Between the first 'Vamps' installment and this one, Erica has learned about her improved psychic powers, including increased empathy. She has tried to find out who the vamp traitor is who is informing the vampire hunters of the vamps' daytime sleeping places. She has also been reconciled, somewhat, with Hal, the man who heckled her during her first striptease. He now thinks she is beautiful, thanks to the improved looks she's got from Andrea's bite. Now she is looking into the CNT Club to see if she can sniff out the vamp traitor there.
*****
The following night, I found the CNT Club; like the POUM, it was shrouded in a forest, but to the northeast of town, whereas the POUM Club was to the southeast of town, almost along the same longitude as the CNT. Also like the POUM, the CNT Club had male vamps protecting it from Christian vampire hunters. The original sign over the front door, Tramps, hadn't been taken down: a red V was spray painted over the Tr, but later, CUNT, in black lettering, was spray painted over all the original letters; then the C, N, and T were spray painted again, but in white, presumably to distract one from the obscenity of the black lettering. I went in.
Amid the loud techno music and flashes of strobe lights that coloured up and dotted the darkness, I saw the by-now-typical, perfectly curvy strippers, either half-naked or fully so, giving table- or lap-dances. One of them, a buxom blonde goddess in a white lace bra and thong, with matching fishnet stockings and high heels, approached me. Her vamp fangs were hidden in an overbite, behind full lips with lush, dark red lipstick.
"Hi," she sighed in a thick Slavic accent, her hand held out to shake mine. "My name is Anna Petrovich. Are you looking for a job here?" We shook hands.
"Well, I'm stripping in the POUMTANG Club right now," I said, "but if I like it better here, I might consider asking you for work."
"We're always looking for new blood," she said.
"Oh, I know that," I said.
"How many times have you been bitten? I'd say once, from the slight mark on your neck."
Since the mark was now practically invisible, especially in the darkness of the bar, I figured she must have psychically sensed its presence. "That's right, I've only been bitten once; but I'm eager for my second and third bites."
"We can help you with that, if you'll be willing to help us."
"Speaking of help, do you know of a vamp traitor who's telling the vampire hunters in town where you girls are sleeping?" I asked.
"We were hoping you could help us with the same thing," Anna said. "We've had three of our vamps destroyed, exposed to the hellish sun."
"Awful," I sighed. "I heard it was only one."
"Two more were destroyed today. That why I was hoping you could strip for us. We don't have enough girls here."
"That's too bad. I hate the bigotry against vamps here. We're not the Satanic beasts the Church says we are."
"And the Church isn't the pantheon of saints it pretends to be."
Same scholarly vamp vocabulary, I thought. So odd to hear such erudition in strippers, particularly in uneducated me, yet so cool, too. I'm sick of men always thinking we're all just a bunch of dummies. "How can I help?"
"First," she asked, looking me straight in the eyes with that hypnotic fire in hers, and stroking my hair. "Do you trust me?"
"I don't see...why not," I said, my vision already blurring and my head swimming. "I don't trust...the Catholics here."
"Then we must love each other." She kissed me on the lips. "But first, come get to know some of us. Come with me."
Anna led me through the bar, and I passed by the stage, where a short, tanned stripper with slight muscle tone was doing her third song, "It's Alright (Baby's Coming Back)," by the Eurythmics.
Anna and I sat at a table close to the stage. We chatted as the nude girl onstage carried on with her floorshow. Apart from her awe-inspiring, curvy body, she had an unusually large clitoris. Crawling about barefoot with her legs spread wide apart and her ass pushed out, she had her pussy and asshole proudly on display for her rapt male audience at the tip rail.
Her pink pussy, with that protruding clit, was such sugary licorice; and her pretty, wrinkled asshole was like a puckered caramel kiss. Perfectly clean and fit to eat.
"Who is that hot-looking girl?" I asked, ogling and not believing my developing lesbian cravings.
"Oh, that's Francine Tremblay, or 'Franny', as we all call her," Anna said.
"She's the sister of Fanny in POUM," a short, petite stripper with black hair said in a Spanish accent. She was wearing a dark red bikini and matching high heels. She had tiny but firm breasts. She sat beside me.
"Really?" I said. "They're sisters?"
"Yes," Anna said. "It's a small world, isn't it?"
"Yeah," I said. "Franny sure resembles Fanny. Their similar names are appropriate. I'm Erica," I said to the Latina girl, holding out my hand to shake hers.
"Maria Gonzalez," she said, shaking my hand. Her fangs were showing without inhibition.
"Nice to meet you," I said.
The song was over, and Franny got off stage without even bothering to put her clothes back on. Not that she needed to: her nakedness was a glory to see, even for those not sexually attracted to women.
"Hi, I'm Franny. You must be the new girl in POUM," she said in a French Canadian accent. We shook hands.
