By P.S.Gifford

“Albert, could I have my usual double grey goose martini with three olives please.”

“Right away Mr. Griffin, how is the new book going…” Albert spoke as he poured a generously amount of vodka into the glass shaker.

“I have just sold the movie rights, so I am thrilled.”

Just then a particularly fetching petite redhead meandered up to the hotel bar coyly, eying Mr. Griffin.

“Excuse me being blunt, but aren’t you D.S.Griffin, the horror writer.”

Mr. Griffin lifted the martini glass that Albert just placed in front of him, and as he took a sip studied the woman who was flirting with him.

“I am indeed,” he answered returning the now half empty glass to the mahogany bar top.

“Oh my god,” she cried. “I thought it was you, my name is Doreen and I am your number one fan.”

Mr. Griffin chuckled to himself…He had heard that line often enough before, but it always managed to make his spine tingle…Especially when uttered by a creature as fine as the one now eyeing him up.

“Please to meet you; can I buy you a drink?” D.S. Griffin offered a well manicured hand, and clasped Doreen’s hand softly…

She bit her lower lip, as if lost in thought.

“How about a blow job?” she finally muttered.

D.S.Griffin gasped.

“No-no I mean the drink…How about you buy me a blow job?”

“Albert, can I have a blowjob for the young lady please,” D.S.Griffin said, trying hard not to laugh.

“Right away sir,” Albert responded as he reached for a bottle of coffee liquor.

Twenty minutes later, Doreen was on her third blow job, and D.S.Griffin was on his second large martini.

They were sitting in a corner leathered booth in the near deserted hotel bar.

“So what brings you to town Mr. Griffin- a book signing perhaps?”

“Please, please, call me Trevor, D.S. is just my pen name. And I actually live here…I own the entire top floor of the hotel, all seven thousand square feet off it…This is where I come to relax and unwind.”

“Oh really,’ Doreen said as she finished she emptied the last of her glass. Her head was starting to gently spin.

Mr. Griffin, sensed the look in her eye reached in, and under his heavy breath whispered something into her delicate ear.

“Oh really!” Doreen said, “You are not shy are you?”

D.S.Griffin simply stared in her twinkling eyes.

“Well?” he prompted… “Will you?”

Doreen reached over and softly kissed him full on the mouth.

“I take it that means yes,” Mr. Griffin replied as he kissed her again.

And with that, hand in hand, and with Albert gazing on knowingly they headed towards the elevator.

Minutes later they arrived on the fortieth floor.

“Here we are…” Mr. Griffin said as the elevator door opened.

They stepped out.

“Allow me to show you around.”

Moments later Doreen found herself tied by silk to the posts of the antique four poster bed.

“What are you doing,” she cried her passion instantly transforming to fear as D.S.Griffin returned from the hallway, not undressed as she had expected, but wearing a long black overcoat and grasping a chainsaw.

“I asked you if you wanted to give me your head, and you agreed didn’t you? I collect them…I have over one hundred pickled to perfection.”

As Doreen screamed, realizing she had misheard the question he had whispered in her ear, her frantic cries were overtaken by the sound of the chainsaw starting up.

The end.

P.S. Gifford

P.S. Gifford is a published horror author of great talent. He started submitting stories around 2005. His short stories are by far some of the best and most entertaining that I have read. Around that time he was invited to write columns which are titled "Paperback Writer."

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