February Sucked. Twice

I'd like to thank Randi for her editorial help and my beta readers, too.

This is a fun, different take on the February Sucks theme. It's flash fiction, so if you don't like flash fiction why not try one of the other half million + other stories on Literotica, instead?

You can find George Anderson's original story here https://www.literotica.com/s/february-sucks

Marc LaValliere, footballer and local hero, awoke in his Alaskan King size bed. He smiled. He had made another score last night at the nightclub owned and operated by a former teammate of his, Terry Jones.

She'd been just as easy as all the other married sluts he'd hit on and picked up. He hadn't even had to drop something in her drink, as was sometimes his resort. What was her name? Lana? Laura? No, it had been Linda. Wow! What a babe in that shimmering blue dress. Her poor sap of a husband hadn't stood a chance.

Suddenly, Marc felt a chill run up his spine. What exactly had happened last night? He sat up. Or rather, he had tried to sit up, but he found that he couldn't move a muscle.

"Oh, look, Linda. Marc's awake!"

He then heard a softer and more feminine voice.: "Oh, that's wonderful isn't it, Jim? He's awake!" Somehow, even though her voice was softer and more feminine, it was her voice that really, definitely disturbed him more than the voice of the man who Marc presumed was her husband.

"What's happening? Who are you people?" to Marc, his own voice, normally confident and strong (after his football years were over he was considering going into sports broadcasting), sounded weak and unmanly.

The man spoke. "You know who we are, Marc. But just in case you have become forgetful, this is Linda, she is my wife and I am Jim. I am her husband. You met us at the nightclub yesterday evening, and you decided that you wanted to take my wife away from me. However, I am the kind of boy who doesn't ever share his toys with anyone. Not even the great Marc LaValliere, footballer and local hero."

"It was just in fun, Jim. I never intended to take her away from you for good. That's not what I do, that's not how I roll. I just like to borrow a wife or a girlfriend, take them for a spin and then return them home the next day safe and sound. No harm no foul, as we say in football.

"Look, I obviously misread the situation with you and Linda. Let's say we just call it quits and we'll forget about it, okay?" Marc was still struggling to remember what, exactly, had happened last night.

He'd got Linda's friend Dell or whatever her name was to cover for Linda by distracting her husband, Jim. He'd got Linda's coat from the hatcheck girl, he put Linda into her coat, walked her to his Maserati and then... he couldn't remember anything else.

"What happened last night?" he asked. "I can't remember anything after we left the nightclub."

Jim responded "Oh, you took Linda back here to your palatial mansion, nice house by the way, you got yourself a drink, you got Linda a drink and then when you fell unconscious due to the drug that Linda slipped into your drink, Linda opened your front door and let me in."

"Why the fuck are you here? Why can't I move? Am I drugged?"

Jim chuckled again. But it was then that Marc realised there was nothing humorous in his chuckle. In fact, it was downright menacing. "Oh, you are not drugged. You are, however, immobilized using the ancient Japanese method of restraint with ropes known as Shibari. It's amazing what knowledge one can pick up whilst one has a great deal of time on one's hands."

"You are fucking lunatics! Let me go or I'll make sure you are both jammed in jail! And what about your two precious brats that Linda told me about when I was dancing with her last night?"

It was Linda's turn to speak. "Oh. You mean dear little Emma and handsome young Tommy?" her voice sounded mocking and derisive, which frightened Marc even more.

"Yeah, Emma and Tommy? Your two children?"

Linda giggled. It was an unhinged and unpleasant sound that seemed to Marc to have come from a place he would rather never visit if at all humanly possible.

"Oh, they don't exist. They were just a part of my line of patter to lull you into a false sense of security."

"What the fuck? Why are you here? Look, I'm rich. Stinking, filthy rich! I can give you anything you want. Anything! Just name your price!"

"Oh, you do have something we want, Jim said, "but we don't want your money. You see, Marc, we are already far, far richer than you are or could ever hope to be.

"But you see Marc, Linda and I are vampires. We are two of the undead. We became vampires when we first married. An elderly neighbor seduced us into becoming vampires."

"Will I become a vampire, too?" Marc cried out. He sounded frightened.

"Hell no!" Linda snapped. "Even the undead have standards. I can't think of anything worse than having an undead version of Marc LaValliere running or flying round the world, turning dozens of unsuspecting wives into his vampire floozies!"

"No, Marc," interjected Jim. "We're just going to drain your blood. You'll feed us for many, many months, so thank you for that."

Poor Marc. He tried to scream, but Linda (or was it Jim?) had then gagged him with some thick rope. The last thing he heard before he fainted as he felt a sharp bite on his neck, was Jim saying: "Ladies first, Linda. You can have first bite of this particular delicious cherry!"