Fuck Valentine's Day

by C. M. Stunich

  I paused just long enough to pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor, grabbing back onto Quinn before he had the chance to say anything stupid in the interim. I cupped his balls with my other hand and massaged them gently, all the while completely conscious that Preston was there, stroking himself much the way I was stroking Quinn. It was lighting a fire in my lower belly, soaking my panties and driving me into a frenzy. This whole foreplay thing was not going to last long, not today.

  Just as I was about to back off of Quinn and go for a condom, his body shuddered, muscles contracting tightly in his belly as his back arched and he came in my hands, shooting hot cum onto my breasts. I sat there quietly for a moment while Quinn panted and grinned a silly grin that made me want to slap him again. I released him and sat back, resisting the urge to wipe off my chest with my sheets.

  “You're really fucking good at that, you know?” he purred as he tossed me a sexy wink and I reached over and pulled his beanie off his head. His Mohawk was not in good form. As of that moment, it was just a red, mussy mess, but it was kind of cute, so I threw the hat to the floor and leaned over to to grab the box of condoms. Hopefully Quinn was as big a stud as he said he was because I was not waiting around for him to get hard. It was now or never. “Are you going to unhook me?” he asked and I gave him a look that said, Are you fucking kidding me?

  “No,” was all I said as I opened the box and pulled out one of the little, square packages. At first I thought the look of horror I saw dawn on Quinn's face was from the loss of control, like he couldn't handle me being in charge, so I rolled my eyes at him and put a hand on my hip. “Look, I'm going to do what I want to do and you're going to like it.” I paused, thinking of Preston and decided that I would follow in his lead. “If you don't like it, you can say – ”

  “Kitten.” The voice came harsh and husky from behind me as Preston reached out and grabbed me around the waist, pulled me off of Quinn, and pressed my face down dangerously close to Mr. Prentis's cock.

  “Oh my God!” Quinn screamed though I couldn't blame him. I mean, I knew how this probably looked.

  “It's okay,” I said as I put my arms out and forced myself up, slapping at Preston's hands with my own. I didn't even need to say the safety word; he knew this required at least some explanation. “Preston is here at my behest.” I paused. “Or at his own rather. In fact, he was the one that told me I should invite you here.” I stared at Quinn gawping at me and didn't know what else to say.

  “Do you have a problem with that?” Preston asked from behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see him free his dick from his pants while adjusting his glasses at the same time with the opposite hand. Perfection. Quinn didn't answer, just laid there staring at us both like we were insane. “Good.” Preston plucked the condom from my hand and proceeded to slip it over his cock, grabbing my hair and pushing my face down to Quinn's lap. “Suck him off, Kitty Cat. I wanted to see you ride him, but I don't think I'm willing to share.”

  Preston thrust into me unceremoniously, driving himself all the way in until his hips were slapping my ass and the breath was being fucked out of me. I felt lightheaded and dizzy with the intense fullness of Preston's cock and the warm, hot rhythm of his body rubbing against mine, his hands caressing the soft flesh of my hips and his deep, low groans.

  “Get me the fuck out of here,” Quinn moaned, but he was hard as a rock, and he didn't say the magic word. “Unhook me, come on.”

  “I said, suck him,” Preston commanded as he grabbed my hair and forced my mouth onto Quinn's dick, sliding my lips down his shaft as he controlled me with strong, sure motions. My head bobbed up and down as Quinn's cock slammed into the back of my throat and Preston's bumped my cervix.

  A scream built in my throat, muffled by Quinn's hot, warm body, as the two men groaned and shuddered around me, firm muscles sliding beneath their skin, breath heavy and husky.

  Rational Andi: Heaven.

  I came hard and fast, clenching around Preston's shaft and holding him there while I spasmed and bit lightly down around Quinn's cock. He came immediately, squirting his load into the back of my throat as I dug my fingers into the hard muscles of his lower belly. My body was so tight that I managed to bring Preston along with me, milking the pleasure out of him and wishing I could feel him unloading himself inside of me. Note to self, get birth control pills ASAP.

  “Fucking God, Andi,” Preston moaned as his fingers bruised my hips and held me still for that final, glorious fucking moment that left the three of us sweaty and panting and well, admittedly, in a very awkward position.

  When I sat up, sliding Quinn from my throat and wiping at my lips with the back of my hand, he was staring at us both like we were either the most interesting or most disturbing people he had ever met in his life. At first, there was this moment there where I really, truly thought he was going to freak as Preston unhooked the handcuffs and freed our possibly unwilling prisoner from the headboard.

  Quinn sat up and scratched his tight, ab muscles for a moment before he spoke.

  “So,” he began. “What are you guys up to next Saturday?”

  .

  “What nasty, dirty, pervy things are we going to do today?” I asked Preston as I stretched out on his bed and tried not to think about the fact that I had just spent three nights in a row at his place. Was that a good sign? A bad one? Guess I would just have to find out the hard way. After all, no matter how hard folks try, no matter how many people claim to have the answers, no matter how many how-to books they publish, dating and love will always remain these big, fat questions marks ready to fuck you the first chance they get. I was just going to have to learn, live, and love the best I knew how and hope to heck it all worked out for the best.

  Preston felt around the nightstand for a moment and slid his glasses onto his face before turning to look at me. Just staring at the black frames was getting me all hot and bothered. I hadn't known this about myself before, but apparently, I had an eyewear fetish. Who knew? Thankfully, he'd told me he only wore his contacts to the gym. The gym. I drooled a bit and had to wipe my face. I was forever going to have very fond memories of that old brick building and the perfectly perfect bit of tonguing I got on the tiled floor of the shower.

  “Are we going to use the handcuffs again?” I asked, glancing up at the headboard where the metal rings still hung enticingly. Next time we used them, I was going to tie Preston up and ride him into oblivion. He shook his head and leaned over so that his hot breath was pulsing against my ear.

  “Actually, I have something even better planned for you.” I shivered and tried not to let his ear fuck completely disable my senses. After all, I wanted to be ready for whatever dirty things we might be doing next. “Hopefully, it's something you'll never forget,” he said, and just as I was relaxing into the pillows, getting ready for him to take me on yet another kinky adventure, Preston was pulling away and sliding off of the bed. “Get dressed, Kitty Cat,” he said with a wink. “We've got somewhere special to go.”

  Okay, so you know how you can hate something so much that you can't see straight? How you can despise it so desperately that it makes you see black, makes your fists curl and your body pulse with adrenaline? Well, that's how I used to feel about Valentine's Day. Maybe it was just because I was horny …

  Rational Andi: It was. You were desperate.

  Or maybe it was just because I was looking for someone to share a special connection with …

  Horny Andi: Nope, it was definitely just about sex.

  But whatever the reason, I despised it with every bit of soul until I walked into apartment thirty-six which was, according to Preston, currently unoccupied, and found the world's cheesiest Valentine's Day setup. And then, despite the corniness and the ridiculous expense Preston must have endured to set it up, I suddenly found myself a goopy, sappy mess.

  “Happy Fucking Valentine's Day,” Preston whispered from behind me, polished from head to toe and dressed in the worl
d's slickest suit. I stared at the table and the roses and the champagne and stood frozen until my stalker – er, boyfriend? Nah, stalker is less scary than boyfriend – turned on some soft music and swept me into his arms, twirled me across the empty hardwood floor and dipped me low, pausing briefly to press a kiss to my ample cleavage. “I hope it's not too cheesy,” he told me as he raised me back up and spun me slowly to a soft rock ballad.

  “It's so cheesy, it's practically Gouda,” I said and laughed when Preston's brows rose nearly to his hairline. “But I love it. Truly, I do. How long have you been planning this?” He smiled at me and paused us in our dance so he could tug me against him, press our warm bodies together and look down at me with the slightest sparkle of affection in his eyes. It was just a glimmer, but it was there, and that was all I needed to see. After all, we'd spent the last two years crushing on one another from afar, it was bound to happen at some point.

  “Since I sent you the card,” he told me as he brought my fingertips to his lips. “I hope you like it.”

  “Oh,” I said as I kissed his mouth, his chin, his neck. “I do.” I paused as I glanced over my shoulder at the romantic setup that awaited us. “But honestly, I was sort of hoping you'd spend the day fucking the shit out of me.”

  “Ah,” Preston said as he slid his hands down my back and cupped my ass. “You're a lucky Kitty Cat then because I plan to spend the rest of the day doing just that.”

  Sample Chapters

  Hell Inc.

  “It wasn't necessarily that I wasn't a fan of fairies. Really. It wasn't that. It was that I wasn't a fan of being taken hostage by a group of fairies.”

  Ginger's life was already full of clichés – sexy demons in business suits, smart mouthed genies, and angry, French kissing yetis to name a few – so what was wrong with one more? Why shouldn't she have sold her soul to the Devil for three wishes? Brendan Fraser did it in Bedazzled, so it couldn't be all bad, right?

  Too bad her sexy demon caseworker, Levie, wouldn't put down his romance novels long enough to tell her how to make them. With a slip of the tongue (seriously, all she had to do was say 'I wish?'), Ginger's boring life is now up … well, you know, a certain creek without a paddle.

  So whether he likes it not, Levie's going to help Ginger take care of some little problems. Her ex-addict mother is attempting to kidnap her, and on top of it all, Ginger's managed to bestow her 'gift' of supernatural sight on some fellow museum goers. Neither of these would be problems if Hell, Inc.'s genies hadn't mysteriously disappeared. They're the only ones who can undo Ginger's wishes and get her off the hook. If only she could figure out where the hell to find them.

  It's never easy to deal with supernatural creatures, especially when they've got the IQ of a doormat. And the clerk behind the counter wasn't your typical teenage drop out. Nope. This one was a special one. He glared at me with his one eye (which just happened to be lazy and seemed to be staring at the ridiculously bright fluorescent lights above my head instead of at my drowsy face) while I questioned him as to the whereabouts of a very specific item. I was looking for black candles. Spooky, huh? But that's what the newspaper ad had specified and so, that's what I was going to get.

  “Um,” the clerk, who I suspected was probably a Cyclops, mumbled under his garlic scented breath. It was so bad that I actually had to take a step away from him, press my spine against a display of cheap romance novels, and choke back a sob. His breath was so terrible, in fact, that I thought I saw a puff of green float out past his thin lips and join the CFC gasses in destroying the ozone layer. “I think we've got some Glade Flameless Candles in the clearance aisle. They're eggplant purple, but they look black.” I tried not to scowl. The Cyclops didn't know what I needed them for. I thanked him politely and wandered off. Served me right for trying to go to Target for dark arts supplies.

  I found the aisle my halitosis challenged friend had been talking about and stared at the little white boxes with their red clearance stickers. Yeah, I thought sourly, feeling defeated before I'd even begun. That's what the Devil wants, candles without flames. In eggplant. Fantastic. I scooped several of the boxes into my basket anyway and tried to ignore the pixies that were swooping and giggling and pulling my mussy hair. If I swatted at them, if I paid them the tiniest bit of attention, then they would do worse. Had done worse. Focus, attention, belief, it was what made them real. When a girl and her mother sauntered into the aisle, tossing their identical peroxide manes and glaring at my ripped jeans and my faded Shrek T-shirt, they walked right through them.

  The pixies giggled and darted towards their shopping basket, shedding sticky glitter dust all over the white linoleum as they heaved a packet of pens out, twiggy arms straining with the effort, and dropped them on the floor. The mother picked them up absently, hardly noticing what she was doing. I sighed. How nice it would be to live so ignorantly. To not know that anything other than humans walked this world. I squinted my gaze at the shelf and tried not to kick something. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

  But this was why I was doing this. Following the directions in this stupid ad. I picked at my pants pocket until I found the crumbled square of newsprint. As I reread it, I couldn't help but have terrible flashbacks to Brendan Fraser and Bedazzled. But he'd been stupid. He hadn't been clear with his wishes. I would be. I'd rattle 'em off like the best of bureaucrats. The key was to be specific. Very, very specific. I mouthed the words aloud as I walked, swinging my basket and trying to stay positive.

  “WANTED: Souls. Single adults only. We are a professional organization looking for talented persons of marriageable age to enter into a trade agreement. Willing to offer three wishes in exchange for a signed contract. Please contact us at our office by arranging three black candles into a semi-circle in front of a mirror. Anoint with blood. Recite address. Hell Incorporated, 666 Gladiola Lane. This solicitation posted by the Devil. No sales inquiries. Offer ends 08/16.”

  Okay, so it sounded shady and well, just plain bizarre, but I was getting desperate. Two years out of high school had left me with a crappy apartment and a crappier job. I had no friends (except for Erin, but I didn't even really like her), my family was too busy to ever come and see me (and I never went to see them either, I know, I know), and I had absolutely no romantic prospects of which to speak. Well, there was this guy that worked at our local museum, William T. Smidden's Palace of History, that was pretty smoking hot, but I knew I didn't stand a chance. He always had this group of people swarming around like he was the queen bee, buzzing and nodding and kissing his ass. He was young with sandy hair and a strong jaw and pale eyes that shimmered like the aquamarine jewel on my pinky finger. I raised my hand to my lips and gave the ring a light kiss, pretending for just a moment that it was that man's mouth, confident and strong.

  I was so entranced in my thoughts that I forgot about the pixie dust and ended up slipping, rather comically, my legs flying out from under me, worn rubber soles of my shoes parallel with the ceiling for just a moment before I ended up slamming into the floor so hard that I was seeing stars. I knew it was bad because the stars weren't just spots of light; they were yellow and smiling and singing the theme song to My Little Pony.

  The Cyclops I had spoken with earlier raced towards me, red vest flapping, as he pounded over to me and knelt quickly, waving a hand in front of my face and asking a bunch of stupid questions that I wouldn't have known the answer to even if I hadn't just given myself a concussion.

  I waved him away but ended up with the store manager and several rubber necking customers surrounding me, jabbering away, and making my head spin while the pixies laughed and sprinkled more of their sparkling crap over my face and arms. I'd be visible from space for the next week. I groaned and sat up while the manager sweated and mumbled things about lawsuits. I rubbed my head and pointed at my basket, just wanting to get the heck out of there.

  “I won't sue you,” I said, pointing at the candles and trying not to drool. “But can I have these for free?” The
manager licked his lips and nodded. This is too easy, my brain tried to convince me. Ask for more. “And do you happen to have any chicken blood?”

  A half an hour later, I was strolling out the automatic doors of the Super Target and mouthing the lyrics to some pop song that I only actually knew half the words to. They hadn't had any chicken blood, but they had given me several containers of chicken hearts. There seemed to be quite a bit of bloody residue sloshing about in the bottom of the Styrofoam containers, so I decided that would count. It would have to. It was getting late, and today was the sixteenth, the last day for me to try the spell.

  I trudged up the rickety, cement steps to my apartment and tried to ignore the permanent smell of moth balls and dog urine that seemed to permeate the dreary hallway. My neighbor, Gene, a lady of questionable age with a sneer as sharp as cheddar and a smell to match, kicked open her door and proceeded to glare at me as I fumbled around with my keys. She always did that. Opened her door and stared at me. I think on some deep level that she recognized that there was something different about me. Sometimes people did. Though they never seemed to be able to get what that was. If only I felt confident enough in my own sanity to share the simple fact that I could see things that they didn't. I sighed and managed to get into the eight hundred square foot shit hole before Gene began shouting. She did that, too, sometimes. But that was only because she was crazy. She shouted at everyone: the super, the PG&E guy, the mail lady. That act wasn't just reserved for me.

  I slammed the door behind me, locked it, handle, dead bolt, chain, always in that order, and headed immediately for my bedroom. If I was going to meet the Devil, I was going to do it in style.