; that one was kind of cute.
Fuck! Cute! Not cute: hot, sexy, slutty even, but not fucking cute! Moving on: sexy kitty—still kind of cute-ish—vampire, generic sort of hooker look, mermaid—that one was just creepy, zombie—lot of zombies these days. Looked like fun, but again, not really sexy...well, what about vampire? It was kind of a cliché, but it looked do-able, even for a make-up newbie. And the costume would be pretty easy; vampires can wear anything, right? She could be power-suit vampire, business-casual vampire, little-black-dress vampire; the costume would be easy, but what about the make-up? Well, she could try. God knew she had enough of it. And if she followed one of these video tutorials, she'd sure as hell cover the damned freckles.
5.
It took her most of the week practicing, but in the end, it didn't turn out to be all that hard. She'd watched a bunch of different videos, and some of them had emphasized the durability of one product or another. Dana thought about where the night might lead...or where she hoped the night might lead; be good if the make-up stayed on long enough for her to...find herself a victim. The thought made her a little...moist. She fantasized about luring some hot guy off into the shadows—the party was usually held at this hotel in the middle of a local business park, and there were all kinds of places where a horny little vampiress could bring a willing victim for a quick suck.
She wondered about the fangs. Decided she had to have fangs, otherwise she'd just be some lady in a sexy dress and trampy make-up. Would they get in the way? Would she be able to talk with them in? Back to the internet, where, after a little trial and error, she found a local place that made custom fangs in a variety of designs. They were kind of expensive, but the guy she talked to promised strength and durability, and, he said, you could talk pretty well in them, with a little practice. She debated buying a wig, but decided a good one really was too expensive, and that anything cheaper just made her look silly. Instead, she opted for a new color and style, going, after work on Friday, from a demure blonde to a dark red with copper highlights, worn off the face and long, the ends curling just above the tops of her breasts. She liked the new shade. It even complimented the freckles.
She spent time thinking about the dress; even went shopping at a local upscale mall, but having spent more than she'd planned on the make-up, the teeth, and her hair, she opted for a club dress she's bought over the summer, but never got up the nerve to wear: nylon and spandex, black (and fuck you again, Todd!), long sleeves, cutout shoulders, and a high collar with another cutout—teardrop shaped—beginning just below her collarbone, designed to display a lot of cleavage. She couldn't really wear a bra with the damn thing, but the spandex pushed her up and together making her look bosomy, and maybe even a little...what, brazen? Panties would be tough too; g-string or thong at most, and could she get away with a lace garter belt? Easy access in any case. The thing had been on sale, and in her size, and she'd bought it, tried it on once, and then left it in the closet. It was impossible; beyond slutty, it was predatory: far too much for plain old Dana, but for Vampiress Dana...she'd tried it on with her make-up on and fangs in, and all of a sudden it was perfect.
The night before the party, she stared at herself in the full-length mirror on her bedroom door: dress, fangs, hair, make-up, a little jewelry, black stockings, four-inch stilettos, the whole shooting match. Vampires weren't supposed to have reflections, but fuck that! She looked amazing: the new dark red hair framing her oval face, pale blue eyes under thick black mascara-ed lashes, her lids done in a sultry blend of black and copper, smooth, pale complexion with cheekbones made prominent by...some darkish powder—she'd forgotten what it was called, full lips painted a dark red, wicked looking fangs over her canines. Then, the collar of the dress high on her neck, slim arms in black form-fitting sleeves, and graceful hands with long red nails, the tops of her full, ripe breasts peaking through that keyhole, her torso tapering to a narrow waist and rounded hips, the slight line of g-string and garter belt disguised by the artful—and deliberate—wrinkling of the dress below the bodice, and finally: long, shapely black-stockinged legs narrowing to dainty feet in the simple-sexy pumps. She smiled at her reflection. She snarled. She ran the tip of her tongue over the points of her fangs, smiled again. She didn't look cute as a button anymore. She looked...hot, but dangerous, a little bloodthirsty, which made sense, but...maybe...one more thing.
She went back to her bathroom and sat in front of her mirror. Taking a tube of fake blood she'd picked up at a nearby CVS, she dabbed a little from the corners of her mouth, allowing it to drip down her chin, then before it could stain her dress, she smudged it with her finger tips. There it was; the complete look; a ravenous, insatiable creature of the night, with the blood of her latest kill fresh on her lips.
That night, after she had taken it all off, Dana lay in bed trying to fall asleep. Her mind and body were restless, and as the hours passed, her fantasies became more erotic, twisted and surreal until her hand made its way between her thighs, her fingers found her clit, and she jilled herself to a wracking, half-remembered orgasm with the taste of blood in either her mouth or her memory.
6.
The morning of the party, Dana slept late. When she finally woke up, she treated herself to a long hot shower, during which she shaved everything below her neck. She emerged with her skin tingling from the cool air in the apartment, and began her preparations. Anticipation made the whole day a little surreal. As she began what she thought of as the transformation to Vampiress Dana—should she come up with another name? 'Dana:' not really exotic enough maybe?—she began to get both excited, like riding-a-roller-coaster excited, as well as aroused. By the time the fake blood was dripping down her chin, she could barely sit still. But then she had to figure out what kind of purse to take; had to have at least a driver's license, not to mention a little money, and a phone. Did the fashionable undead seductress favor a clutch or a shoulder bag? And should she wear something over the costume on her way to the party. The dress was pretty risqué. Fuck it! It was Halloween, or the weekend before, anyway. There would probably be people on the streets with less on than her. Still, the fantasy waned a little as she sat in traffic on the beltway behind the wheel of her Prius: club-slut vampire, fuel-efficient vampire...
She'd opted for the smallest, thinnest clutch she had, but when she arrived at the party and parked in the structure, she decided to leave it in the car. She even left the key fob balanced on the driver's side rear tire. Dana was incommunicado for the next few hours anyway, and vampires never drank...wine. (Besides: open bar.)
Festivities had begun at 7:00, but Dana arrived closer to 8:00. The sun was gone, and the sky was just shedding the last of the day as she headed for the lobby. The day had been warm enough, but the night was chilly, and she began to wish she'd brought a wrap of some kind. Vampires weren't supposed to get cold, but make-up and fantasy would only carry her so far. She decided to stay inside for the evening; chattering fangs: not sexy.
Inside the lobby, and up an escalator to a ballroom on the mezzanine. She handed her invitation—the only thing she was carrying—to Geoff from Security who was manning the door.
"Dana, is that you?"
"Hey Geoff. Yup, it's me. How come you're not in costume?"
"I'm working. Speaking of which, I'm supposed to see some ID..."
Dana grimaced. "I left it in the car. I didn't want to carry a purse, and in this...I'll go back for it, if you need me to"
Geoff looked her up and down. He took a couple of deep breaths. "It's OK. I know you. Happy Halloween, and by the way...um, you look amazing."
Dana smiled at him. "Thanks, Geoff, you're an angel. Then she looked past him into the mass of people drinking, dancing, and partying. "I'll scream if I need anything." And she headed in, the high heels lending her hips a sassy sway.
"You do that, Babe." muttered the 63-year-old ex-Marine under his breath. He watched her into the room, shaking his head.
7.
The "ballroom" turned out to be a large multi-purpose/conference room which could be partitioned in half when required. Small chandeliers hung from a reasonably high ceiling to illuminate—dimly—a DJ playing a mixture of Top-40, Halloween novelty songs, and standards from a station against the far right wall. The bar was directly across in the far left corner, and next to it were several tables with what looked like the usual snack/dinner: canapés, fruit, cheese, desserts. A good-sized dance floor had been installed in the center of the room over the non-descript industrial carpeting, and several round tables, seating from four to six people at any given time, were arranged around it.
Dana took in her costumed co-workers. She recognized several, but more were strangers to her. She assumed she was also seeing partners, friends and various other "plus-ones," but it was still a pleasant surprise—in the circumstances—to see how few people she actually knew. The costumes ranged from traditional—witches, cowboys, superheroes—to topical—two Donald Trumps, and one pair who was probably supposed to be Kim and Kanye—and from silly—a couple dressed as bacon and eggs—to sexy—slutty nurse, slutty referee, slutty Cookie Monster...wait, really? Abruptly, Dana decided she didn't want to mingle. Plain old Dana was a people-pleaser, good at small-talk, social drinking, friendly flirting. Vampiress Dana didn't want any of that. She'd be a hunter, confident and ruthless, searching for...an experience; maybe a lover, maybe just a playmate to tease and then abandon. She decided she didn't much care. Tonight was for her, and she would top, tease, seduce, satisfy, disappoint, dominate, or whatever. She would try to avoid her friends and close acquaintance, but if one of them got in her way...if one of them wanted to play...she'd cross that bridge when she came to it.
