Chapter 1: Humper County Vampires

Caution: This Humor Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Reluctant, Drunk/Drugged, Magic, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Humor, Paranormal, Vampires, Cheating, Slut Wife, Incest, Swinging, Group Sex, Polygamy/Polyamory, Interracial, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Pregnancy, .

Desc: Humor Sex Story: Chapter 1: Humper County Vampires - Humper County is the center of the unnatural universe. Who the hell wants to be natural? We got vampires, horny angels, nasty mean devils and plenty of bisexual inhabitants who think "family planning" has something to do with which member of your family you are going to screw next. I have tried to offend everybody. I hope I succeeded.

Humper County, Oklahoma is a nice place to live. A lot of us still have outhouses because crap don't care where it drops. I mean why waste good drinking money on doodads that only shows you're trying to be high toned? We make do with our tar paper shacks, six pickup trucks on blocks in the front yard and an old worn out motor home for a guest room. See what I mean? Nothing fancy here.

However we all figure whatever is fine with Bill Clinton's kin is fine for us. Ever since he "Monica-ized" the Oval Orifice Ol' Slick Willy Clinton is a folk hero to us here in the most civilized part of the whole United States of Oklahoma.

We have our own ways of doing things and our own customs. Hell, it's like our city limits signs say, "Welcome to Humper, Oklahoma. Now Get The Fuck Out." We really don't care all that much for strangers. Why should we? We got the best corn whiskey found anywhere, a local cookbook that has two hundred delicious ways to prepare road kill and some of the horniest women in the south. As long as the welfare checks keep coming in, life is just perfect here. Oh yeah, damn good cat fishing, too.

Our Annual Harvest Festival is the cherry on the soda as far as we are concerned. Every year in Humper County, Oklahoma we have the Harvest Festival. I tell you this is as grand a festival as when those Italian women get pregnant and stomp grapes and give Italian men athlete's mouth. Then the poor fellers have to rub Tinactin spray into their gums before their teeth fall out.

Down here in these parts folks are one hell of a lot smarter than a bunch of wino Italians. Hell, we're better than they are every which way. They are all Catholics and we have it from a good authority that God don't like Catholics much. I mean our Preacher, Billy Bob Hoskins told us so and he is Gods right hand man here in Humper County so he ought to know. Besides we mostly belong to his Real Truth Church.

Any way, we have our festival and celebrate the bumper corn crops we by god pray for all year long and when we get a bumper crop we turn it into fine corn whiskey and fatten everybody's bank account for the next year. I mean that first weekend in November is as fine a time as any sissy eastern dude ever thought of having.

The Humper County Gala Annual Harvest Festival is supposed to start on the first Friday in November right at sundown and go through until Monday morning when we are all supposed the be bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready for another year of hard back breaking work.

Of course some of us start a week early and quit celebrating a week late, but it's all in good fun. Hell, I remember one time Reverend Billy Bob and some holiness type female preacher disappeared for a whole three weeks. They later claimed they was stranded on petticoat Island down on the Red River that we suspect was named after some communist bastard.

You know, in Oklahoma we are lucky as hell. We got more people to hate than anyone else in God's Green Universe and way beyond. I guess that's what makes us so special, all our hate and corn whiskey.

Any way, a few years ago we had this dude show up on the Friday night the festival officially opened. Silas Harper, our local band leader had his bunch, "The Down Home Hog Sloppers" had just finished playing the last song of the first set. There has always been this bunch of guys in suits wander around trying to be inconspicuous every year. They wear these tight in the crotch pantywaist suits and have never ever stepped in cow shit with their pointy shoes in their whole lives. Those are the BATF agents that try to figure out where our stills are and how we get the "product," which is what we call our fine moonshine, out of the state and they never ever find it.

Then we get a few old time revenuers. They usually dress in JC Penney suits and K-Mart shirts. We don't worry about them too much. Everybody hereabouts who plants even five acres of corn has a personal consumption license to make alcohol for fuel in their their farm equipment. As if anyone in his right mind would waste good corn whiskey in a gas engine. That would be like having sex with somebody's granny when there was a high-class bathing beauty offering you free samples.

Then we got these gangster types that come down every year to sample said product and buy it. They all got first names that end in a vowel and talk in grunts. Most of them are called Vinnie, Vito and Gino.

They tried to come down here and take over right after we first started selling to them. They gave it up after we gave their boss an Oklahoma Breeders' Special. We let them take the big tanker full of corn at gunpoint and drive off with it. When they were ten miles out of town we shot out all the tires on the two guard cars and the tanker. We just sat off three hundred yards and shot the living shit out of everything but the tanker.

We didn't want to kill them because we figured they would be good customers once they got educated. They finally took the hint and gave up. We took their boss away from them and cut his clothes off with one of our Oklahoma pig stickers. That's a knife sort of like a Bowie except it's skinnier and sharpened on both edges.

Anyway we tied him over the hood of his own car and let Oral Dougherty's breeding bull at that dude's fat behind. I bet you could hear his yodels all the way to Kansas City. Those seven were let go after they paid us what we had coming plus a little extra for damages.

So every year they come down in their fancy suits and sample the product and buy all we have to sell. The revenuers come around and try to look inconspicuous and fail and we have us the finest festival you ever seen.

The Baptist women bake hams, the Methodist women bake roast beef and the Episcopalian women make all the fancy dishes like candied yams and pickled pigs knuckles and that other exotic shit. Us folks from Reverend Billy Bob's church bring the corn and home made rye whiskey...

Then a few years ago we had this odd man out looking dude show up. He was all dressed up in a fancy black suit with a white shirt and a blood red tie and cape. He walked around looking at people's necks and smiled a lot.

When I noticed he didn't have anything to drink in his hand I said, "Here, have some Oklahoma elixir, good for what ails you." He smiled his thanks and took a swallow. I forgot how powerful that shit was to the uneducated taste buds. What the elixir is made of used to be a secret but everybody knows now so I'll tell you.

You take twenty gallons of hundred ninety proof corn, add three gallons of finely chopped jalapeno or any other peppers that will remove paint and a gallon of garlic to keep the concoction from eating the glass bottles it's stored in after processing. Processing just means we filter the concoction through cheese cloth to remove the pulp of the peppers and garlic.

Let me tell you that old boy's eyes crossed, his eyes got bright red and he fell over in a faint. I figured he needed to be revived so I opened his mouth and poured a little more down his throat.

"Tank you," he wheezed and took my glass from me and emptied it. Whenever a person has his first drink of elixir it knocks him on his ass. It also numbs his taste buds. Then the second and third drinks go down smooth and leave him paralyzed. But not this guy, he stood up and yelled, "I vant blood!"

Hap Osgood, the local blacksmith thought he was challenging for a fight and smashed the stranger in the mouth. He spit a whole mouthful of pointy teeth out on the floor. But he didn't go down. That meant he was one tough son of a bitch. So Hap smacked him again and again, once just above the crotch and once smack dab in the middle of his nuts with an uppercut. The stranger folded and fell to the floor.

Robert Seaton came rushing in from outside and yelled that guy tried to suck..."

"What guy?" I yelled

Robert pointed at another stranger in a black sissy suit and a black cape over his shoulders and I yelled "You damned queer!" and shot him three times. He just stood there looking right pissed off at me. Then Wanda Marple yelled how she hated queers too and slammed that second stranger over the head with a chair.

He turned toward her looking even more pissed of when Hap decided he'd take a try and smashed him in the mouth, then in the nuts and last in the chest. The stranger went down for the count. "He didn't try to suck my dick," Robert Seaton said. "He wanted to suck my blood.

Well, I felt real guilty about shooting him three times so I opened a fresh bottle of my elixir and stuck the bottle in his mouth and poured. He sighed, gulped and I poured some more down his throat. He swallowed automatically and bounced up in the air.

Hap thought he was ready to fight again and smashed him in the forehead and he fell back on his back. Well, it revived him once so I figured it would revive him again. I poured the rest of the quart down his throat and he almost floated to his feet. He opened his mouth and his pointy teeth fell out.

I said to myself, "Well shit there, Clarence," cause that's my name, Clarence, "I bet these guys is related to each other since they both have pointy teeth and all."

"My feef!" the one yelled, "My feef!" He had this horrified look on his face. "Oh thit" I got no feef!" When he happened to stick his tongue out I thought it was never going to stop. I mean his tongue was long enough to let him lick the insides of his own ears without straining a bit.

Hell, I did the only humanitarian thing I could do, I opened another quart of the elixir and had a snort to sample it and make sure it was fit for human consumption. It was okay so I handed it to him.

Now Gladys Carbuncle had noticed that long tongue on the stranger and sort of sidled up to him. "Honey," she told him, "You have to take care of that tongue of yours. All them broken teeth might have scratched it. You just come outside with me and I'll make sure your tongue is properly cared for. He was pretty well out of it from all that elixir in him so he followed her outside. And that was the last we saw of them until late the next afternoon.

The other stranger came to and started to sit up. I didn't have any more elixir with me so I brought him a gallon jug of Humper County's finest hundred ninety proof corn whiskey. He chugged about a third of it down and nodded his thanks. "Fank you," he said. "I feel mush bebber now."

"Oh hell, good buddy, I'm sorry as hell about that slight misunderstanding we all just went through. But you're more than welcome to stay here until you get to feeling better. The way you and your brother took punishment and hold your liquor, you're more than welcome in these parts as far as I'm concerned."

"Fank you," he said and had another snort. I'll tell you that anyone who can drink elixir with a straight corn whiskey backer like these two old boys did and take the punishment Hap Osgood handed out with his fists was as fine as frog's hair in my book.

Well, Wanda Marple came sashaying up and groped the stranger. His intesticles was still a might tender from the pounding Hap gave them and he let out a bellow of pain and his tongue came rolling out of his mouth. "Well shit, Honey, what we standing around here for. Let me take you to my place and get you eased off a little bit."

He was still carrying the now half empty jug when he let Wanda lead him outside. Knowing from my own experience what a voracious appetite ol' Wanda has I figured we wouldn't see him again for a while.

The only time I ever saw Wanda completely fucked out was when she took on the whole high school football team. She did them all including the gay cheer leader guy who looked a lot like like George W Bush. He was never the same after that.

I grabbed up Millie Tremble and started to do a slow dance with her. She was the best dancer in the county. We danced through a few of the state waltzes, starting with the Oklahoma Waltz what ought to be our national anthem and ended a thousand miles away with the Tennessee Waltz. The Mafia types had sampled our product and had made a deal and paid us off.

The BATF fellows was all set to make at least one arrest. The problem was first they had to find out where we stored a few thousand gallons of corn that nobody on their side could find. Why they couldn't find the product was simple. They kept looking where it wasn't.

We'd sneak it out to the RV stop on the edge of town and the Eye-talian guys would drive up in old motor homes and fill their water tanks and sewage tanks with our fine product. Then they just drove off down the road with a thousand gallons of good corn whiskey and we here in Humper, Oklahoma were just that much richer.

Well, the next day after the two brothers lost their front teeth Doc Madsen, the local vet, dentist and proctologist offered to make those two fellers new bridgework for a price.

They both survived the bouts of true love with Millie and Wanda and thought that would be great. So ol' Doc got out his tools he used for everything from shoeing horses to cutting out hemmys and doing circumcisions and got busy. He's a sort of medical jack of all trades.

Hell, one time he was going to do brain surgery on Widow Barker's handy man after he run a pitchfork tine up his nose and into his brain. But the widow said no and jerked it loose. Nowadays that old farm hand doesn't say much but he follows her orders real well. Doc was some disappointed, though. He sure had his heart set on exploring that old boy's brain.

Vlad, as we found out he was called fit right in to our little community. We had to caution him about chomping down on local people's necks. But whenever those revenuers come around, if one sort of disappears, well nobody really gives a shit. Wilbur, Vlad's brother took him an American name. He said his given name has too many syllables for us to wrap our tongues around. What the hell whatever floats his boat is fine by us.

Anyway Wilbur took himself a job in Oklahoma City. He opened a blood bank and takes his pick of the pints he wants and doesn't have to worry about anybody getting pissed off.

Vlad goes in to town to help him out once in a while but he'd rather stay out here in Humper. He says the people are friendlier. What it all boils down to is he gets more pussy and better booze than he can in the City.

Those old boys have been doing their patriotic duty for some years by screwing every female in sight. It doesn't matter how old they are, Vlad and Wilbur do 'em all.

The notable thing is they have sperm counts with higher numbers than Donald Trump's bank account. We got more pointy teethed kids in these parts than you'd expect Where the local jokes used to be about "uncle daddies," nowadays they are about "Daddy Vlads."

In fact last year at Halloween we ran a Vlad look alike contest. We wouldn't let him enter because that would be cheating. Bobby Joe Crane won hands down. He stole a pint of blood from the slaughterhouse and drank it neat in front of the judges. Now that was realism.

The girl-Vlads have great appetites. The only trouble is that you don't dare go sixty-nine with them. Gladys Vlady Jones had her teeth capped by old doc. She was so popular here after she had her points removed she went to Oklahoma City and became a high-class whore. You talk about someone who was born for a certain profession it was Gladys. She even runs charge accounts. Her sister Nellie never had the points taken off her teeth. She does the collecting on the overdue accounts.

So that's how the vampires came to be down here in Humper, Oklahoma. We all mixed our genes together and got along fine until the Devil Came to Humper. That was when the shit the fan for sure.

When this story gets more text, you will need to Log In to read it