Crimson, Volume 1

by Sax Alexander

  He looked like she remembered. A laughable archetype, but like the archetype he was irresistible. Suddenly she couldn’t imagine receiving whatever it was she wanted from him — physicality or absolution — and grasped in the drowning clear parts of her mind for strategies of escape, denial. Red eyes like no man had dispelled the attempt at retreat, and she fell against him. He caught her between his night shirt and his moon face. She moved her fingers lividly to climb up the bumps of his torso underneath the black fabric. Everything she felt was against her will; the longing, the urge, the thirst to be dry from her wretched life. She needed a buoy before her last flakes of self were drowned by the madness of Okin’s gravity.

  “Embrell.” she said, even as she pushed the cloth off Okin’s body. When he laughed she could feel his long muscles tense. The sound was guttural and short. Bitter? Her hands continued to unmake his clothing.

  “Yes, he confessed. It is quite rare that we share prey. He is usually a perfect servant and server.” With that, he kissed her. It tasted like new oxygen. She felt rescued and kissed him back hard with gratitude and love. Somewhere she knew it was his spell, reentering her system, bringing what bliss he allowed, but she didn’t care. “Somehow it makes you worthwhile, Elise Solyana.”

  Then kiss me again, she thought. And he did, deep enough that she would feel his fangs. The promise of him drinking her made her boil suddenly, nails lancing into his back with no hope to break the immortal skin she’d freed from his shirt.

  He tossed her on the floor again without so much as an ounce of romance. The sound of her skull against the carpet attested to it. She could hear the jingle of his belt as she slithered out of her dress and threw it somewhere to the side angrily. She breathed powerfully as a suit of sweat dotted her body when she looked up to see him uncovered, unsheathed. Surely she had seen larger, more menacing things in her life, but nothing could be drawn from memory. She felt afraid and hungry for it. When he fell between her legs she felt like the most honored woman in the world. A prince he was. It made her wonder how much of this inner storm was the cause of her own heart and how much was from his magic. He parted her legs as he bent over her, hands by her shoulders. His knees connected to the inside of hers as he spread her. Elise thought suddenly of means of concealment to sooth the rush of nervous songs in her belly.

  “Here,” he said, and it sounded so beautifully smug that she wanted to cackle. When the head of his member touched the carnation of her entrance she sucked in a breath. The plump part divided her mercilessly, quieted the symphony within to make way for real pressure. Her hands wove inside his arms and up the back of his shoulders. The hold didn’t slow him down. Her cunt accepted him without her agreement, greedily swallowing the monstrous thing, filling first the corridor of that treacherously honest path, to then press against the opening of her womb. He was everything she could feel.

  Some of her self-preservation surfaced under his destructive lust. It had her let go of him with one hand and reach down between them to try and halt his sex by squeezing its base. He smiled proudly when he could reach to knock on her inside ceiling even with her holding him. Her eyes went wide as she found herself inhaling when he pulled back, as if she wanted to fill the space he left with breath. On his way back in, perfectly executed with the craning and straightening of his own spine, halting his girth was useless, slathered as he had become by her juices.

  “Too much—” she tried to say, but he pushed again to silence her. She still held on, mouth agape. It didn’t stop this but it kept the last, doubtlessly devastating, part of his length out. Painful lightning edged by unwelcome pleasure made itself a home in her center. Hand clutching the base of his member still, she was awed by the effect he had as he obviously searched for an even pace with which to enjoy her. Her body accommodated him despite her protests, and soon she was groaning with his lovely onslaught. She squeezed harder with her fingers to slow him when he raised the velocity, but it could only add to his pleasure and pride as her moistness let him slip unhindered in her grip. The sounds were loud and wet, reverberating in the space between them before his deep plunges. Despite all her efforts in the fleeing parts of her psyche that weren’t raging with delight, she started to become urgent. Something dangerous glittered in his eyes but there was no time to guess about it when she gave herself to the overtaking orgasm.

  Just as she was about to be at the highest rapture, new grounds to her, he bit into her. The pain existed for the smallest possible time, sharpening her nerves to feel the rush deeper, before he started to free her from what she’d come here to be rid off. Elise couldn’t fight to keep herself then, only be tossed into a bare burst, where the pillaging force of her pleasure was left without opposition, somehow because of his drinking. Her humanity was taken so it couldn’t be in the way of the euphoric storm he made.

  It was truly too much to survive and there was no choice but to live through it. When she woke, or could focus again, her back was still balled to press both her neck and cunt to his attention. The cold of her body with dull but ever clearer tingles soon told her she lacked the strength to hold on. Collected as he always seemed, Okin let some fluent fire loose in her, flooding, splashing against her cervix before it occupied so much of her it had to spill out. She’d become a compliment to him where she lay. When she was relaxed underneath him he took his fangs and body from her to leave her stomach and her hand empty. What would have happened if her fingers hadn’t been between them?

  Elise tried to speak, but found she was too deep in the fog still. He kissed her on the mess of hair over her forehead. It didn’t feel patronizing this time. Her hand still grasped in the nothing around her cum leaking, inflamed collection of folded flesh, trying to find his dick when he said

  “Yes. Worthwhile, somehow.”

  The million things she wanted to say in protest fought to reach her lips or reflect in her half-mast eyes. She didn’t come back from that until she discovered he carried her, doubtlessly leaving a trail of his essence after them. Elise wanted to be stronger than leaning into his neck, so she stared up at him as the ceiling passed by above.

  “I’m free now, aren’t I? You took my blood and now the spell’s broken.” She had to make sure. He nodded without looking at her.

  Elise reached up boldly, lethargic, with the hand that had tried to protect her before, to trace his lips for saliva and blood. Such a perfect breed of creature, she thought as she brought the finger back and sucked on it, tasting their sexes and his kiss, completing the cycle of his spell.

  Monster Bash

  by

  Louise Hooker

  Marilyn was sure that Mr. Sexy—which was what she called Lucas Noonan in her head before she knew his real name—was never going to ask her out. In fact, there had been a few weeks there where she found herself questioning if he played for the other team, so to speak. He had started hanging around with one Matt Marcus as if he was guiding him—or dating him—as she feared. Of course, even if Lucas liked his partners a bit more hot dog than bun, it would not stop Marilyn from daydreaming about what could have been. She was pretty sure it was the only way she managed to stay awake during the Literary to Film Adaptation night class in which she had met Lucas and Matt.

  The three were English students at the town’s local university, and although they all felt very passionately about their chosen field... some nights were just not made for discussing why the director felt the need to leave out a particular line from a piece of literature. Those were the nights when her daydreams involving Lucas—were they still daydreams if they occurred after nightfall?—were particularly naughty.

  She had resigned herself, two months into her fall semester, to never being noticed by the tall, blond-haired man with the striking blue eyes. No matter how she playfully twirled a lock of her bright red hair around her finger. No matter how often she laughed at his jokes. But, as her friends had constantly said throughout October, the Halloween month was one for magic and mysterious happenings. He woul
d ask, they said. He would ask. She had rolled her eyes.

  And then he asked. Two days before Halloween, Lucas had sidled up next to her desk as she desperately tried to shove her oversized binder into an undersized tote. The class had been dismissed, and although there was a crowd around the two of them, no one took any notice of Lucas lightly tapping her arm to get her attention.

  She had whirled about, and her tote had flipped out of her hand, spilling onto the floor. She felt stupid, and Lucas chuckled, kneeling down.

  “Need a hand?” he asked, gathering the loose papers and pens so fast Marilyn had barely had time to blink.

  “T-thanks.” She blushed, cursing herself for it.

  She shoved her binder down as hard as possible, making damned sure it was not going anywhere, before she turned her attention back to the impossibly good-looking man. Blinking and peering around him, she cocked her head up in curiosity. “Where’s Matt?”

  She was fishing. Was Lucas gay? What was this little tap on the arm leading to? But Matt, after spending so much time almost surgically attached to Lucas’s hip, was suddenly nowhere to be seen.

  Lucas grinned, shrugging.”Around. Actually, I was kind of hoping to be able to talk just to you. Have you heard of that club downtown, Red Sin?”

  She nodded, but he had handed her a flyer printed on red paper before she could make a vocal reply to go along with the motion. She frowned down at her large, fluffy pink sweater and 1980s-style torn jeans. She suddenly understood the flyer. Here she was, a college student in the new millennium, and she looked like a reject from an old teen rebel film. Of course he thought she needed the flyer.

  “Yeah,” she said, a little defensively. “I’ve heard of it.”

  “Well, they’re having their annual Halloween party, Monster Bash, and I was wondering if you’d like to come along as my date.”

  She was in shock. “But... I heard this was the most popular club in town. How do you know we’ll get in?”

  With a grin of pearly whites, he flashed two tickets up at her.

  She grinned in return.”Yeah... yeah, I’d love to come with you.”

  “Great. Oh... and it’s a costumed affair, of course. But it gets kind of hot in there, so try not to go as anything too bulky.”

  Dumbfounded, and feeling just plain dumb in her obviously bulky sweater, she nodded. He muttered some general pleasantry about seeing her there, and mentioned almost in passing to be outside the club by nine at night on Halloween, before he slinked his way from the nearly empty classroom. She sat there a moment longer, in utter shock and joy, before her teacher reminded her that he had a life too. Muttering an apology, she darted out of the room, making a beeline for her dorm.

  ***

  “Are you freakin’ kidding me, Mari? There is nothing, absolutely nothing sexy about a medieval woman costume,” Marilyn’s roommate Sheryl said from her perch on her side of the dorm room.

  It was the night of the Monster Bash, and Marilyn had had to take a small dose of sleeping pills the night before to get the necessary rest for the night to come. But now her newest friend—and roommate by pure chance—shook her head in disappointment. It was easy for her to disapprove. Sheryl was a beauty queen... literally. In her entire life, Marilyn’s big-bosomed, blonde-haired roomie had entered a total of thirty-five different beauty pageants. And she had won them all.

  “But it drops low, and it’s cut above the knee,” Marilyn argued.

  Sheryl gave an exaggerated groan, falling back into her pillows. Finally, she leapt from her bed. She grabbed the blue-and-gold faux-velvet dress and lobbed it with more force than necessary back into Marilyn’s closet.

  “My dear, dear... sexually confused friend. It’s a good thing you and I are about the same size, because, honey, if you wanna get laid, than you’ve got to show off some goods. And I have just the costume.”

  Marilyn’s brow furrowed. “But you’re a size smaller than me.”

  Sheryl grinned mischievously. “Good, than it’ll be tighter on you.”

  She tore through the closet, flinging dress after blouse after skirt over her head until, finally, she pulled out a skintight, red silk slip dress. Hanging from a small bag around the wire hanger was a pair of glittery devil’s horns, tail, and miniature pitchfork.

  Marilyn shook her head. “Oh, no... I make it a policy not to mess with certain stuff... devil costumes fall under certain stuff.”

  Sheryl rolled her eyes at her friend. She gave Marilyn a quick look up and down. The beauty queen reached out, and plucked the towel from her friend’s body.

  “Hey!” Marilyn shouted, trying to conceal her very pink, very naked flesh.

  “Like I haven’t seen it before,” Sheryl said, forcing the devil costume into Marilyn’s arms. “Put this on, or you go as Eve. And I mean sans faux naked suit and fig leaf.”

  Marilyn had never put on an outfit so quickly in her life. She was pretty sure Sheryl meant her threat. Sucking in even the little bit of stomach she had, Marilyn still needed her roommate’s help in pulling the dress up and into place. Sheryl forced Marilyn into her desk chair. She pulled her hair into a tight, bun hairdo on the top of Marilyn’s head, holding the hair in place with a combination of hairspray, bobby pins, a decorative red clip, and the horns. One lock hung playfully in front of Marilyn’s eyes as Sheryl pulled her back to her feet and snapped on the tail before handing her the pitch fork.

  “Model it, girl. Own it!” Sheryl said, and Marilyn did a hand on cocked-hip walk up and down the short length of their room.

  Devil costume or not, it had been a long time since Marilyn had felt this sexy. Her confidence built, and Sheryl tossed her “lucky”—and she had said that with a wink—flame-red lipstick to her, with instructions to go with a neutral eye shadow. With the eye shadow applied, Sheryl finally pronounced her ready to go.

  “Ride him hard,” was the last thing Sheryl said as she shoved her roommate out the door with a wave. She had not even given Marilyn the time to put on the sparkly red, mile-high stilettos she’d loaned her. Marilyn sighed, eying the straps and the open toe. She would have to sit on the floor to get them on...and God only knew if she would be able to get back up.

  ***

  She was outside Red Sin at nine o’clock, sharp. The line was out the door, around the corner, and down at least two blocks. Marilyn stopped, a bit self-consciously, at the end of the line, peering over the innumerable amount of costumed heads. Lucas was nowhere to be seen. Sighing, and hugging her arms about herself as there was a crisp bite to the air—and Sheryl had not allowed her time to grab a jacket—she put her back to the line. Maybe Lucas was late? However, when she turned, she jumped, gasping.

  Lucas flashed a grin, looking more than a little pleased. He was dressed in his own version of a devil’s costume, a black suit with a red silk ascot tie that was fastened with a silver, decorative tie tack. His blond hair was spiked high with a pair of expensive-looking horns sitting atop his head.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologized. With his gaze roving her body, he added, “You look good.”

  She liked the way that sounded, almost like a purr. She thanked him, and returned the compliment. Then, laughing, she gestured to the line. “Looks like the tickets don’t really matter.”

  He took her hand and led her out of the line to the front of the club. He handed the bouncer their tickets, and the burly man nodded them in—much to the groans of the patrons still waiting.

  “Helps to know the owner,” he said moments before the pounding music overtook their voices.

  “Wow.” She breathed as he tugged her gently to the center of the club. Red Sin really loved its “red” theme, and probably no more so than on Halloween. Splatters of fake blood covered the walls and floor. Red silk hung in drapes from the ceiling and down the walls. Black tables with chairs just as red as the silk, blood, and the lighting surrounded a large dance floor where a mass of costumed club-goers danced with the thumping beat.

  “Would
you like a drink?” Lucas asked.

  She marveled at how his voice didn’t seem to be yelling over the noise, yet she still heard him. Before she could accept or decline, he had already led her to the bar. He sized her up a moment, and then waved down the bartender.

  “A screwdriver,” he spoke, again with no effort to raise his voice.

  She grinned as she accepted the drink. “Thank you.”

  He nodded at the section of the club separated from the rest by many heavy velvet red veils with two other bouncers in front of it.

  “Let’s sit in the VIP room,” he said.

  Marilyn had to keep her jaw from dropping. The VIP room? Just how well did Lucas know the owner of this place? But he led her right up to them, and as outside, they nodded him access. She had prepared for anything. She had expected a room full of rappers, drug users, and dealers. However, as soon as the curtain dropped, dulling the loud music, she gasped. Only Matt, leaning back on a long, wide red crushed velvet couch sat there. Lucas led her to a seat beside him before taking the seat on her other side.

  “Um, so,” she stammered, followed by knocking back the screwdriver like it was a shot rather than the mixed drink it was. “How do you know the owner?”

  She peeked into the empty glass and strongly fought the urge to hide it behind her back. After all, the last thing she needed was Lucas to think she was some sort of lush or something.

  Lucas only shrugged, motioning to Matt. “You do know Matt Marcus, right? Matt, you remember Marilyn?”

  Matt politely shook her hand as she nodded. “Yeah, from class.”

  What was Matt doing here? Had she just suddenly become a third wheel? This was nothing like she had imaged this date going. Out of nowhere, Lucas had somehow acquired another screwdriver for Marilyn, and she drank it without hesitation.

  “So...I don’t see a date for you, Matt,” she said, hating the bluntness of her words, but she had to know. What was going on? Who invited a girl out just to hang? And had she been wrong in interpreting the tone of Lucas’s words to her outside the club? She had a third screwdriver in her hand, and knocked it back before Matt could even answer.