The Chapter Called No, He's Not a Vampire. Because That Would Just Be Crazy If He Was Since That's Pretty Much a Cliché By Now.

This is the first chapter from I Came in Peece.  This is a story I started writing as a parody of "Fifty something somethings" but abandoned when I realized I might need to read it in order to mock it. And since I knew I would never do that, the story evolved and become something else. 

The rich guy in this story is a trillionaire named Billionaire Goldcock and his sexual conquest is Innocent Peece.  Hence the title, I Came in Peece. Oh, I am so clever. (cough.)

I'd like to think this tale is entertaining and funny, but since I haven't read it, I wouldn't know.  If it is, please leave a comment and tell me.  I will post the next chapter when I feel like enough people have clicked on this one.

Thanks, the.effing.librarian.

I Came in Peece, Part One:

The Chapter Called No, He's Not a Vampire. Because That Would Just Be Crazy If He Was Since That's Pretty Much a Cliché By Now.

 Billionaire Goldcock jingled the keys to his look-at-my-penis red Lamborghini-Testarossa, a car made especially for him by the one-time collaboration between two exquisite automobile manufacturers. 

He fired the engine and the 500 horses leapt at his command.  The gorgeous machine screamed down the road from the gates of his hilltop estate. 

Picking flowers by the side of the road, Innocent Peece had no expectations of meeting a billionaire playboy who was racing toward her on his way to forever. 

She had no idea that this man, Billionaire Goldcock, would seduce her that same afternoon and change everything in her life that evening.  And she had no idea still, that the time between afternoon and evening would be spent wildly fucking that same billionaire in his private jet, on his private spaceship and in the Oval Office of the White House.

But she has a primal need to feel surprise. As a student with degrees in both botany and the fine arts from The University, Innocent was educated in an appreciation for special things and possessed a core desire to seek out the unique. Although that's not the impression one would get from her social network biography:

@InnocentPeece. Hello? Is anybody out there? I brought cake.

Following: 3    Followers: 0

I really need to work on my bio, she had thought just moments earlier.  But, NO, I am not changing my user name to @InnocentPeeceOfAss.

You'll regret that when someone else takes it and she gets all the men, Tiny Mom warned.

The Lamborghini-Testarossa spun in the dirt with a roar and peeled down the road, missing Innocent's fantastic rear end (as Tiny Mom kept reminding her) by mere inches. 

Your fantastic rear end! Watch out, fucker! Tiny Mom shouted.

Clams Casino and Cuntsticks! Innocent yelled at the driver already getting too far away.

Innocent cursed as Tiny Mom had taught her, by using the alliterative and the word "Cuntsticks." Cursing sounds more poetic when words have similar sounds, Tiny Mom always said.  And cuntsticks sounds just plain filthy.

Innocent juggled that advice in her mind. Cuntsticks? What does that even mean? I don't know, but it's fun to say because it's vulgar and confusing.

The Lamborghini-Testarossa had just missed her fantastic ass. Innocent looked inside herself for her mother's strength and found it hiding behind her gallbladder where the car had chased it.  Show him your ass, a voice whispered.  You have a great ass.  And stick out those tits I gave you.  What the hell else are they for if not to land a rich husband? Or wife. Who knows, just be happy.

God, Tiny Mom, please STOP looking at my tits.

Innocent thought about the voice that seemed to come from her mother, but didn't. Because that was impossible. Having these conversations always unnerved her. Was Tiny Mom just a convenient way of talking about issues with herself, to set distance between herself and subjects she'd rather not touch, or was Tiny Mom, you know, something weird?  Regardless, there was a voice in her head, and that, by itself, was probably something she should worry about.

Innocent always wondered what her tits were for, and now she understood.  To land a rich husband. Yes, she was expressing sarcasm to an imaginary voice in her head.  Thanks, Tiny Mom. 

But she did nothing to show off anything.  Unfortunately, or fortunately for her, depending on your point of view, her tits and ass didn't really need any help getting attention. By any measure, they were incredible.

Spying Innocent in his side-view mirror, Billionaire hit the brakes and threw the throbbing, rumbling driving machine into reverse.

As the image of Innocent's rear view grew closer, as objects in the mirror are closer than they appear, she could sense that destiny was bearing down on her. 

With a twist of the wheel and a click of the button, the passenger side door of the Lamborghini-Testarossa swung open and the backward motion nudged Innocent's firm behind into the car before she could exclaim, Milk of Magnesia!  Forces completely out of her control eased her body into the passenger seat of the Lamborghini-Testarossa and the door shut without leaving a mark on her perfect bottom. Billionaire popped the clutch and the car rocketed off down the road.

Billionaire cried out, Oh, mama! Can you feel that? Can you feel it? My Poontang-o-meter must have hit a solid eleven.  Poontang-o-meter. Poontang-ometer. He repeated the words as if they were meaningless and he was attempting to find meaning in them. Poontang-O-meter? Or Poontang-ah-meter?

What? Innocent asked, disgustedly.

You know, tomato-tomahto. If I had to choose one to call my penis, which one should I use?

Really? He's playing the dick card off the top of the deck? Not even a "look at my fancy car" or look at my fancy suit"? He went straight for the "look at my dick." She was pissed. And she was going to let this asshole hear it. She'd never gone from Zero to Total Bitch so quickly.

Oh, fuck. You fucking asshole. Let me out. She felt for the door handle, but there didn't seem to be one. Although with the car moving at over 60 mph, she was pretty sure she would die if the door suddenly flew open to fling her out. Shit. She decided to hold her shit together until she could get out of the car.

Which one? Billionaire persisted. My penis? He gestured with his chin toward his crotch.

Neither.  That's a stupid word.  They're both stupid words.  And I don't know how I got in this car and I want to get out. And what's with all these stupid envelopes? She pulled a stack of standard office white envelopes from under her rear end and dropped them on the floor.

Neither?  He seemed to weigh her opinion in his mind. I hadn't considered that. Neither.  Not one, nor the other.  Interesting.  He seemed to classify her response and store it away. Thank you.

You're welcome.  Now let me out, I want to get away from you. She pushed at the door again.

When I drive, I drive fast, he said.

Yes, well, you're scaring me. Are you trying to do that?

Yes. No. I'm sorry, he said. Not trying to scare anyone. He gave her a sincere look, one that showed his concern.  That was a bad, first? It was a question. First impression. 

Yeah, well fuck you.

I didn't mean to offend you.

She grumbled something.

Anyway, what do you think of the car? Lamborghini and Ferrari made it for me.

She admired the wood and leather. It was the nicest car she'd ever been in.

Check out this logo. He directed her attention to the gold logo on the steering wheel that showed a bull and a horse holding each other as if slow dancing. It's one of kind. Like me. Of course, like me. And like you. And he smiled a little smile.

Innocent was almost shocked. He said something nice about me. It doesn't make up for practically abducting me, but nice is nice.

Look! They're dancing. Like us. And the bull is leading. I wonder what song they're playing.

Are you the bull?

He winked. Oh, I am the bull.

Full of bull is more like it. Where do these guys get these lines? And what's this pick-up technique? Say something crazy; say something nice, then say, what? … Like I'm some kind of fish he's hoping to tire out and reel in? We'll see where that goes.

So, what's up, she asked.

It's a lovely day for a drive, isn't it?

When she took a second to look at him, she thought he was pretty damn good looking. Well, felt, not thought.  All through her body. He had the sort of model good looks that could keep a woman from thinking.

She threw a stern look back at him. I don't like when strange men say 'penis' at me. Or poontang, Or whatever the hell else you were saying. Cuntsticks.

He smiled. Well, I will keep that from happening from now on. I can do that.

She found herself staring at him. He seemed to get better looking the longer she stared. And that wasn't so bad, she told herself.

Light shimmered from eyes that seemed to change color as he spoke. Hazel, blue, teddy bear brown. Oh, teddy bear brown, Innocent softened like melting butter.

He seemed to be dressed well. She knew almost nothing about men's clothes, but he was wearing a suit and a tie, so points for not looking like shit.  No cargo shorts and flip-flops. He was also shaved, no mustache, minimal sideburns and his thick hair was cut neat in back just above his collar. 

If you don't want to fuck him, I will, Tiny Mom volunteered.

I'm Billionaire Goldcock. Welcome to my universe.  I'm the wealthiest, most powerful man in the world. 

Something about the way he said that sounded like it was the tenth time he'd repeated it that afternoon, like it was the way he began every conversation. Wait, did he just say his name was Billionaire?

You said, Billionaire?

Yes.

Gold?

Yes.

Cock?

Yes, I did. He revved the engine as if he was showing off his fancy toy. The wheels threw dirt and gravel as he spun a complete circle.

Innocent was surprise she didn't break out laughing. But there was something about him that kept her from mocking him. Some form of innocence as if he didn't know what he was saying.  My aunt did that once when she got her hair done at the salon; she asked everyone if they liked her "blow job." People smiled, but no one laughed. This guy was kind of like that, she thought. Billionaire Goldcock? The name was too absurd like it was testing her to not just look at the surface, but to look deeper. What could go wrong?

She settled in the seat and gave a half smile.

He downshifted and steered effortlessly around a turtle crossing the road.

And then he gazed at her with a look that browned her softened butter. Let's go back to the house, he said.

Why? Are you going to try to kill me? She asked lightheartedly.

Kill you? Kill you? Never. But I'd like to make you an offer that will change your life. And he turned the car around and headed back to the house.

Innocent had seen her share of movies, she was a fan of old school "slasher" flicks, so she felt it was in her best interest to seek some clarification from his answer. You mean, change my life in a good way, right?

Of course, in the best possible way. He grinned.

And no killing?

I wouldn't harm a hair on your pretty little head.

The answer wasn't perfect, but she believed him. So why are we going back to the house?

Why? Because it's fucking fantastic!

Yeah, I'd kinda wanted to see it from the inside.  She thought it was a cool house, the way it sat on that small hill overlooking fields of flowers with one large area devoted to Helianthus, sunflowers, which she had been studying earlier. She'd sometimes wondered what it would be like to live in a house like that and not in her tiny little tiny cottage. The upkeep is probably a bitch.  And I hate fucking housework.

The car roared up to the house, and yes, it was fucking fantastic. Literally fantastic, if you were familiar with all the uses of the word. It was fantastic in an extremely odd way.  The structure was a form of neoeclectic design with multiple sections exhibiting multiple styles as if the owner had been a 500-year-old vampire who'd expanded the building every fifty years utilizing the popular styles of each period. Oh, hell, maybe this guy is a vampire. The house wouldn't win any awards for architectural design, but it had a unique charm.

The garage opened as they approached to reveal an area with room enough for twenty more cars, but the Lamborghini-Testarossa was the only one to be parked in it.

Did you ever watch Vega$?  Dan Tanna parked his car in his house.  I love that show.

No, I've never seen it. Wasn't that show from, like, the Seventies? How old is this guy?

Billionaire pressed a button and the car doors opened and Innocent exited with her flowers. She was kind of surprised to see they were still in her hands.

By the way, you've killed those flowers.  By enjoying them, you've killed them.  I just wasn't sure if you knew that.

A little water and they'll stay fresh. Then she thought, But for how long? I wonder if there's a way to ever love something, to possess it, without destroying it? And she wondered if Billionaire had that thought, too. But if he did, it didn't show on his smooth beautiful lineless face. But yes, I've killed them.

The inside of the house was just as confusing as the outside with mix-n-match furnishings.  Innocent ran her hand across one cloth draped over a chair back.

This fabric is so soft. It feels like a baby's bottom, she joked.

That's because it is from a baby's bottom.

She jerked her hand away. A real baby?  That's disgusting.

Oh, is it, really? He looked confused. So. No.  Not a human baby.  But a baby, um, animal.

What kind of animal?  A puppy?  That would be monstrous.  She hoped he was joking with her, so she feigned outrage.

No. No. a baby, uh, what's that animal that no one likes?  His response confirmed he was joking. It's just fabric, he assured her.

He gestured for her to sit at the table and he removed some papers and a pen from an antique secretary by the wall.

We're going to need a contract.  Did you bring two forms of identification? And witnesses. I think we'll need a couple of those.

Hey, she yelled, this was all your idea.

Okay. We'll just skip that for now. Name?

Name? He's the one who picked me up and told me he would change my life and he's asking my name? What a dick.

Billionaire laughed. Oh, that's crazy.  Of course I know who you are.  He pulled a tiny notebook from his inside jacket pocket and read from it. You are Innocent Peece.  Twenty-two years old, your favorite scent is banana and your first lesbian kiss was with a doll you named Krissy.

Umm. She could see that he actually wrote in the word "banana."

Oh, I remember Krissy, Tiny Mom said. You loved that doll. Maybe a little too much?

And me, I'm Billionaire Goldcock.  I'm the wealthiest, most powerful man in the world.  There is nothing I don't have or can't have. And I want you.

Again, he seemed to find a place to write in the word, "you."

For physical description, he said, and circled some things on the paper while muttering, "average," "above average," and "excellent."

Umm, what's all that? Innocent asked as she tried to see what was on the forms.

Nipples. Nipples. He consulted his notebook and said, "ripe strawberries."

Okay, that's enough, asshole. I'm agreeing with your bullshit, but that's going too far.

But this is the form, he said, sounding a little too bureaucratic. But if you want to skip it.

Yes!

He looked at the form then said, Labia, Size, and consulted his notebook.

Grrr.

Deep inside, Innocent felt a tiny fire suddenly burst into a raging inferno. Who does this asshole think he is? And the inferno formed itself into a frenzy of F-words, most of which were the word fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckety-fuck-fucking fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

This is bullshit! Give me that notebook.

She grabbed it away from him, but when she flipped through the pages, they were blank.  She sucked in a big breath and began to work it up to a scream.

Hold that breath, Billionaire said. Don't speak. Don't scream. Just listen.  His voice became hypnotic, commanding, and he took her face in his hands and looked directly into her soft ocean eyes. His voice was liquid, a soft waterfall washing over her.  I can give you everything you've ever dreamed of.  Literally and figuratively.  But I demand everything you have to offer in return. You will do what I say when I say it. You will have no freedom apart from what I grant you. I will be your master. And in exchange, you will experience life in a way no other person one Earth ever has. Do you consent to my rules?

She had exhausted herself for the moment.  But she looked at his face and conceded that although a massive asshole, he didn't seem so bad. As most men go. Plus, he was fucking gorgeous.  His eyes seemed to burn into her.  His lips, his cheekbones.  What was he, 25? 35? 45? She couldn't tell.  His teeth looked white and the room smelled fresh, so he probably didn't smoke.  His grip on her was firm, so he was strong.  And his car was pretty awesome.

And what did she have now?  She visited her mother's grave once a week, ran a couple of miles once a week and read a book once a week. It was a no-brainer.

She blinked and realized she was gawking at him and practically drooling. Did you just 'glam' me? Are you a vampire?

No.

Are you sure? Because that felt weird.

He shook his head.

Okay, Mr. Not-a-vampire, what rules? She asked with a sigh after realizing that she'd been taken in by a pretty face.

Billionaire continued to lay out his commands.

You will be mine. Your body will be mine. 

She nodded as if to show agreement.

We will feast on pleasures you've only ever imagined in the darkest recesses of your soul.

She nodded again.

I will tease you and torture you. I will bind you with rope and clamp your nipples with clothespins.

My nipples! What the fuck is it with my nipples? I need to set this guy straight. Listen.  You clearly look at way too much internet porn, she told him. 

I don't mind a dirty video now and then. But don't think you can get away with all that stuff those guys do in those videos.

Wait, are you talking to me? Tiny Mom asked. Because I'd tell you to just jump down his pants. Hell, look at him. And look at his house! Just agree, already.

Innocent looked directly into Billionaire's eyes. But if all this is real and you're not full of shit, then you're as rich as Midas.  So, yes, I agree… with your little… 'Whatever.'  Fantasy.  Just go easy on my nipples.  They're sensitive.