Stories from the Darkness Episode 7: Vienna

What happened so far. Investigative journalist Lutz Bach had met the mysterious Kada while doing research in St. Petersburg. They plunged into a wild affair, meeting in Venice, Berlin, Paris and a small Bavarian village. It turned out that Kada, her real name is Katerina, had a plan: She wanted the journalist to publish a strange story for her about vampires who have lived among us for centuries in a parallel world. Kada herself also claims to be a vampire. Lutz thinks her story is absolute nonsense, but is fascinated by it as if he were under a spell.

"Jump in," Katerina said through the flung open door, casually sitting in the stretch limousine that had stopped in front of me. We were in Vienna for the premiere of Abduction from the Serrail, and Kada had instructed me to wait at the Schottenring Börsengasse intersection, near my hotel in the ninth district. I didn't know what was so special about this premiere, but I didn't care, because I would go anywhere with Katerina anyway. And this time, too, I was enchanted when I saw her. In a low-cut ball gown that was very revealing and yet not vulgar at the same time, wrapped in a fur coat and wearing sandals with an extremely high heel, she looked at me expectantly from her amber eyes. I didn't think much of fur coats, but I had to admit that she looked fabulous in them. If her goal was to stand out, she certainly would in that getup and thanks to the limo. I then found the limo rather excessive, but quickly withdrew my opinion when she pushed me onto the bench inside and began to lick my cock without further ado.

Before I could come, she let go of me, grinned at me and said, "We're going to the opera, we wouldn't want white splatter to land on your fancy suit." Besides, the ride was very short and the limo had already stopped in front of the opera. There was a bustle of activity. Numerous people in evening gowns were strutting up and down, chatting, looking for their escorts, greeting casual acquaintances, waving, talking on the phone, and even the television was there. Briefly, some looked up as Katerina and I stepped out of the limo. Katerina seemed to enjoy the attention, I was rather uncomfortable with the curious and, as I found, also disparaging and partly envious looks.

Then I saw someone who petrified me. Karoline Maria Passberger, a highly determined society journalist, who stopped at nothing to get her stories, who was prepared to go over dead bodies, as I knew from my own experience. Because she was my ex. I really didn't want to make a decadent entrance with Katerina in front of her. In my mind's eye I could already see the headlines "Well-known investigative journalist with red-light swallow at opera premiere" or "From the case of Lutz Brandt - journalist star and fornicator". The shock was obviously written all over my face, because Katerina playfully poked me on the nose and asked me if I had seen a ghost. I furtively pointed at Karoline and whispered that that was my ex. Katerina raised her eyebrow. "Oh is that so? She's cute anyway, but I'm leagues above her. So you can show me off nicely.", "That's exactly what I'd like to avoid.", "Nonsense, I'm sure this will be extremely amusing, certainly more exciting than this stupid opera!", "Why are we here if the opera is stupid? I had assumed you were an opera fan", "well, there are events where it is beneficial to be present. Public events that are documented. So we'll definitely be walking by their camera, sweetie," Katerina said firmly. "Just put on your best: Look what a hot woman I'm dating now."

So it happened, though not until we were in the foyer, and I have to admit, the look on Karoline's face gave me a certain satisfaction. The usually quick-witted reporter was visibly speechless when she saw me at this goddess' side. I gave her a quick nod as we strolled by.

Another elderly lady was sitting in our box. At that time I had no idea that Katerina was up to nonsense of the worst kind again. The performance was about three quarters of an hour in progress, when she suddenly leaned forward. And stretched her ass towards me. With inconspicuous movements she provoked me, made me hot. But I couldn't... not next to this old lady... when I didn't react, she turned Katerina around and asked me if I didn't want to check how wet she was. And I wanted to. So, ignoring the old lady, I reached under her dress, felt her wet panties and started stroking her vulva. She began to moan, biting her lips. At some point the lady realized what was going on. "Now this is outrageous, I haven't experienced this in 20 years. The ribbing is usually on stage, so that's where I'm going to complain." She grabbed her purse and left the box, snorting with rage. The music was loud and dramatic, fitting the situation and hiding our little tragedy.

Katerina straightened up, took one of the back two chairs and jammed it under the knob. She came back, stroked my cheek and kissed me. "Pick up where we left off," she leaned forward again. I hesitated. Surely the lady would show up here in a minute with an army of billeting men. "They don't come in here, they don't make a fuss during an ongoing event," Katerina knew. "Come on, fuck me, fuck me really hard, I'm your little slut who needs to be staked by your cock really bad right now! Let me be your little luxury whore." Again the Katerina effect kicked in. My head was empty, my cock erect, I was ready.

I fucked her in that box, wondering if people could hear the slapping of the two bodies in the side boxes. If they didn't hear that, the latest they heard was Kada's soft moaning. I helped myself to her of all three holes and finally discharged deep in her throat. Just knowing that I had just pushed my cock straight from her ass into her throat drove me crazy. I found it disgusting and at the same time the thought of having done something so frowned upon excited me so much that I just stayed hard, kept going and fucked her face while Mozart was performed in front of me. I am pretty sure, Mozart would have enjoyed that happening and appreciated, what was going on to his tunes.

Just before the break, we pushed the chair aside, stepped into the aisle as if nothing had happened, and were met by two billetors and the angry lady. "Well, these accusations are most outrageous," Katerina snapped at the billetors, who stood there intimidated and tried to clarify the situation. All around us stood curious onlookers – including my ex Karoline.

"You know what? I really thought this was an honorable house. However, it seems more like a madhouse to me. In other opera houses, the theater takes place on the stage. But we seem to have stumbled upon a crazy circus here. My partner and I will leave this ridiculous institution immediately." She angrily pulled me past the people. Even before we had stepped out through the main gate into the cool Viennese night, I saw that Kada could no longer keep from smiling. We took a cab to her place. She was again staying with a "friend", as she said, who was living in Dubai for several months and had made the apartment available to her.

"What was the fuss about?", I asked her. But she only raised an eyebrow. "We did what we came for.", "Fucked?", "Also," she replied. We showered and fell asleep arm in arm. The next morning - Kada had drawn the curtains and lowered the blinds as usual, she excitedly turned on the breakfast television. My ex Karoline was talking about an outrageous scandal at the opera in which the investigative journalist Lutz Brandt seemed to be involved. They also showed surveillance camera photos of Kada and explained that they had identified Brandt's escort as a Nobel escort named Milena Horváthová. A whore who was paid $3,000 per night.

I pressed mute and shouted angrily at the TV: "You duck reporter [note. a Newspaper hoax is called a newspaper duck in German.], how do you come up with such nonsense? You just made it up completely out of thin air.", "Well, or someone - me, for example - slipped it to her in an anonymous e-mail," Kada interjected cautiously. I didn't understand the world. Was it true? "Are you a..." I didn't know how to phrase it. "A whore?" she suggested.  "No. But your little girlfriend here doesn't have to know the truth. All I want is for your naive little girlfriend to spread my face around nicely. That should also generate news value for the story you're working on. You know, the story with the crazy vampire girl. My story."

"Has it occurred to you that I might lose my job after this fucking story?", I snapped at her. "Chill out," she said, amused. "You'll see, something else will dominate the headlines tomorrow." I don't even know why, but my anger immediately subsided. For no rational reason, I believed her. "You used me for whatever," I stated. "Yup," she said, kissing me on my belly, below my belly button a few inches above my cock. She looked at me provocatively. Was I still going to argue, her look seemed to say.

I didn't want to and she was going to be right: Already in the afternoon, it was no longer about the journalist Lutz Brandt, but only about Bishop Pius Schirchburt, a high representative of the Vatican. For it was precisely this bishop who was to be seen on the third picture that Kada had leaked to the media. A bishop on television? So what, you will now think. Well, the image from a surveillance camera showing a naked bishop squirting into the mouth of an alleged whore while holding tightly a chain on which she is leashed - that indeed makes headlines. And much later I was to find out that this was what Kada was all about: To get the attention of the church.