by james
top of him, and inserted his cock into her pussy.
He shuddered from the contact. God, she was aggressive.
He grasped her hips, attempting to control her movements, but she refused
his direction. She held onto his shoulders and moved up and down at a pace that kept him hard, but brought him no closer to orgasm.
“C’mon,” he said through gritted teeth. “Move that ass.”
Her breathy moans in his ear annoyed him. She increased the pace, her knees squeaking across the cracked vinyl seat. “Squeeze my breasts,” she commanded.
“Fuck you.” But he found himself grasping her tits and squeezing them.
“Suck my nipples.”
He didn’t want to, but his mouth captured one taut peak, then the other.
“Make me come, slave.”
Todd adjusted his position and bucked beneath her, not wanting to do the movements, yet unable to stop his body from doing as she asked.
“You will learn what it means to please a woman,” she murmured. “You will do as she commands.”
She moaned low in her throat. It almost sounded like a purr. Then she threw back and her head and meowed.
Meowed?
Her strong vaginal pulsations milked his cock and he came, too, the orgasm ripping through him until he shuddered and collapsed against the booth.
“I didn’t tell Kira there was a third option.”
He looked at her, feeling dazed. “Kira? What third option?”
“Curse replacement.”
She knew how to fuck, but she was crazy.
He felt uncomfortable, hot, and dizzy. “Get off me.”
She shook a finger at him and tsked. “You will have to learn who is the slave and who the master. Let us hope it does not take you three thousand years to learn.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I’m sorry,” said Selena, patting Kira’s back. She handed her another tissue. “He was a nice guy.”
“Is. He is a nice guy. He’s just someone else’s nice guy.” Kira blew her nose. “This sucks so much. Death or sex slavery. What a choice.”
“You did the right thing.” Selena rose from the couch and retrieved a couple of Cokes from the refrigerator. “You can’t sit around all day moping. Why don’t we go out?”
“Uh…no.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
Kira took the Coke, opened the tab, and sipped it. “I’d like to be alone for awhile.” She glanced at her friend. “You got a hot date or something?”
Selena’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato. “Remember short and scruffy?”
“Yeah.”
“He really can lick my pussy standing up.”
Kira laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. And for a little guy, he has one helluva package.”
Kira laughed harder, even though her heart still hurt and the tears wouldn’t stop falling. How could someone feel joy and pain at the same time? “Go. Enjoy yourself. Check on me later, though. I might need Ben & Jerry’s and ‘While You Were Sleeping.’”
“You got it.”
After Selena left, Kira wandered around the apartment. She still wore the same robe, her hair needed a brush, and a hot bath sounded almost as good as a long nap. The nap won out. She took off the robe and climbed into bed naked,
hating that Smenkare wasn’t in it with her.
How could she love a man she’d only known a few days?
How could she mourn a life without him?
She turned to face the pillow and let the tears fall. Exhaustion poured through her and she soon relaxed enough to turn off the water works, but not her mind. With her eyes closed, she thought of him, as if she could simply imagine hard enough, it would break the curse and bring him to her.
Smenkare appeared between her legs. He was tall and well muscled with caramel skin and dark-as-sin eyes. His hair was black, soft as a raven’s wing, tied behind his neck with a leather thong. He was gloriously naked, his big cock hard and ready.
He bent close to her and whispered, “What do you wish of me?”
“Love me,” she commanded.
“I do.” His smile was sly. “Tell me what you want, my Kira.”
“I want you. Forever.”
“As you wish.”
His head dipped down and he took her mouth in a gentle caress, his breath
skirting her lips. Only when her mouth was pliant, willing, did he deepen the kiss, thrusting his tongue inside to mate with hers. His hand slipped through her hair then lowered to cup her jaw.
His lips moved down her throat, lingering at the base. He trailed a path to her breasts, raining tiny kisses over each of them, cupping them in his hands to bring them closer to his mouth. His warm lips closed over one turgid nipple, swirling around the nub, suckling it. He turned his attention to her other nipple, giving it the same torturous attention.
Tears gathered in her eyes; she choked back a sob.
Smenkare lifted his head. “What’s wrong?”
“This isn’t real.”
“Sssshhh.”
His hand coasted down her stomach and found the nest of curls at the apex
of her thighs. Before he could touch her aching clit, she sat up and pushed him onto his back. “This is my fantasy,” she said. “The only thing I have left with you.”
She got on top of him so that her pussy hovered inches above his face. His hands crept around her buttocks and brought her cunt close enough for him to lick. His tongue’s strokes were long, tortuous, perfect.
He’d taught her that fantasies were sometimes real and this, like all the other times, felt real.
She sucked the tip of his cock, running her tongue over the slit, then around the edge, before taking it all into her mouth. His penis was long, not too thick, with a beautiful round head. It felt so warm and hard.
So real.
Tears fell again.
“Stop. Just stop.”
She rolled off him and lay on her side. “It’s too painful to remember. To
imagine.”
Smenkare kissed the inner dimple behind her knee and stroked her thigh. “Open your eyes, Kira.”
“No. Then you’ll be gone forever.”
“Open your eyes, my queen.”
Kira sniffled. “I like queen much better than mistress.”
He laughed and patted her ass. “Open your eyes and see me.”
Her eyes popped open. She still felt his hand on her butt, the wet heat of his kiss on the sensitive flesh behind her knee. She took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder.
Smenkare lounged on his side, as naked as the day she’d met him. “I admire your ass very much,” he said, rubbing it. “It is not too big.”
“Smenkare!”
She sat up and stared at him. “How? Who? Why!”
“You’re crushing my hand.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She lifted her butt and he moved his hand.
“You are too far away.” He tugged on her leg. “Come here.”
Kira threw herself on him and hugged him so hard he begged for breath. “Does this mean Bast gave us the rest of the month?”
“No.”
Kira felt her joy die a new death. “How long?”
“Forever.” A smile hovered on Smenkare’s lips. “If you want me for that long.”
“Yes!” She rained kisses on his face, neck, and shoulders. “But—but what about Egypt? What about… Bast said you would die if she released you from the curse.”
“I want you more than Egypt,” he said. “As for dying—I do not know. Bast released me and I came here. You are my heart, Kira.”
She stretched over him, aligning her legs to his, arms-to-arms, stomach-to-stomach, thigh-to-thigh. His cock was hard and ready and nestled between her pussy lips. “You can have all of me. Every day. As much as you like.”
He nuzzled her neck, kissing the underside of her jaw. “This is good news.”
“You are my king, Smenk
are.”
He kissed her, his lips warm and soft and real. His fingers threaded through hers and he flipped her on her side. She lifted her thigh and allowed him to enter her wet pussy with one long stroke. She put her leg over his, drawing him deeper. He stilled, releasing their joined hands.
“This feels good.” He kissed her, his tongue darting along her lips before plunging into her mouth. He twitched his cock inside her and she gasped. He released her mouth and grinned.
“This feels right,” she agreed, kissing him again and contracting her vaginal muscles around his cock.
He moaned. One of his hands went under her head to serve as a pillow and the other fluttered to her hip. His movements were slow, tantalizing. His gaze never left hers. She saw love reflected in his eyes. Pleasure. Desire.
And forever.
Just like the starless night.
Epilogue
“Is this really necessary?” asked Todd.
The short, ugly, fat she-troll nodded and bounced on top of him, her flat breasts flapping like cold pancakes against rolls of stomach fat.
His permanent hard-on offered her a target on which to sit. And sit she did.
Her jerky movements made him clench his teeth.
“Do it!”
He heard the passion in her squeaky voice, but felt none. But he’d learned
that passion or boredom, he could come anyway. Orgasms were easy. Being controlled by women was not.
This little piece of nightmare owned him for thirty days and he had to obey her every sexual whim.
He sighed. “Double-cheese hamburger with bacon.”
“Oh yeah, baby.” The woman bounced on him, her chunky thighs squeezing him.
“Lettuce. Tomatoes—”
She stopped and slapped his chest. “What are the rules?”
“No fresh veggies.”
She started moving again. “You were saying?”
“Side order of apple pie with vanilla ice cream.”
She closed her eyes and moaned, her movements smoothing out. The clutching of her vaginal muscles brought him reluctant pleasure. “French fries with extra salt. Deep-fried onions with ketchup.”
“Oh yeah. Oh yeah. More. Give me more!”
“Hot dog with chili, cheese, and mustard.” He grabbed her fleshy hips and pumped into her. “Corn dogs. Candy bars. Donuts.”
“More,” she cried. “I’m so close—”
“Ben and Jerry’s New York Super Chunk Fudge.”
She screamed and came, pulsating so hard, his cock slipped out. She wiggled down him and put her mouth on his penis, sucking it until orgasm claimed him. She swallowed his cum and licked every drop from his cock. Her beady eyes looked at him. “Tastes like…Krispy Kremes.”
The End About the author:
Michele R. Bardsley welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.
Drenched With Affection
By Chris Tanglen
INTRODUCTION
The literary world is filled with classic tales of romance, such as Romeo & Juliet, Wuthering Heights, and that novel with the guy who looked like that other guy and in the end one of them got his head chopped off so the other guy could marry some girl. These are wonderful tales that staple the spirit of romance to your heart and make the world a better place, or at least a more populated one.
Then there are other romances out there trying to mess things up for everyone else. Vile tales like She May Be Covered in Chocolate But She Ain’t No Cherry, Cupid’s Special Operation, and The Shocking Tale Of The Man Who Sucked Gophers Through a Straw (On Valentine’s Day). These wretched stories have no business calling themselves “romantic,” and should be immediately discarded by any serious reader of literature.
The story you are about to read falls somewhere in the middle.
CHAPTER ONE
Last month, Tim Neffster had spent an entire weekend painting his home, which was only one of the reasons he was so concerned to see his wife driving toward it with a bulldozer.
“Diane, stop!” Tim leaped out of his car and rushed across their front lawn, arms flapping wildly. The bulldozer plowed into the side of the house, breaking through the wall with a loud, expensive-sounding crash.
Tim hurried through the brand-new entrance as Diane pulled a lever, raising the bulldozer blade and wiping out an entire wall’s worth of horror movie posters and memorabilia.
“Diane! You’re hurting our home!”
She steered the bulldozer a bit to the left, causing more destruction to Tim’s collection. Her plaster-covered hair hung down in her face as she turned toward him and shouted something that was obviously very important, but which he
couldn’t hear over the heavy equipment.
“What?” he shouted back.
She repeated it. Though Tim could tell that his name was in there
somewhere, he couldn’t read lips well enough to make out the rest of what she was saying.
“Turn off the engine!”
“What?” Diane’s lips formed.
Tim made a key-turning gesture. “Turn off the engine!”
She did so. “I’ve had it with you, Tim! I just can’t take any more!”
“Whatever I did, I’m sorry!” Tim insisted. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise!”
Diane turned the bulldozer back on and inched it forward.
“No! Not Gill-Man!” Tim rushed past her and tried to protect his life-sized model of the Creature from the Black Lagoon, but it was crushed with as much savagery as the bug-eyed monster had shown his helpless victims.
“Diane, please!” Tim frantically scooped up an armful of horrific collectibles. “You’re wrecking all of our stuff!”
Diane shut off the engine again. “What did you say?”
“I said that you’re wrecking all of our stuff.”
“Your stuff,” Diane corrected, spitting out some debris. “Mine’s in storage.”
Tim threw himself in front of the bulldozer, although he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t do this kind of thing if the engine were still running. “I really think we should discuss this. Tell me what I did wrong.”
Diane was silent for a long moment. Then she shrieked with inhuman fury. “You didn’t notice my hair!”
Tim blinked, confused. “I beg your pardon?”
“I spent three hours in the salon yesterday and you didn’t say a thing!”
Tim tilted his head and regarded her closely. “Oh…wow, honey, it looks great. Especially the…uh…plaster highlights and…stuff…”
The bulldozer’s engine roared to life. Tim leapt out of the way, and then quickly climbed onto the machine next to Diane. She scowled at him but didn’t resist as he shut off the engine once more.
“Why are you going so berserk?” he asked in an aggrieved tone. “I never notice when you get your hair done.”
“That’s the point! For three years you never noticed anything! But you noticed this, didn’t you?”
Tim glanced around at the ruins of their home. “Yes,” he admitted somewhat woefully, “I certainly did.”
“I want a divorce, Tim. You can keep what’s left of the house.”
Tim sighed sadly and nodded. He climbed off the bulldozer. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry I was such a lousy husband.”
He reached for Diane’s arm. Her thirst for destruction was apparently quenched, and she allowed him to help her down. He patted the side of the bulldozer.
“So, what, they just rent these things to anybody?”
“I’m not sure. My friend at work got it for me.”
“Oh. I wonder what kind of deposit you have to put down on something like this.”
“I could get you his number if you want.”
“Nah, I was just curious.” Tim kicked at a piece of porcelain that had once been a Hannibal Lecter collector’s plate, feeling like a complete jerk. He thought that the whole bulldozer destruction thing migh
t have been a bit excessive on her part, but there was no denying that he’d been selfish and inattentive.
And it wasn’t even that he was a workaholic, putting in long hours at the restaurant to better provide for his wife. He was just as likely to plop down in front of the television after working eight hours as he was after working fourteen. No, he’d just been…oblivious.
Well, he’d learned his lesson. It was never going to happen again.
* * * * *
Eleven months later…
FRIDAY
Melody Talaway writhed and squealed as Alex thrust into her over and over, making the poor bedsprings beg for mercy. They were fairly old bedsprings, unused to this type of abuse, but they were holding up admirably well, though Melody half-expected the mattress to break right through them and crash to the floor. Of course, if that did happen, most likely Alex would keep thrusting away until the mattress broke through the floorboards and spilled them down into the living room below. At that point he’d probably stop, unless they landed on the couch.
Her leg was starting to get a bit sore from being wedged between the two of them, her foot draped on his shoulder, and she knew her pussy was going to be sore in the morning despite the river of natural lubrication, but it was completely worth it.
Very little of Melody’s adult life had involved having somebody fuck her brains out. She was thirty-six, and though she’d lost her virginity in high school, getting her brains fucked out was a rare occurrence. Her lovers were few and far between, and most of them were merely adequate in the bedroom. Alex, on the other hand, was a powerhouse in bed, and the fact that he had a huge, beautiful cock was merely a fringe benefit.
He had far and away been the best boyfriend she’d ever had, and the only one to actually move in with her. The two months they’d shared her house had been the best two months of Melody’s life. Alex was handsome and charming, and he didn’t care that she was a good twenty pounds above what scientists had determined was her optimum weight. Nor did he care that she had black hair that was less likely to hang glamorously over her shoulders than to go into total frizz mode.
Her only real concern with the relationship was that he’d just turned nineteen.
Yeah, she felt like a vicious cradle-robber. But she was a vicious cradle robber who was having the best sex of her life, so there was only so much guilt she could feel.
