The Traveling Vampire Show

We both stopped talking.

Eyes on the show again, I flinched as the tip of Scotty’s belt cracked against Valeria’s belly. That one must’ve really hurt, because she cried out and twisted away.

As Scotty rushed after her, swinging his belt, she backed away from him. A couple more strides, and a wall of the cage would stop her retreat.

Suddenly, she reached behind her back, undid whatever fasteners were there, and swept off the bright red leather top of her costume. The sight of her naked breasts tore my breath away. All through the audience, people gasped. I could feel myself growing hard. A moan came from Rusty’s direction, but I didn’t look over at him. Couldn’t look anywhere except at Valeria.

Clad only in her short red skirt and boots, she whipped the bralike garment through the air in front of her. The quick motion swung her breasts.

In midair, the red leather of Valeria’s top met the black leather of Scotty’s belt. They tangled.

Valeria’s arm leaped back and the belt flew from Scotty’s hand.

The crowd roared with delight.

Most of the crowd, that is. The bunch behind us—Scotty’s friends—hissed and booed. Someone from back there shouted, “Get her, Scot!” Another shouted, “Ream her!”

Down in the cage, Valeria flung away the tangled leather of Scotty’s belt and the top of her costume. They landed inside her open casket. Scotty watched them drop out of sight with a look on his face as if his favorite hat had just been blown over the edge of a cliff.

Beyond the other bleachers, a jagged dagger of lightning ripped through the night.

Scotty made a dash for the casket.

He wanted that belt.

Valeria raced to intercept him, her large breasts leaping and swinging.

Thunder grumbled.

She dived, wrapped her arms around Scotty’s waist as he ran, and tore him to the ground. They rolled through the dirt. Then Scotty was on his back. Valeria, straddling him, grabbed his shoulder with one hand and his head with the other. She shoved his head sideways, then plunged her face against the side of his neck.

He thrashed and writhed underneath her.

Stryker’s voice boomed from the speakers, “AND THE WINNER IS… VALERIA!”

She stayed on Scotty, not done with him yet.

Stryker ran into the cage. “THAT’S ENOUGH, VALERIA! STOP IT.”

She didn’t stop.

“NEED ANOTHER TASTE OF THE SPUR?”

She clung to Scotty for a few seconds more, then raised her head and rolled off him. She flopped on her back, gasping for air. Her lips and cheeks and chin—even the tip of her nose—were crimson with Scotty’s blood. The rest of her body gleamed with sweat.

As the crew rushed into the cage, Stryker announced, “SCOT’S TIME WITH VALERIA, THREE MINUTES AND TWENTY SECONDS.”

He hadn’t lasted nearly as long as the frail Chester, but the audience showed lots of appreciation. Maybe because he’d gotten Valeria to remove her top.

The crew lifted Scotty onto a gurney and hurried away with him.

There was a lot of blood on the dirt floor where he’d been sprawled.

The audience cheered Valeria as she rose to her feet. Her body gleaming with blood and sweat, she thrust both arms toward the sky in triumph and pranced around in a circle as if doing some sort of victory dance. The way she looked—beautiful and shiny, hair blowing in the hot wind, breasts bouncing and swinging—drove the audience to a frenzy. All around us, people stood up.

My view was blocked, so I stood up, too. As did Lee and Rusty.

Apparently enjoying her ovation, Valeria danced around even more wildly.

As she leaped and twirled, lightning in the shape of an upside-down tree turned the sky brilliant. Every detail of Val-Richard Laymon eria trembled in stark relief—the wild look on her face, the curves of her muscles and ribcage, the jutting tips of her breasts….

I felt hard and achy. Without underwear on, I was pushing tight against the inside of my jeans. I started to worry about having another accident so I sat down. This not only relieved the pressure, but it took Valeria out of sight.

Thunder roared, shaking the night.

Lee sat down beside me. “You okay?” she asked.

I nodded.

“We’d probably better get going,” she said.

“I guess so.”

“Before something else happens.”

“Guess so,” I said.

She patted my leg, then turned her head the other way. Toward Rusty.

But he wasn’t there.

Chapter Fifty-five

All I could figure was that Rusty must’ve had an accident, himself, and hurried away to prevent Lee or anyone else from noticing it.

“Come on,” Lee said. She started to stand up.

“No, wait.”

“What?”

“Why don’t we wait here for him? He probably just went…”

Lee shook her head. “He knows we’re about to leave. Maybe he just went on ahead.”

We were both wrong.

In front of us, the spectators sat down and we saw Rusty halfway down the bleacher stairs, waving both hands overhead. Shiftless and bandaged, he almost looked as if he’d already been in the cage with Valeria. Racing toward the bottom, he shouted, “Me! Me! I’m next! I call it! My turn!”

The audience cheered him.

Lightning ripped through the sky.

“Oh, my God,” Lee muttered.