“No,” Martin said. “I wasn’t asking you for sex. I was asking about sex. You said that every encounter a person has, their auras come in contact.”
“Oh!” She sounded relieved. “Well, yes. Sex is a very intimate encounter. The auras actually can mingle a bit. It can be a very powerful trade of energy. Sex magick is very powerful.”
“That’s what I read.” Martin tried to calm himself. “So, if someone, say, with a purple aura, and someone with brown mingled, could one person come away with the other’s energy?”
“Well, it’s more of a trading that takes place, not a taking.”
“But is it possible?”
“I suppose so, but not likely.” Silence on the phone. “You know, I did do some reading up, and I discussed your aura with some people I know, and we’ve all agreed that you really should get a checkup.”
“Thanks, but I’ve had one.”
“And I did mention doing a cleanse. If you’d just com—”
Martin rolled right over her. “I’m pretty sure I know what’s happening.”
He hung up the phone. So, it is possible. Crazy as it sounds, Ellen’s draining me, taking my energy. Still, he didn’t want to believe it, not with his beautiful, sensual Ellen. But too many things added up: her sudden interest in sex, his declining strength, the headaches, dizziness, general malaise…. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. There was one bright spark of hope. That this could all be pure coincidence. And even if it was real, Ellen might be completely ignorant of what was going on. Hell, who knew? Maybe every woman did it to a certain extent? Yes, that had to be it! Maybe it’s like a drug, the more you get, the more you needed. That explained so much … why Ellen had been so into getting it on. Her body was simply in craving-mode.
A door opened. Damn, she’s back—
“Martin? I’m back.”
“Oh, good. Thanks.” Martin took the Advil, went to the kitchen, poured his coffee, and took two of the pills.
“Are you … feeling better?”
“Yes,” he said, squeezing a hand. “As a matter of fact, I was even thinking about heading out for a while. Maybe popping in at the office and picking up some stuff to work on. Maybe meeting John for lunch.”
“Oh. Okay. I could go with you?”
“No … no, that’s okay.” Martin shook his head. “You stay here; as it is, I’m sure you’re anxious to start work again, too.”
“Actually, I was anxious to spend time with you.”
Martin tried to laugh. “Well, there’s always time for that. I just need to get out the apartment for a while.”
“Fine.”
As Ellen walked away, Martin found himself amazed at how much meaning a woman could pack into one small word.
* * *
Martin spent the afternoon at the library poring through books he’d normally scoff at. He thought that surely, if his theory were correct, there’d be something written about it somewhere. But he couldn’t seem to find anything concrete. Then a frightening idea crept into his mind. What if it’s because they don’t want us to know? What if it’s a conspiracy? Maybe it’s all women. Deliberately draining their men, enabling them to live longer—and they do live longer—and never letting the secret out of the bag! He checked the authors of the books he was reading. Damn, women. Almost all women. Well, why not? They certainly couldn’t publicize this little gift of theirs. Even Zena had tried to telling him his theory didn’t make sense? Well, of course, she had! She wouldn’t want him to know, either. Martin put his head in his hands. This was all crazy. Maybe something was happening to him. Maybe he needed a shrink.
“Can I help you with anything?” Martin looked up. The librarian was leaning over the table, looking at him. Martin could see the fleshy globes of her breasts outlined by the V-neck top she was wearing. He swallowed hard.
“No … no,” he stammered, before getting up, knocking over his chair, and fleeing from the library.
* * *
By the time Martin made it back to the apartment, it was nearly dinnertime. He let himself in and headed for the living room. Ellen was sitting on the couch. When she looked up at him, he could clearly see she was upset.
“Martin, I know you might be angry with me, but I had to do something. You’ve been acting so strangely lately, and those headaches you’re having—”
“What did you do?” Martin felt himself tense.
“Called Dr. Perez.” Ellen looked away. “I explained all your symptoms and answered some questions. And the Doctor’s convinced you need to come in … as soon as possible.”
“I’m not going to the Doctor, Ellen.” Martin sighed. “I’m not sick. And really, I think we both know that.”
“Martin, I don’t know anything of the sort! You’ve been irritable and exhausted, having hallucinations…”
“Hallucinations? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well the dog, for instance.”
Martin slammed his fist into the wall. “Damnit, Ellen. That dog was there.”
“Dr. Perez is very concerned.”
“I’ll bet.” Martin smirked.
“Really, Martin, Dr. Perez thinks it might be serious.”
“Of course she does.” Martin took a step toward Ellen. “Well you can forget it. I’m on to you, and don’t think I don’t know that you’re all in it together. All of you bitches.” He then spun around and headed for the bedroom, feeling her eyes on him the whole way, and hearing her burst into tears as he slammed the door.
* * *
Avoiding Ellen for weeks, it seemed the more he pulled away, the more she tried to touch him, and she was always doing that: reaching out, bumping into him in the hall, grazing his arm in the bathroom. But Martin watched her. Carefully. At first she’d been angry and sullen, but slowly she’d sunk into depression, crying a lot whenever she thought he wasn’t around. She’d even lost weight and had started to sport dark circles under her eyes. He didn’t think she was sleeping much, either. He’d moved to the couch so she couldn’t get to him, often walking into the bedroom and catching her mid-conversation, whispering on the phone. Martin was convinced his theories were correct. While he was getting better, she looked like hell. Cut off your supply, haven’t I? That’ll fix you. Sure, the headaches were still around, but that was just from the strain of keeping tabs on El, that, and the fact he was only sleeping whenever she was gone. He hadn’t even been to the office lately.
Then tonight, he’d done it. Showered, fixed himself up, gone and purchased some flowers. He’d even given her a big speech about how sorry he was for the way he’d been acting. Promised he’d see the doctor, then maneuvered things just right to have sex with her, to confirm what he already knew. And sure enough, he’d been right. She was in the kitchen, all happy and energized, and here he lay, bone-weary. Something had to give. He wasn’t sure what yet, but the answer would come. It had to. If only he could rest for a few moments….
Martin was dreaming of soft hands massaging him … of feather-light kisses moving up and down his body, across his jaw-line, down his chest, then further, further…. He awoke with a start, Ellen kneeling between his upraised knees. She looked at him, smiled.
“I love you, Martin,” she said, licking her lips and lowering her head.
“No!” Martin grabbed handfuls of hair. Then, next thing he knew, his hands were around a throat, Ellen’s throat—squeezing. Tighter and tighter. Ellen thrashed beneath him, desperately trying to free herself. Her eyes bulged, and in the half-light from the hallway he could see the naked terror on her face.
“Sorry, Ellen.” Tears streamed down his face. “But I can’t let you kill me.” He pressed harder and harder on her windpipe until he felt a sickening crunch and Ellen lay still.
* * *
Martin fought to stay awake. He’d been in and out of consciousness ever since the police had broken into the apartment, where he’d still been sitting on the bed, holding Ellen’s dead body. He guessed one of the neighb
ors had heard the struggle and phoned the authorities. He still had trouble believing she was gone. And since they’d picked him up, he’d woken every so often, and always in the hospital. No one would tell him what was going on, and he always felt groggy. They must be drugging me.
Overhead, lights flashed by, one after another, and he realized he was on a gurney, getting wheeled down a corridor. He could hear the nurses’ voices floating just above him.
“Is he the one that killed his wife?”
“Yes,” another said in disgust. “Strangled her.”
“Why?”
“No one knows. He’s been out of it ever since they brought him in.” The woman leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I heard Nina, the floor nurse, say he kept moaning about having the life drained out of him.”
“Really?” The other nurse looked at him, speculation clear in her eyes. “Draining him through what? Sex?” The woman laughed and Martin could have sworn she’d even given him a wink. He got a whiff of her perfume. It smelled like Jasmine.
The first nurse shrugged.
“So what’s the operation for?”
“Brain tumor. Dr. Perez says it’s the cause of everything, some kind of fast growing malignancy. If they don’t get it all, there’s not much hope. There’s a good chance he won’t even survive the surgery.”
The second nurse looked Martin right in the eye. “Good riddance,” she said with a smile.
Succumb
John McIlveen
Open your eyes.
Yes. That’s right, baby.
Oh, I startled you ...even though I’m using my sexy voice. Sorry. Do you like it, though? Even Marilyn Monroe couldn’t purr like this.
Let you go? Why? What would that accomplish? Besides, honey, you don’t want me to let you go.
Don’t fight. Save your energy. I don’t want you to waste it. I’m going to want every bit of it.
Here, let me turn the light on. Yeah, that’s better. The soft lighting is nice, you little Romeo, you. Very romantic.
Hmmm. I’m not what you expected, am I? I can see you’re confused, but I can feel something under me that says you’re not exactly put off, either. I am quite the looker, aren’t I?
Who am I?
You don’t know? Odd, you’ve mentioned me often enough.
No? Well, maybe it’d be better if you asked what I am. Ooohh, furrowed brow. Okay, here’s a little hint; in Latin my name means ‘To Lie Under’, and that’s exactly what you’re doing now.
To lie under.
Another thing I am is…I am exactly what you would want for your ultimate fantasy.
No reason to be shy, just admit it. I know what you look at on the internet; I’ve seen what you like. You store the images in hidden folders, blondes, brunettes, redheads, so many pictures…Thousands. Dominatrix, gay, eighteen and older…
…under eighteen.
Oh, don’t worry about me! I’m not the Judge.
But I do know what turns you on. Long hair turns you on; long red hair really turns you on. The redder the better, isn’t that what you write, Mister i-1-2-do-U at livemail dot net? And hey, you’re in luck! I have both, long and red!
How’s this? Is this red enough for you? No dye jobs here. This fire is all me.
Come on, feel it.
Yeah, I know, I’m kneeling on your arms. That’s what happens when you’re saddled and straddled. Here, feel it on your face, then. Do you like how it feels? Oh, I think you do. I just felt Mr. Happy jump up and nudge my ass.
Here, feel my…
…you’re looking at my tits.
It’s all right. Take your time and enjoy the view. I’ll tell you what, this black leather is so confining, let me unzip, that way you can feel them, too.
Oh yeah, your hands. Well, you really don’t need them right now. Let’s just reposition them down here a bit. Look at that, perfect for holding my ass.
Now tell me, aren’t these the breasts you like best? D-cup. Dee for delectable? No silicone, no saline, just soft, perky pleasure. Feel it on your face? Hmmm. You like it playful, don’t you?
Oh! You’re a nipple man! Can’t refuse, can you? Oh, and you like to bite, you devil! I love the teeth. Oh yeah, a little harder, that makes me want to…I want to grind…in.
Can you feel my heat? I feel yours, even through the leather. Undo the snaps. Can you feel them, right where I’m hottest? That’s right, open them. Oh, huh, oh, that’s good. Use your fingers in…me. Ohhh…do you feel that?
Wet.
Wet helps when…it’s time to…slide you in…slooooowwwly.
So hot.
Hmmm, I think you like it, you certainly like something. Is it the heat, the intense fiery…or is it when I squeeze you like this…?
Wait. Slow down, not so fast, baby. It isn’t time yet. Just settle down and feel me on you, around you.
Mmmm, you like it when I bite your ear; when I whisper?
Let me tell you a secret. I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. Wow, the way you just grew inside me … throbbing. You want that, don’t you?
All right, here’s another secret. I’m going to fuck you…to death.
Yeah, that’s right, and you won’t even try to stop me. I’m going to rip you inside-out, and you’re going to beg for more.
Awww, you’re dwindling. Not a problem, I’ll give you a special little clench from inside me...and I can grip you tighter than any human hand.
See? You’re back with me…completely. Aren’t you, preacher man?
Oh, you’re surprised that I know who you are, Mister Holy? At least that’s what you tell them, your followers.
No, you can’t pull away.
Try.
See? Not once I have a hold on you. Not when I can make you feel this good. I own you. Feel me milking you, massaging you from inside me, like little tongues licking you all over.
If your herd only knew you, your mindless minions. If they knew your sins and your weaknesses, all the ones you have always blamed on me. All the lonely wives you used, the clueless little boys, the whores, the needy runaways, all of them your toys.
Now you’re my toy…my toy to ride.
You called me the seductress. You even told them you met me face to face and defeated me. You had no clue. You took me for granted. You saw me as a joke and you didn’t believe. I thought you were a man of faith.
Well, here I am, and it seems…I’m winning. I’m sucking the life from you, and you can’t resist.
Hold me to you. Hold on to me while I kill you. That’s good. Good little preacher. Hold me tighter and wrap your arms around me.
Can you feel them? Feel the wings?
What? You’re disgusted? But you can’t let go, can you?
Do you feel your soul being torn from you? Isn’t it amazing how giving up your life feels so much like pleasure, how giving up your soul seems like ecstasy?
You’re dying, holy man. I grind into you faster and faster, but what if I…were…to…stop?
Stopping will save your life. But you can’t stop; can you? Even when I stop, you keep going.
Even when I reveal myself, when I lose the flesh, you can’t resist. Oh, the terror in your eyes, it’s delicious…and that, my dear, that’s what turns me on.
Beg. Let me hear you beg and I’ll finish you, you dog.
Good, very good. Keep begging.
But, I’m going to play awhile. I’m going to bring you to the edge, and then ease off, again and again. I’m going to dangle you over the cliff until the need to release guts you and nearly drives you mad.
And again...
Again…
Now let it go. Feel it leave you. Feel it being torn from you, like a thousand rusty blades slashing inside of you, yet you still buck and thrust deeper into me, so willing to die.
So willing to be possessed.
So willing to succumb.
And now…
I have you.
* * *
Roll over, p
reacher.
Roll over and hold your wife. She’ll be pleased to know you reached out to her in your final moments, even though she knows you’ve never loved her. She’ll be pleased to know that you had nothing else to reach for.
And all that is left is for me to kiss you…
A soul kiss…
And a breath…
Goodbye.
A Window to Dream By
Kenneth W. Cain
Despite her many strange tentacles and lack of human arms or legs, Seth had some sort of inexplicable attraction to the woman. He observed her outside his hotel room window, hovering amidst a black cloud that darkened the sky. It should have alarmed him, caused him to call the police or fire department, but instead it only piqued his interest in the woman. No one could ever understand her mysterious allure unless they too had seen her, and he did not think this a show meant for anyone else’s eyes.
Being a rather compassionate man, the guilt had set in immediately. Yet he avoided calling his wife for fear of revealing what he had seen. If not for his conscience he would not have bothered calling into work at all, and even then it was a dodge.
Oh how luscious you are, my dear.
She had appeared to Seth in a dream the first night of his stay at the historical Gilman House Hotel. Having had a chance to reconsider matters, the dream seemed so impractical now. She had materialized in a distant fog, aroused him even then when she had not been real. And although she had not touched him in this dream he woke to wet sheets all the same. The notion such a vision of beauty could be real had not crossed his mind until the following night. Now, he knew the truth.
He had been married for over two decades, the touch of his wife ever more uncommon as the years passed. This meant he lived for the subtle indiscretions of everyday life, those in which he would hold little culpability: a passing glance at a beautiful woman, the hint of a smile, a free peek down the front of a woman’s blouse, or seeing the outline of panties as a woman bent. So when this female came to him on the second night, he could no sooner deny her authenticity than he could the way she made him feel inside.
Of Devils & Deviants: An Anthology of Erotic Horror Page 27
