THE LOVE THAT NEVER DIES: Erotic Encounters with the Undead

by Christian, M

  THE LOVE THAT NEVER DIES

  EROTIC ENCOUNTERS WITH THE UNDEAD

  EDITED BY M. CHRISTIAN

  ISBN 9781615088041

  All rights reserved

  Copyright 2012 M. Christian

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

  For information:

  http://SizzlerEditions.com/Encounter

  Sizzler/Encounter Fantasy

  A Renaissance E Books publication

  CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION: IN DREAMS

  M. CHRISTIAN

  ONE DROP

  LAURA ANTONIOU

  ROBBER

  KANNAN FENG

  MONSTER

  NOBILIS REED

  VAMPS

  DOMINIC SANTI

  WINNAT'S PASS

  BILLIEROSIE

  THE GHOST IN THE MACHINE

  KAREN TAYLOR

  DELIVERANCE

  JAY LAWRENCE

  MEMORY MAN

  PM WHITE

  THE WOLF MAN AND THE MULE

  LINDA WATANABE MCFERRIN

  BETWEEN DESPAIR AND ECSTASY

  ANGELIA SPARROW

  THE MAN WHO VISITED

  OR POOR BROTHER ED

  RALPH GRECO, JR.

  GHOST

  HEATHER TOWNE

  A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE

  J. T. SEATE

  ALIVE SHE CRIED

  DeVITO

  LES BON TEMPS

  C. C. WILLIAMS

  ONLY IN YOUR DREAMS

  A. LEIGH JONES

  THE FRANKENSTEIN PENIS

  ERNEST HOGAN

  A PEARL OF GREAT PRICE

  JEAN MARIE STINE

  HORROR VACUI

  M. CHRISTIAN

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  INTRODUCTION: IN DREAMS

  In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities

  –Janos Arany

  What is it about 'the other'? Oh, sure, there's that hoary old chestnut about opposites attracting but, really, why is it in human nature, the deep-down inky blackness within us all, that craves not just for the opposite, for what we can't have, but what it totally, and completely, weird.

  Pages and pages and pages and pages (both digital and dead tree) have been dedicated to affection – or just good, old-fashioned slippery and steamy sex – between humans and [fill in the blank]. Werewolves get your fangs all nice and long? Well, there's a book about them. Vamps get your incisors sweetly sharp? There's something about them as well. "Loving the Alien?" You will not be disappointed by what's out there – about Something Out There.

  Which, no doubt, has led you here. Werewolves, vamps, aliens, shapeshifters, wizards, ghosts, mermaids ... been there, done them (both literally as well as figuratively) but what about the 'other' other? What about the real, honest, and alluringly bizarre world of the undead.

  Ah, but not just zombies – though a few are stumbling through this anthology – but not just the once-alive but also the differently-living? In these pages you'll discover things shambling out of tombs, existing on whole new plains of existence, and more. Sure, a few may appear to be familiar but rest assured that in the hands, and minds, of these wonderful writers nothing will be quite what it appears – and you may very well be in for a very long, and very strange, trip into the down-deep oddness that is our love for the total and complete other.

  Prepare yourselves, folks. Buckle yourself in and get ready for a ride will of unexpected twists and turns, where your libido and desires may go in one direction while your brain – screaming all the time "No no no no no no!" – goes the opposite.

  But before you peer out between your fingers at these stories, let me first step out of the spot light and give credit where credit is really do: without the wonderful writers of these fantastic tales this book about not be here. Here's to you all, you magnificently talented and deeply disturbed authors: thank you for the weird, strange, but best of all fun trip you've give us all.

  –M. Christian

  ONE DROPLAURA ANTONIOU

  Joyce stretched her arms up and clasped the chains in exasperation. Behind her, Rina continued her sweeping motions, trailing the soft tresses of the whip up and down Joyce's shoulders, back and forth in a slow-motion figure eight pattern. It was very nice, sensual, slightly teasing. It was a practiced move, one that several pillows on their couch had become familiar with.

  It was boring as hell.

  Joyce flexed her shoulders and back muscles and leaned slightly back, into the falling tresses. "Yesss," she hissed encouragingly. "Please, please, more..."

  "What?" Rina immediately lowered the whip and stepped forward to hear better.

  Dammit! Joyce bit her lip in an effort to keep from snapping. "Harder, Rina, please?"

  "Oh! Okay, baby – we'll turn up the heat a little." Rina obligingly did so, taking several careful aiming swipes before setting herself into another pattern. Now, the fall was more of a tender slapping that lightly tapped the skin instead of sliding over it.

  It's very hard, Joyce thought bitterly, to have a top who's a bigger wus than you are. She set herself against the easy to undo bondage and tried to enjoy the sensations while fighting back the wave of guilt that swept right alongside them.

  * * * *

  Back when the flavor of the day was vanilla, they never had this problem. They made love the way they felt best, wrestling playfully on Rina's big platform bed, swapping kisses on a lazy afternoon on the couch, grinding against each other on a crowded dance floor. They were pretty creative for a couple who did not own the Joy of Lesbian Sex, or even subscribe to On Our Backs, and their years together served to mellow them into a steady fondness for each other instead of sending them headlong into a case of lesbian bed death.

  And then, Rina went to an SM workshop at Michigan – just out of curiosity, she said – and came back with a glint in her eye and a strip torn off her t-shirt. That night, she blindfolded Joyce and laid her down under the moonlight and whispered outrageous, dangerous, monstrous – and sinfully wonderful things to her. And made love to her, like that, naked on the grass, forceful and tender all at once.

  It was love at first surrender for Joyce. Being held down and whispered to, being stroked but forbidden to come, having her lover close but being denied the right to touch her – it made her feel like she'd just discovered sex for the first time. She had moaned out loud, and made fists and pounded them against the ground, and every touch granted her was electrically charged. By the time Rina sat astride her, cunt to cunt, she was like an animal, dumb with passion and greed, with nothing but a primal hunger that made her buck and writhe until the two of them were covered with scents and tastes from both of their bodies. Until they both collapsed onto the ground, panting and sighing and holding each other until the hammering of their hearts settled.

  And then, Rina started to buy the books.

  Because unlike the sex they had worked out between them, this was now S&M – a complex style of interaction which had rules and regulations that must be followed, instructions to learn, codes to decipher. Together, they pored over the sexuality shelf at the local queer bookstore, and Rina selected one title after another for her newfound interest. And Joyce was in heaven – surely, this would open the door to a whole new way of having sex – and a very exciting one at that!

  But as Rina studied, the actual practice became – different.

  * * * *

  "We didn't negotiate that night," she said. "That was my fault, I didn't know enough. From now on, we have to be sure you want me to top you, and I need to know what
you might like to do. Here, fill out these forms, that should be fun."

  Fun was an odd word for filling out forms. But if Rina needed them, Joyce was willing to put her time in. She studied the long list of potential activities with curiosity, and noticed that several of their favorite activities seemed to be missing, so she added them at the bottom. Then, she went through the list, checking off things that turned her on, things that sounded strange, things that were out of the question. When she turned the sheets in, she grinned and winked suggestively, hoping that Rina would be up to trying some new stuff out that night. But instead, they had a discussion.

  "When you say that you're not into humiliation but you do like dirty talk, does that mean we can use words like fuck and cunt, but you don't want to be called a cunt?" Rina asked, sliding her glasses up her nose. "I don't want to hurt your feelings, you know, I want you to enjoy this."

  "Jeeze, Rina, I don't know! I mean, calling me a cunt might be okay, I guess, as long as you weren't pissed at me. It's just playing – call me whatever you want to!" Joyce grabbed the latest book and examined the pages suspiciously. "It's just a word."

  "Yeah, but people can be funny about words," Rina said strongly, taking the book back. "I just want to be safe. And you want to be safe, too, don't you?"

  "Yeah," Joyce sighed. "Okay, Rina, you're the boss."

  "Well actually," Rina said eagerly, swelling with newfound knowledge, "you're the boss. I'm not going to do anything to you that you don't want."

  "Okay! Let's screw. Right now."

  Rina grinned and tossed the book over the side of the bed. "Okay!" she giggled, hitting the light. And so they did – screw, that is. No one on top, and no dirty words either. It was very, very safe.

  * * * *

  From there, things got even more complicated. Apparently, they couldn't just do this stuff; they had to connect with other women who did it too. And that was okay, at least it put them in contact with people who had made some pretty nifty toys, some of which found their way into the top dresser drawer nearest to the bed. The first item was a comfortable blindfold – the next was a pair of expensive but comfortable wrist cuffs, all in black leather. And the third was the whip.

  It was made of nylon, lavender nylon, looped and fixed into a short rubber handle. Joyce privately thought it looked like a threadbare pom-pom, but she rarely got to see it anyway, so that didn't matter. What mattered was the way Rina was so painfully careful never to actually hurt Joyce with the dreadful little thing – which meant that Joyce tended to get bored real fast.

  Discussions rarely served to do anything more than get Rina to be just a teensy bit more rough from session to session, after which she'd fall back to her softer, safer practices with relief. Joyce actually found herself watching two other women playing at a party and thinking about approaching the top. The pain of that internal wandering made her stick to Rina like glue for several days, but that was only a temporary measure. She had to do something – and soon. But she had no idea what. Please, she begged inwardly – harder, harder! Dammit, scare me, hurt me, I can take it! Make me cry, make me choke; make me beg you to stop and then keep going! What do I have to do to bring out the serious player in you??

  * * * *

  Rina helped lift Joyce's arms up so that the cuffs and attached chains fell from the hooks they had driven into the bedroom doorway. Joyce really didn't need the help; she had practically fallen out of the cuffs on several occasions. It was a safety thing – the bottom had to be able to free herself in case the top suffered an instantly fatal heart attack. There had even been a book about such an occurrence.

  Rina was humming as she put toys away. Joyce reached for the cuffs blind; she knew the buckles well enough to free them without taking the blindfold off. It was a little game she played with herself, keeping herself in the dark as long as possible, pretending she was a prisoner, a slave, a captive, anything but the lover who was supposed to turn around with a grin and kiss her beaming top and skip off to the kitchen for a snack – Damn!

  Her fingers slipped, and the inside of her hand scraped against the edge of the buckle. She felt the sharp pain, and then a spreading warmth, and knew that she'd cut herself. "Shit!" she said out loud, raising her hand to her mouth. She was about to push the blindfold up, when Rina's touch on her shoulder made her jump.

  Rina's fingers were very cold.

  "What are you doing?" Rina whispered. Her voice was low, almost as though she was trying to make it sound mysterious. Joyce smiled and raised her wounded hand.

  "Look what I did," she said, waving it. "Better check the book!"

  There was silence for a moment, and Joyce wondered if Rina was shocked by the sight of blood. She brought her hand down again, reaching for the blindfold, and Rina caught it, held it in one tight fist.

  "Yesss," Rina said, another harsh whisper. "I see what you have done. How evil of you to shed your own blood – blood that belongs to me."

  Joyce stiffened and shivered. Rina's fingers were cold and hard against her wrist, and her mouth was hot behind her throat. How scary it seemed! She could feel the thundering of her heart, and listen to the way her own breath had become so shallow!

  She's trying to scare me, Joyce thought with another shiver. How wonderful!

  "Yes," she quickly said, falling into role. "Yes, I was bad."

  "You will atone for this."

  "Yes!" Joyce hung her head in mock shame.

  "Yes, My Lady." The words came out flat, as though Rina was trying them out, and before Joyce could eagerly echo them, she felt a heavy blow against her back that sent her crashing into the doorjamb. She stumbled over the tangle of chains on the floor and landed hard on her knees, slightly dazed by both the force and the attack itself. That was certainly no technique recommended in a book!

  "What–" she managed to get out before there was a tight fist in her hair.

  "You will address me as My Lady, you slattern. Come and present your worthless body to me."

  Joyce felt the pressure drag her away from the frame, and she cried out in pain as she was dragged into the bedroom. She tried to disengage the hand in her hair, but Rina's grip was like a steel bar, and every twisted movement caused streaks of stiletto sharp pain through her scalp. She was released, no, thrown forward, into the open space before the bed, and in an instant, Rina's hands had gripped hers again, and were busy affixing the cuffs together. They had never done that before – it would be too difficult for Joyce to free herself that way.

  Deep inside her, Joyce felt a stab of powerful, indescribable, twisted pleasure. She wanted to scream, wanted to beg, wanted to shout out what the fuck are you doing? But she also knew that in the minute since she had cut her hand, she had gotten more wet and more painfully aroused than during the entire hour long beating and teasing Rina had bothered to do.

  Better she should have started here, Joyce thought wickedly. But no – she meant this as a surprise! She moaned out loud.

  "Slut." The word came out like a caress, but there was nothing soft behind it. Rina's fingers roughly pushed Joyce's legs apart, and thrust sharply into the cleft between them. The chuckle that escaped her lips was like nothing Joyce had ever heard from her gentle lover before. It was mockingly cruel.

  "What a whore, to beg for pain, to beg for degradation," Rina's strange, new whisper continued. "Did you not think I would hear you? Did you not think someone would hear your pathetic pleas for suffering?"

  "I'm sorry," Joyce gasped, unable to think of what else to say.

  The fingers within her withdrew, and turned, and grasped the tender flesh of her labia and pulled, harshly. Joyce gasped in a new breath and made a whining sound that she could scarcely believe came from her throat.

  "You are a sorry thing indeed," Rina hissed. "To forget how to address the one who came at your call."

  Oh, Jesus, right, Joyce thought. "My Lady!" she quickly amended. "I'm sorry, My Lady!"

  "No, I think not. Not yet, as I breathe. But you shall be.
"

  As the voice rose away from her, Joyce took another deep breath and ground her hips into the carpet. Damn, but Rina was good! And I like the style of language, too, she thought contentedly. All formal and everything. God, this is hot – I wonder why she waited so long...

  And then, her thighs seemed to be splashed with a burning acid!

  "Jesus Christ!" she screamed.

  Rina's answer was a dry chuckle. "You do yourself no good to call upon a power to rival me, sorry creature. You only prolong your chastisement – and my entertainment. Pray, continue. Amuse me in your suffering, and I shall be merciful."

  There was warning this time – something cool and snaky lay across Joyce's thighs and then rose away. When it came down again, it was that same sensation of being hit with a line of burning pain – a cutting, sizzling, sharp pain that drove sounds that had to be screams from Joyce's throat.

  Steadily, these lines of agony worked their way up her body, covering the backs of her thighs and then finally landing on her ass. And staying there, over and over, until she was rocking on her belly, squirming, pulling her legs up, trying desperately to get away.

  Safeword, she thought. I have a safe word. It's – red! No, yellow! She screamed again, and twisted as the weapon hit her high on one hip, and felt Rina kick her, sharply, rolling her over onto her back.

  "Since you seem to wish it," Rina whispered. And chuckled again. Joyce panted, and worked her mouth to try to breathe normally, but the breath was knocked from her lungs by one of those awful strikes, right across her abdomen. And across her rib cage...and up, up...

  The first one to cross her breasts didn't even get a scream. It drove Joyce into a silent mania, where not only did she lack the breath to react, but the shock shook her directly into panic. She tore at her cuffs – why the hell did she think they were easy to release? She threw her body to the side, squirming, crawling, anything to get away from that terrible pain!

  And then Rina was on top of her, laughing, pinning her down. "You are mine," she snapped, and the sound of her voice was raw and triumphant. "You try to get away, but I know you too well, dear slut. Shall I show you?"