by Selena Kitt
Trapped across the top of the front seat, held by ankles and wrist, Debra wished she'd remembered the old adage, Be careful what you wish for. This didn't feel like play-acting. Mark managed to pin both her wrists with one hand while tearing at her blouse with the other. With pearly buttons popping, he wrenched open her blouse and began tugging at her lacy underthings. Good Lord, he's got a knife! Grabbing her lacy Bali bra, he snipped each of the ribbon straps and then deftly sliced the bra apart between the lacy cups. A few moments of brutal tugging and it was gone, her full breasts almost bare beneath her flimsy slip. She sputtered at him, begging him to be a little less rough, slow down a bit, let her enjoy it. But by then he was into her silk panties, shoving them aside, tearing them away.
When he rammed into her it was like somebody had shoved a hot railroad spike up her pussy. Debbie screamed. He came almost right away, his thick cum scalding like liquid fire. Debra felt like she'd been brutally violated by a wild beast; she wished she'd kept her fantasy to herself, and asked him to be gentle.
And like that, he was. He rode her like the sweetest of lovers, massaging the inside of her arms, her breasts, kissing her lips as he went. His hesitant tongue was almost polite, insistent but gentle as a lover's. At some point, Debra felt herself gently lowered onto her back seat, her perfect lover lowering himself quietly on top of her, smiling. Chrissie was in the back seat now too, cradling Debra's head, kissing her face, her lips, her breasts. Her soft slender hands were everywhere, treating plain body parts with the same intimate caressing as Debra's most tender spots. As she leaned across Debbie's torso to tongue her exposed navel, she brushed aside Mark's shaggy hair and whispered in his ear, "Do you think she remembers? Do you think any of it was brutally—familiar?"
Looking up from between Debbie's thighs, Mark shook his head as he let his callused fingers rub and tweak Debra's nipples to perky peaks. "Merciful God, no. She called it her fantasy, didn't she? Besides, she's looking forward to Rufus and the tow truck showing up. Let's just give the poor woman a few moments of pleasure, okay Chrissie?"
Chrissie would have answered her lover, but Debbie and she were busily dancing with tongues. Clothes were either tossed or shoved aside, fingers and other appendages gently probing the hills and valleys of three entwined bodies. Mark and Chrissie kissed and fondled, but centered most of their passionate indulgence on their new partner, eager to be the compassionate lovers Debbie never seemed to find. They created slow harmonizing love, caressing Debra with warm tongues and gentle fingers, eagerly hoping to bring a relaxed moment of peace along with their sultry compassion.
Both knew making slow continuous love with the quiet calmness of gently rolling waves could not last. Mark was the first to notice a change in the actinic atmosphere inside the moist Impala, sensing that Debra suddenly craved something more like a raging tempest. Sensing it too, Christine let her fingers fondle each of Debra's swollen nipples while she bathed Debbie's lips, throat and breasts with passion-filled fire.
She noticed Mark beginning to rumble around, moving willingly as her lover shoved her to one side, positioning himself for deeper penetration with his intended partner. Debbie lay back, quietly waiting and watching, lusty hunger blazing in her eyes. Mark felt himself devoured; the woman's green-eyed stare sweeping down his buff body, wolfing everything down.
Debra smiled, approval hot across her features. Mark had a ruggedly handsome face, a broad lightly-haired glistening chest, broad shoulders cresting powerful arms rippling with just enough well-defined muscle. She drank in his narrow waist and hips, small jutting ass, and then centered her attention on his bulging crotch. If she closed her eyes, he'd be her perfect fantasy lover. But there was simply no way she was going to stop looking—he was just such delightful eye-candy to watch…and to feel!
Debbie's eyes widened as her would-be lover seemed to swell an extra inch or two before her eyes, his blood-gorged prick pointing at her with a distinctly starboard list. Suddenly the time for study was done. Mark rocked towards her, plunging his rock-hard blade into her waiting wet wound. Again and again he stabbed, at last bringing long howling screams bursting from Miss Primm's throat as she melted in a pleasure she'd never known before.
The three lovers' limbs flowed through their entanglement until each had found a new hole or partner to adore. Mark and Chrissie coupled at last, practiced partners dancing gracefully to a familiar tune they knew so well. Their eager hands and lips invited Debbie into their embrace, each finding a tender morsel soft and raw they could kiss, suck, or nip. The old car's windows had long since steamed up with the spent energy of their passion, and had Rufus crested the hill at that moment with his rescuing tow truck, none would have known or cared.
Too soon Debra's fingers tapped on Chrissie's shoulder, signaling an end to the dance; a time to change partners. Christine smiled and kissed the shy woman, letting her left hand caress Debra's thumping bare breast, while with her right she gently tugged her man by his drenched prick toward a fresh eager hole. Without missing a beat, the wintry evening's music thundered on, the three dance partners improvising fresh exciting steps when the familiar began to bore. Finally, Debra rocked back on her damp behind, panting, a contented smile chiseled on her glistening face, physical exhaustion plain in her huge green eyes.
"You guys are the best. God, I've never felt so truly, happily...fucked. Thank you—thank you both. You're my guardian angels! I'll never forget you."
At that, the two bikers looked at each other, knowing. Smiling, they winked at each other, but said nothing.
"I've really enjoyed this Mark...Chrissie. But God, I'm so tired...and kind of sore. Besides, the sleet's stopped—quite a while ago I imagine—and I'll bet you both have some place you've simply got to be. If you don't mind, could you use your...cell phone when you get service and call the police or Rufus with that damned tow truck? I'd be most thankful. And if you ever tie the knot and want to move here, look me up. I'll give you a great deal on a house. Promise."
The bikers had both looked at each other again when Debbie mentioned someplace they had to be. Their stares seemed less jovial now, more resigned. When she mentioned calling the tow truck, Mark couldn't help but mumble under his breath that damned Rufus was already on his way. Knowing what was coming, he looked at Debra, thinking he might tell her to lock her car doors, or better yet, run. Resigned to the inevitable, he said they'd make the call. They smiled at Debra, kissed her and got ready to leave. If their smiles seemed a little wan, their kisses a little cold, Debbie didn't seem to notice. For that one moment, she felt...loved. If only it could have lasted.
The two biker lovers left her then and crunched across the still frozen ground to their waiting Harley. Chrissie looked back at the dead Chevy, watching the woman inside dress by the feeble dome light. She shook her head and chased after her hulking man, threading her slender gloved hand around his leather clad waist. Mark looked down at Chrissie, smiling warmly at his girlfriend. "You done good, babe. You're really starting to get the hang of this. First time you actually seemed to be enjoying yourself."
“It was fun. Once she got over her shy prudishness, she was a good lover—really started to turn me on. I liked her. She was a really nice lady. I feel really bad now that we're going. Are you sure she won't suspect what's to come?”
“Nah, they never seem to remember. None of the others did.” Mark was busy scratching another notch into his black leather belt. He looked back at the big Impala, watching the pretty woman inside redressing herself. He thought about the newspaper article he'd seen as a kid, the lurid details of what was yet to come this night. Rufus and his tow truck were on their way all right, but what he brought was far from relief and a restarted car. His passengers were common visitors to this infernal hill, the twin specters of misery and death. He took another look at Debra Primm's Chevy, wishing there was more that he could do. Through her partly open window, he could smell her perfume and hear her singing happily to herself.
“Glad to be of
service, Miss Primm,” he mumbled to the frosty night air, just as the pristinely new Impala and its driver flickered, faded and winked out of sight. “Always a pleasure to lay a ghost to rest.” Turning to Chrissie, he watched as his girlfriend put on her cracked helmet, yanking the chin strap tight. She was so sweet—he loved her so much. He hoped what he felt, all this love, would last forever.
“Debra makes three—she was by far the best. Hard to believe this hill has claimed so many lives and the police have never done anything about it. I remember reading about Miss Primm’s gruesome murder at your cousin's house. That Rufus was a monster! This damned hill is one dangerous place.”
“I’ll say. Be careful, okay, Mark? Remember that nasty skid we got into coming up the hill? That could have been really bad, lover.”
“Like I could ever forget it. Sleet’s stopped. Let’s hit the road—it’s getting late.”
The two bikers got on the big chromed-out black Harley with the ghostly blue flaming skull howling from the head of the gas tank. Mark brought the big beast to life with a snarl, eager and ready as a fiery steed from hell. As it off with a throaty roar, Chrissie wrapped her slender arms around her lover's muscular torso, holding on for dear life.
The Harley roared back up the hill toward town, and then disappeared over the hill. Mark eased on down the road, only picking up speed when the frosty pavement seemed to clear. Suddenly, Mark hit an unseen patch of black ice trickling across the cracked road, going into a bad skid before he could do anything. Chrissie screamed as Mark wrestled the big Harley for control. Losing the battle to keep the big beast upright, Mark’s curse and deeper scream joined Chrissie’s.
She went down first, her helmet cracking and bouncing off, her broken body scraped raw and shattered before she’d slid thirty yards. Dead. Blessedly, dead. Mark stayed with the bike until the end, riding his well-loved hog right into the massive oak. Bike and rider exploded on impact with the old dead tree, yet nothing lit up the sky, no loud whoosh or roar shattered the quiet.
The night stayed silent as the grave. Crunched Harley and torn bikers simply winked out and disappeared. Forgotten ghosts. Again. Break Neck Hill had fed and grown quiet. Sleeping. Waiting.
About Jack Osprey
Jack Osprey lives in New England with his wife, curious calico cat, laid-back husky, and never enough marine fish. He still believes in rescuing damsels in distress; just not too quickly. Although he has two grown kids, he still keeps a light burning nightly and a close vigil on his thumping closet door. It’s only recently that he’s started letting some of his demon spawn slither forth, manifesting themselves on his monitor. Expect more; the closet is quite full.
THE CHOCOLATIER
By Saskia Walker
I visited The Chocolatier with a perfectly innocent goal in mind, to begin with—that of selecting the perfect birthday gift for my lover, Danielle. We both enjoy handmade chocolates and The Chocolatier was new in town. I’d read about the shop and its French owner, Alain Osanne, in the local paper, and figured that chocolates would make an ideal gift. Soon, however, it was The Chocolatier himself that captured my attention, because when he looked at me through his shop window I thought about sex—sex that was dark, delicious and decadent, much like the chocolates in the display. If Dani were there she would also be revving her engines for the hot Frenchman, and that made me smile. Occasionally a man caught our fancy. Bisexual and dedicated to each other, from time to time we shared a male lover. This man had caught my attention, and Dani would like him too, I was sure of it.
The scrolled letters on the sign outside the shop looked like hand decorated icing on fondant. It was decorative but simple, to the point, and incredibly seductive. I was peering in when I saw him working inside the shop, and an attractive profile he made. Good looking in a sleek and androgynous way, his black, shoulder-length hair was secured at his nape while he worked. His eyes were like the chocolates he had placed in the windows, molten brown, filled with rich, sensual suggestion. He was tall and lean, despite working in the devil’s own calorie exchange, and he was dark skinned, like a Romany gypsy. The white chef’s uniform he wore only seemed to emphasize his looks and his high cheekbones and sculpted lips added to the unusual appeal.
Just as I was admiring the view, he walked toward me and put a small tray of heart shaped dark chocolate in the window. They were decorated with a cupid’s arrow, perfect for Dani’s gift. But my attention was soon back on the man himself. He certainly wasn’t the sort of man you usually found stocking a window display in a small village in the Kent countryside.
As if he sensed my presence, he looked up and met my gaze through the window. My breath caught. There was such intensity in his stare that I was thrown off guard and smiled. Inclining his head he gave a slight bow, one hand touching his chest lightly, a rather old fashioned gesture, I thought, which, combined with his looks, brought to mind images of iconic passion—the tango, a wild gypsy-hearted dancer who was relentless in pursuit of his sweetheart.
How odd, to discover such a man in our sleepy little village. Usually, the best we could hope for was a passing tourist or a randy farmer who wasn’t adverse to women who mostly preferred other women. Dani would adore the idea of such a find. With that in mind, how could I resist investigating further?
The door chimed as I opened it, a bell over head announcing my arrival.
He appeared from the preparation area almost immediately, strolling out to meet me. “Bonjour. Good afternoon.” His accent was as rich and delectable as his wares. “Is there something in particular I can help you with?”
“Bonjour.” I tried not to eye him up too obviously. It was difficult not to. “I’m looking for something special, a birthday gift for my lover.”
“Your lover.” He repeated that deliberately, and then cocked his head on one side, as if he was trying to guess what my lover was like. “Does he prefer dark or light chocolate?”
“She…she prefers dark chocolate, mostly.”
“Ah.” His wide, sensual mouth moved in an appreciative smile. His stare was blatant, and rather than disapproving—which was the kind of thing Dani and I had been used to in the small, conservative village we chose to live in—it was filled with curiosity and admiration. “I see. She is a sensuous sort of a woman, your lover?”
“How astute of you to guess.” I couldn't withhold my smile. Dani would love that. She’d also love his attentive nature. We were committed to one another, lovers and partners for over five years, but as bisexual women we had agreed to share our thoughts and emotions about men—thoughts on them as companions, as lovers. And Dani would respond to this man, I was sure of it.
His gaze was appraising as it raked me from head to toe, making my skin warm in response. It was if he knew what I was thinking, and the way he was looking at me turned me on. I ran one hand over the other, clutching my tote bag against me, self aware in the extreme.
“Her birthday is today?”
“Saturday.”
“That’s even better. Why don’t you bring her in around closing time, and we’ll give her a private tasting. With everything on offer.” He waved his hand over the chocolates on display in the cabinets, but maintained eye contact in such a way that I couldn’t break the spell. Was I imagining the erotic undertow I felt in his statement, the suggestion of something that was more than the offer of an exclusive chocolate tasting? His voice was low and husky, and his tone was growing ever more intimate. I tried to focus. Whether that part of it was my imagination or not, an exclusive chocolate tasting session with Monsieur Alain was way beyond acceptable as a birthday gift.
“She can luxuriate in the experience, and you will find out which combination of flavors she likes best, for your next visit.”
I wasn’t imagining it. “That’s a wonderful idea. How much does it cost?”
He shrugged. “Whatever you were going to spend on a selection today.”
“Are you sure?”
He paused before replying, and then hi
s mouth lifted at one corner. “There's only so much chocolate two lovers can eat.”
My heart beat erratically. I definitely didn’t imagine the way he looked at me when he said that—as if he was imagining eating something entirely different to a box of chocolates. His heavily-fringed eyelids dropped as his gaze lingered around my hips. I latched one finger over the belt on my low-slung hipster jeans and wondered if he could see the tattoo I had on my hip.
“I see you are a fan of body art.” He nodded at my tattoo, then went behind the counter and opened a drawer. Lifting out a portfolio of photographs, he flicked through them and lifted one image out, setting it on the glass countertop so that I could see it. “Perhaps you will like this?”
“Oh, my.” The image took my breath away. It was a naked woman, and her body was covered in an intricate scrollwork design, fine art-nouveau swirls that were both decorative and sensual. She was seated on a shiny black seat with a back drop of red velvet curtains. The whole image was about sensuality. The woman had one arm lifted to push her hair up against her head. Her eyelids were lowered, her lips parted. Sexually aroused, that’s how she looked. At first I thought it was a tattoo, then I realized—it was chocolate. A design in chocolate body paint. No wonder she looked aroused. “That’s incredible.”
“You think your partner would like it?”
“Dani? Oh yes, she’d love it. Is this your girlfriend?”
“No, a friend in France. The design was for her boyfriend. They shared the pleasure of the chocolate after the photograph was taken...”
I inhaled, realizing why he was showing it to me. It was a suggestion. “Yes, Dani would like it.” I dared to meet his gaze, and when I did it made my body brim with expectation. “She’d like it a lot.”
