Crimson, Volume 1

by Sax Alexander

  The hunt is an art. It is a dance. It is an invitation and a query in the darkness—an unexpected turn in each other’s arms. It is pleasure and pain—semen and blood. For tonight, this boy was my beloved. I would cherish him, adore him, worship him in the darkness. I would give him all manner of delight before the hunt came to an end.

  We lay there together for almost an hour—I think my beautiful creature dozed off in my arms, though I caressed his lovely erection even so, whispering pleasant things in his ear, wishing him wonderful dreams as his gorgeous eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. I inhaled the scent of his skin again, fresh soap now replaced by the sweet aroma of the grass we lay in and the tangy perfume of pheromones along his neck, behind his ear. Occasionally, I would quicken the rhythm of my fingers along his sex, making him squirm pleasantly and murmur back, grinning at me through half-lidded eyes.

  “Miamor,” I muttered gently. “Indulge me again, I beg you.”

  My hand slipped down to his buttock. I caressed it, squeezing softly as I nibbled the lobe of his ear. My burgeoning phallus prodded his flesh curiously, testing his response. He was evidently not opposed.

  My darling murmured sweetly to me, pressing his tender hindquarters closer. My eager member rubbed happily in the warmth of his slim cleavage, gently exploring as I moved my lips over his neck, in his hair, along his shoulder.

  “Would you like me inside of you?” I whispered, barely audible, grazing the soft curve of his pinna with my fangs. “Tegustaria me dentro de ti?”

  “Si,” he moaned softly. It was the last word I would ever hear him speak.

  I buried my face against his throat, kissing along the line of his jugular. His body was fiercely resistant to mine as I guided myself to his entrance: virgin, unbroken, beautifully tight. It would be very painful for him, to have my urgent beast invade him too quickly.

  I spat upon my own fingers, a generous dollop of saliva, and gently massaged his timid entrance. I kneaded him in soft, careful circles, wetting his flesh and slicking it with my own juices, readying him for me. At the same time, I ran my fangs along his jugular—one bite, and the inhuman venom of my kind would transport him to a place of blissful numbness. He would not feel but an instant of pain. He would know only the pleasure I wanted him to know.

  I sunk my fangs in and heard him gasp in quick surprise. His body went rigid, and then relaxed. I reached down, taking his beautiful member in my hand again, stroking it as I suckled gently at his throat. His blood was the sweetest I had known in many years. The hint of the liquor, the aromas of his arousal...it was ambrosia to me, perfectly tempered.

  With my free hand, I guided his top leg up, spreading his thighs, opening him for me. I once again guided the head of my questing phallus to his entrance, stroking myself with eager preparation, feeling his little hole tighten with expectant, and frightened hope.

  I moaned, my mouth around the wound on his neck. Slowly, achingly, I slid myself inside of his warm, virgin flesh.

  “Ah,” he stammered softly. It was a nervous sound, a shy sound. It hurt him a little—I had known it would. I closed my eyes and let him adjust to the feel of my shaft within him, suckling at his neck soothingly. The saliva in my mouth slowed the flow of his blood. It would close the wound entirely if I kept my lips there, and I did. The pleasure would remain. The same was true above as it was down below.

  After long, patient moments, I began to rock him back and forth on the rod of my phallus. As I suspected, the pain of penetration was quickly forgotten, helped along by the venom now lacing his blood, anesthetizing him to further hurt. He moaned quietly as I worked my flesh in his body, as I stroked his vigorously rigid member in my hand, kissing his throat, laving at the wound I’d left. He did not even know he had bled. Perfect pleasure. Perfect love.

  “Oh, mi amor,” I purred in his ear. Each sure stroke filled me with beautiful ecstasy. His muscles, tight around me, gripping my shaft with eager greed—I loved it. I was in bliss—this was as close to paradise as one of my kind was allowed to be.

  His phallus gave a little eager jump in my hand. I slid my other palm down his thigh to caress his pretty little testes again. I could already feel my second orgasm, promising, imminent, as I pumped my body against his, sliding in and out of his beautiful hole.

  He moaned again beneath me, and I slipped out of his body for just an instant. A small sound of despair escaped him, and he made as though to get up, to search for me, to invite me back in, but I stopped him. Putting a finger across his lip, I guided his leg over, rolling him onto his back, spreading his legs to kneel between them. I slid my hands under his buttocks and lifted them slightly. I repeated my earlier preparation, spitting on my fingers and strumming them vigorously against his opening. My member was throbbing to be back in him, and as I opened up my own thighs, leaning forward to slide back in, a fresh wave of bliss rushed through both of us.

  The change was a surprise to him. He looked up at me, stunned and flushed with pleasure, as I thrust myself more vigorously into him. With one hand I pulled his hips closer against my loins, plumbing farther into his depths with a moan. With the other, I eagerly took his phallus and began to pump it in my palm, matching the rhythms, giving him a dual pleasure as I caressed him, rode him, delighted in him.

  So beautiful, his tight little behind—so warm and firm around me as I explored him deeper. He lifted his legs, resting them on my shoulders. I took the opportunity to lift him closer again, so that my whole length was sheathed inside of him, the flesh of my testes pressing up to the pale, smooth skin of his hindquarters.

  “Oh, mi amor,” I moaned.

  I was close. I wondered if he could feel it building, as I did. I wondered if he was as keenly aware of the scents, the glorious aroma of his musk, the beautiful taste of his sweat and the semen dewing at the crown of his perfect penis in my hand. I quickened my pace, so eager to spill myself inside of him, to fill him with me.

  He gave a short, strangled little cry of joy—just as I felt my own orgasm shudder through me, the elated bursts of my seed spurting deep into his nether, his own sex jumped again in my hand, spraying white, thick semen over his own belly in quick, blissful streams. I buried myself inside of him, depositing my fluids as deep as I could manage, filling him with my ecstasy as his muscles tightened around my throbbing sex.

  He had a wonderful surprise for me as I finally, slowly slid out of his sore, reddened entrance. One final tremble and he was climaxing again, shooting his seed into the sky like a little fountain. Charmed, I grinned. I slid myself close and covered him with my mouth, and I let him pour it into me, happily swallowing. His hands ran lovingly through my hair.

  Beautiful. He was so beautiful. So perfect.

  When his last climax was done, I kissed his now softening member with sweet affection—it had brought me so much pleasure this night, made me so very pleased. He heaved in the grass, breathing heavily, astonished by all that we had shared.

  Without a word, I ran my tongue along the flesh of his inner thighs, up his hips, over his belly. I licked up the evidence of his unrestrained orgasm, savoring the taste of his flesh and his fluids, sweat, seed, sex. I gazed up at him, so content, so thankful. He returned my gaze, astonished and flushed with our passion, awakened by the sinful and wonderful intimacies we had shared.

  I returned to my place beside him, holding him once more, kissing him tenderly. He tasted so wonderful, all of him.

  This is the hunt for one like me. This is the joy and the passion of our predatory patterns, the beauty of our kills.

  My beloved was drunk on the many pleasures I had revealed to him. He knew no pain, because of my saliva running through his blood. He knew no fear, because of the loving, adoring affection I had lavished upon him. He was in a place of blissful, mellow happiness. He would die at the height of sweetness and pleasure. It was all beautiful, and perfect...it was art.

  My art.

  I stroked his soft, gorgeous hair, kissing him on the brow almost chast
ely. I held him against my body, warm now—we are always somehow warm when passion ignites within us, despite our lack of hearts—and whispered gently, soothingly, in his ear. He returned my kisses, he touched my face, my hair, my shoulders and chest with youthful, inquisitive curiosity, wanting to know more through touch. If we’d had the leisure, perhaps there would be years for us to explore, to come to know each other, to become experts in each other’s passions. I would take him to travel the world, to see the wonders and glories of the East, the marvelous ferocity of the South, the mysteries of the North.

  But alas...for tonight, he has been my beloved. When the sun rose again, I would find myself elsewhere.

  And he would be dead.

  ***

  When I thought he dozed again I slowly slid out of my handsome lover’s arms, once again kissing a line across his chest, to his stomach, to his hips, to his groin. His sex was soft now, well worn out, tired, and content—but even as I kissed it now, it stirred underneath my lips, excited by my nearness. I smiled and indulged it, giving the semi-stiffening head a quick, flirting suck, before sinking my lips down to his thighs.

  His musk was strong and amazingly vibrant. It filled my head with happiness as I kissed the lean muscles running from his groin down to his knee. My sweet darling stirred, murmuring once. I ran my hand lovingly down his leg as my lips searched for the flutter of the femoral artery, pulsing just beneath the skin.

  “Duermebien, mi querida,” I murmured against his flesh. Sleep well, my darling.

  “Dulcessueños, parasiempre.”

  With loving gentleness, I bit down on the flesh of his thigh, piercing the vein deeply. His blood filled my mouth—he murmured, stirred, but did not wake. I drank leisurely, taking my time, relishing the perfect taste of his life.

  Finally, he let out a last, quiet sigh—and my beloved was still.

  I sat up, leaned over him, and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead.

  “Sweet dreams,” I said. “Forever.”

  Sax Alexander

  Sax Alexander’s early goal was to become the Royal Historian of Oz. Always seeking doors to other lands, Sax decided to bring her own worlds to life with the help of her faithful laptop and her bosom companion and demanding taskmaster, Darth Muse.

  Sax creates in all genres because life is more fun that way. A storyteller with a heart of gold, Sax explores diverse corners of the universe with equal passion and excitement, and spins her discoveries into happily ever afters with an edge. The voices in her head keep her on her toes, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Leona Bushman

  Leona Bushman lives in Eastern Washington with her husband and children. In between her family obligations and fun, she enjoys writing, painting, gardening, running, camping, or just reading or crafting. She also loves to swim but rarely gets a chance to as she’s busy chasing after the three of five children still left at home. Sassy and saucy, she can be found writing about her trials and errors as a mom and writer at the following places:

  Blog: http://lbushman.blogspot.com

  The website: http://www.leonajbushman.com

  And don’t forget Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLeonaBushman

  Books currently out with Breathless Press:

  The Ulfric’s Mate http://www.breathlesspress.com/ulfrics-mate Book 1 in The War of the Weres series

  Ravaged anthology http://www.breathlesspress.com/ravaged introduces the werebears and couple new characters to The War of the Weres series

  Rick Sexed Up the Doc (Naughty Nursery Rhyme) http://www.breathlesspress.com/index.php?main_page=product_free_shipping_info&cPath=12&products_id=394

  The Captain’s Christmas http://www.breathlesspress.com/index.php?main_page=product_free_shipping_info&cPath=10&products_id=404

  Books on the way: Over a Dead Body in Serviced anthology, and Daryn’s Slayer in Crimson anthology

  If you want more of her, she’s found on twitter as often as not at @L_Bushman just follow and don’t be a spammer. She follows back if you look like a real person. Besides werewolves, she also likes zombies, vampires, dragons, and fairies. You’re likely to catch her attention if you talk to her about any of the above. Or sports. She loves sports but rarely gets a chance to indulge that love. So speak up! Disclaimer: Watch out, she bites!

  Amanda R. Browning

  Amanda R. Browning lives in southern Indiana with her husband and three children. She has been an avid fan of all things paranormal her entire life. After being a dedicated reader since childhood, she started writing when she ran out of books to read and her brother challenged her with, “So write something.”

  Amanda does intense research for everything she writes, hoping to lend a sense of reality to the worlds she crafts from imagination. She is a big fan of history and tries to find a piece of real history to explain with the paranormal. She writes all types of paranormal fiction, from horror to romance to erotica.

  Amanda is the author of The Immortal Choice Series, and is currently writing the sequel to Birth of the Nyxian, as well as several short stories. When she isn’t glued to the computer writing, she can be found with her children exploring the woods near her house for the hidden fairy portal, or playing zombie tag.

  http://www.facebook.com/TheImmortalChoiceSeries

  http://www.facebook.com/AmandaRBrowningAuthor

  www.TheImmortalChoiceSeries.weebly.com

  Email: theimmortalchoiceseries@yahoo.com

  Twitter: @ImmortalChoice

  Phong Chau

  Phong Chau has changed exponentially since birth. Apart from obviously having become a master plagiarizer and a tosser of cheese, he is now boasting a complexion free of placenta and a grip almost completely void of webbing. He still dreams of things he can’t remember and strongly believes this is the base for his better writing—forgetfulness, that is, and feels confident his work will become better with age and the decay of his memory. Please support him now while he still recognizes the nature of a QWERTY board.

  Louise Hooker

  Louise Hooker is a graduate of the University of North Alabama, with her degree in English. She has had her work appear, under her real name, in the University of North Alabama’s literary magazine, the volume two number three issue of Emerald Tales Magazine, Wicked Bag of Horror Tales anthology, an anthology entitled Silver Moon, Bloody Bullets: An Anthology of Werewolf Tails, and many other anthologies. As Louise Hooker, she has had her work appear in Curvy Girls edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. When she’s not writing, she’s…well, actually, she’s always writing.

  Persephone Jones

  Persephone Jones is the pen name for a writer living in the piney woods of east Texas with her computer geek husband, two dogs and one cat. The only child of divorced parents, she learned early on to entertain herself by inventing imaginary worlds where the dragons are tame and the damsels don’t stress. She spends most of her time reading, writing, and listening to those pesky muses. Apparently they like horror movies, eighties music, and cheese chimichangas. Unfortunately, muses don’t do housework. But always just in the nick of time they swoop in and rescue her with a hunky hero, a smart ass heroine and a happy ending.

  DC Juris

  A Southern transplant who has retained none of his accent but all of his charm, DC Juris is an out and proud transgender bisexual living in Upstate New York with his husband, four dogs, three cats, and a menagerie of Halloween props just creepy enough to keep people guessing about his sanity. He’s still hopelessly single when it comes to the woman in his life, and he’ll gladly entertain offers or applications for the position! In the rare event that he’s not writing, DC can be found surfing the internet for random research, killing things on his Xbox, reading, taking pictures of the world around him, or playing Farmville, to which he admits a complete and totally blissful addiction. You can keep up with him at http://www.facebook.com/dcjuris or http://www.dcjuris.com.

  Brantwijn Serrah

  Brantwijn Serrah is an author of paranormal and sup
ernatural fiction, both erotic and non-erotic. Her short stories have included glimpses into a range of lifestyles and viewpoints in the erotic realms, including monogamous kink, sexy single life, slaves and masters, polyamorous, and anthropomorphic lovers. Though most of her stories feature women, she enjoys writing from a male character’s point of view as well for a change of pace and a fresh perspective. Almost everything she writes takes a strong influence from music; particularly dance, opera, and symphonic metal. When she is not writing, she enjoys drawing and painting, and is an avid fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Dr. Who, and Rin: Daughters of Mnenosyne.

  L.B. Shire

  L.B. Shire has been writing stories for as long as she can remember. A lover of most all genres, her favorites include: Western Romance, YA, Paranormal and Shifter stories, to name a few!

  When not writing or researching, L.B. enjoys spending time with family, riding one of her horses, and, of course, reading anything that is set before her! She currently resides on the West Coast in a sleepy little mountain town. There, in the midst of all that beauty, she plans her characters’ next adventures.

  For more information on L.B. Shire, please visit her blog @ LBShire.com or visit her Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/authorlbshire.