she would let Denny just go riding off into the sunrise, the girl would see to that. Denny didn’t want this to be the end. She wanted this girl. It was more than just having to prove something. It went deep, this longing, this desire.

She looked out the window again. Gray light. Yes, the sun would be up in about five minutes. The night was over, the sadness of it now overwhelming her. But this was a matter of pride, too. She stood up and reached for the girl’s hand. Pretty Jane. All right, bitch.

Denny gathered the girl in her strong arms—Denny was a big, big woman, twice the girl’s size—and she looked the young thing in the eyes. She glanced outside. The girl looked
out the window too, and—the bitch fucking sighed. A strange smile hooked her lips. So Denny took her out of the bedroom and kicked open the door to the motel parking lot. She carried the girl’s bloody body onto the back lawn, far in the back by the old neglected farm fields. No one was around, the old motel practically abandoned.

Denny started fucking her right away. The girl grinned and drew a sharp breath, watching the rising light over Denny’s shoulder paint the horizon a dozen shades of pink and red. Mist was burning off the grass.
Soon, Denny could feel the sun starting to warm her back as she pumped the dildo into sweet Jane, lifting her legs above her head, slamming the big spiked thing into her bloody hole.

As the sun rose, the bitch moaned, yeah, she moaned! Denny grinned. Oh yeah, now pretty Jane was rocking, she was writhing, soon she was beating Denny’s chest with her fists, crying, “Yes! Do it! Fuck me! Fuck me baby! Oh yeah, you’re so fucking hot! You’re so fucking hot!”

But all the while her eyes were focused not on Denny, but behind her, at the god damned sun.

The girl’s poor cunt was flowing like a steaming, slippery bath. Denny was sweating like she was fucking in a fever. She dropped the girl’s legs and, panting, fucked her from a different
angle. The girl’s hands reached up for Denny’s shoulders; she embraced her lover, pulled Denny down. The girl’s arms were fiery. Her eyes, fixed on the sun, were shining. She was
screaming, “You’re so fucking fucking fucking hot!”

Denny noticed tiny bubbles forming, rising, around the girl’s dark blue irises.

“Faster,” she cried. “Fuck me faster. Please, faster! I can’t take much more!” The light was full on them now. “Oh no no no,” the girl moaned.

Denny couldn’t stop humping, humping as hard as she could, as hard as she ever humped in her whole life. The bubbles moved faster. Jane’s eyes were bright boiling sunspots. Then her left eye just popped, and fluid ran down her face. Jane didn’t notice—she was thrusting against Denny, screaming in ecstasy. Her hair caught fire.

Her arms, holding Denny tight, were now thin hot branding irons searing Denny’s back. The girl pulled her lover even closer, locking her burning legs around Denny’s waist. Her mouth seared Denny’s lips, scalded her tongue. Her skin crackled and charred as she pulled Denny down onto her, desperate now, close to reaching a final insane climax.

Denny came like a banshee, screaming, on fire now herself, unable to stop pounding, thrusting, coming. The girl’s melting face revealed raw red muscle and her long curved
fangs, black and ragged. Denny felt the girl’s hot wet cheek slide past her chin, the girl’s fangs enter deep into her throat, but too late, too late. She heard a hiss of steam, and felt the skin on her back slide off her muscles, sudden pain as her raw flesh caught fire under the girl’s flaming arms. Denny was choking, blinded. The grass was burning, smoke everywhere. She couldn’t stop; she was caught in the girl’s passion, still heaving
on top of her, caught in her bonfire embrace.

And Denny thought she was going to die this way, on top of the vampire, between her and the sun. The sun was laughing at the biker, the pain exquisite, intense. Denny had had
her victory, and in its release she begged for oblivion. She collapsed on the girl, tasting charred bone beneath her. And still the bitch moved, loose hips fucking against her.

Denny passed out.

Denny heard sirens, someone screaming near the motel.

She felt a heart, beating, under her chest. Not her own.

Denny was burned over most of her body, just from holding the girl, but that wasn’t even close to how the sun had ravaged the vampire. She was gone, incinerated like a scrap of paper in a furnace. Nothing was left of her head but ash and a few small pieces of charred bone. Behind Denny, nothing was left of the young girl’s legs. Her arms were missing.
There were dark stripes of gunk on the grass, and a burned circle around them. The flesh had peeled from Denny’s butt and back where the girl’s legs and arms had been tightly

She couldn’t believe the amount of pain she was feeling: back, legs, head, face, all raw and charred.

But underneath her, sheltered from the sun, the vampire’s heart was still fucking beating.
Denny lifted the heart, reverently, all that was left of pretty Jane—it wasn’t much—and huddled, holding it close in the dark under her breasts, hearing her own burned skin
and tendons snap and rip as she did so. She stumbled, rose up again, and somehow managed to get to her feet. The agony was nearly unbearable, but she carried the heart into the woods. Finally, lost in the shade under a pine tree, Denny found the hiding hole.
She barely made it. She fell into the deep narrow grave, still holding the heart against her own chest. Jane’s grave; now Denny’s grave. The last thing Denny ever felt was two
sharp pains between her breasts. Who would suspect a heart could grow fangs?

First, she was more like a worm. A strange fat wet worm in the dirt. And then she was a woman again. She allowed a breath into her lungs and moved her fingers. Everything was
raw and hurt and felt like it was still on fire. She lay there a while, just breathing. Then she heaved the dead bled-out biker from her chest and dragged herself out of the hole. She
kicked some dirt over the big woman’s body.

She walked through the burnt clearing, ignoring her own charred bones, to the motel room to look for her purse. She pushed right past the silly crime-scene tape and through the half-open door. Blood had dried to the walls and the floor. Lots of it. Finding her purse under the destroyed bed, she took out her makeup bag, opened it and, in the moonlight falling through the open window, applied her lipstick. Then she took out her brush and ran it through her long, dark hair. She laughed, but no one was there to hear it.

A new town. A new bar. And again, she’s waiting. And she’s bored. That’s the big downside of living forever: After a while, a few millennia, the days fly by, flashes of lightning, and years follow like distant thunder. You watch the storm go by. And you sit and you wait. Bored. There’s nothing for you. There’s nothing new under the sun. Not anymore. So, sure, baby, buy me a drink.

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