by Sacchi Green
You push yourself up from the cushion you have your head buried in and crane your neck, finding my eyes, but you don’t speak.
Whack. The leather finds the spot and, instantly, tears well in your big brown eyes.
“Tell me,” I say, but don’t wait for a reply. Instead, I let the belt come down again, striking you hard in the same spot again. Every time my wrist flicks, a bolt of lightning runs through my blood.
“Tell me how much you want this.” I lock my gaze on you, but your eyes close and open, blinking in that mute despair I can’t get enough of. You try to open your mouth, but I don’t give you the opportunity to form words. I rain down my belt on your tender flesh, that perfectly shaped mound that I will caress later, after you’ve gotten as much as you can take.
“Look at me.” I put as much threat in my voice as I can muster because your head is starting to drop down again, your forehead almost touching that cushion again, and I need to see your face. You can’t speak, so I need to get my answers there.
Time for my fingers to take over again. I let them travel along the fresh stripes on your flesh, before directing them to your puffed-up pussy lips.
Immediately, you moan while your pupils dilate. “Fuck me,” you whisper. “Please.”
I draw my lips into a smirk—the one I used for the picture on that T-shirt of me you love to wear. “I think you need a little more.”
“I—” Your breath stalls as my finger slides a little deeper inside. Just the tip. Just to tease. “I want you so fucking much,” you manage to say after my finger has retreated and is riding upward again, smearing some of your juices onto the most sensitive patches of your skin.
“I can tell,” I say. This is always the moment where I could go further. Where I could tell you all the reasons why you don’t deserve it yet, but I don’t believe enough in them myself to try and fake that speech for you—although I’m quite sure you’d like the tone of voice in which I would deliver the words. “Not yet, baby,” I say instead, my own bravado quickly starting to crumble. Because the courage in your eyes undoes me, more so than other times. Do you feel it, too? Do you feel that this is ending? Or do you have a master plan? The tabloids would have a field day, and believe me, my front page days are over.
I surprise myself with the force of the next slap on your tortured cheeks, but there it is, that glint in your eyes I’ve been waiting for. You set your jaw, as if to say that, as of now, you can take all I’ve got. Perhaps you know that I don’t have that much left, but I don’t think you do. I think you’re all in. I think you want more and, this time, I’m happy to oblige.
I let a few well-aimed slaps come down near the highest curve of your ass where, I suspect, it hurts the least. But you don’t need time to breathe, I can see it in your eyes. Is that all you’ve got? they seem to say. And this game we play, this charged silence between us, the quiet we fill with our own thoughts and needs and fantasies, they leave me gasping for air more than you are at this point. And I hope that you can read it on my face as well. How much I need this. How much I want you.
It’s this unrelenting want that undoes me in the end. I witness my own unraveling instead of yours. I drop the belt to the floor and position myself behind you. Even glancing backward at me, your neck twisted in an awkward, possibly painful position, you have the nerve to sink your teeth into your bottom lip. Yes. I give in. I don’t say this out loud, but I know you get the message loud and clear.
Roughly, I spread your legs as wide as they can go, and I lock my gaze on the wetness in front of me. How long will you last this time? I know you fight hard to make it last; I can feel it in the way you twitch, and in how you push your body away from me when I fuck you, but I always find the spot.
Your beauty floors me again, the smoothness of your youth, the swollen pinkness of your sex. You’re no longer looking at me, and your back curves gently into the exquisite nape of your neck—the exact spot I’d like to sink my teeth into right now. But I’m not about to fuck you because you’re young, or because it makes me feel younger. I will fuck you because you’re you, and uniquely so. Mandy Harrison—you once said your mom was a big fan and named you after me. Front woman of The Harriettes. The girl who can’t get enough of my belt on her ass. Sometimes, onstage, when you’re watching me, I touch the belt and the heat that rises from my core is so great, my voice drowns in it for an instant. But no one ever notices, except you.
I plunge three fingers inside of you at once. I know how wide you can stretch, and I slide in easily, lubricated by all the juices you started producing the moment you took the stage. I fuck you. I feel you. I watch your back arch inward, your head tilt sideways, your ass slam against the palm of my hand.
Today, you don’t resist. Your body meets me as I thrust, so I give you a fourth finger, filling you up—as close as I’ll ever come to disappearing inside of you. I watch the reddening crisscrosses on your ass, admiring my work, as you grind your way to orgasm. My fingers are but a tool for you now, or perhaps that’s what you want me to believe. Our romance is certainly an unspoken one, as much to the outside world as in this cocoon we’re in now.
When you come, the groan you utter is close to your singing voice, that raw, deep howl that has all the critics raving, but this particular guttural inflection of it is reserved just for me.
“Amanda,” you whisper, out of breath. “Fuck, Amanda.” And the way you say my name is like I’ve never heard you say anything else. It’s your code for I love you.
“I love you, too,” I murmur, but only to myself, as I let my fingers slide from your wetness, and drape my fully-clothed body over your bare back, embracing you as though I never want to let you go.
HOT BLOOD
D. L. King
There’s nothing I love more than the freedom of running through the woods out behind the old mill on a bright, moonlit night in the fall. I don’t mean to be so specific about it, really. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I like just being out there—day or night. I like running, walking, or just lying in the pine needles under that big old mamma up near the ridge. Yeah, propped up against that trunk, at sunset, you can see clear out to the big water. A person could get lost in her thoughts out there with the breeze and the smells and the sounds of all the little critters. Yeah. But still, there’s something about the freedom of racing along, the moon tracking you, the wind in your hair, the smell of the fallen leaves and pine needles, the feel of the ground springing up beneath your feet to push you along faster.
Faster.
When I come back to myself, that’s the only thought I remember: Faster. But now…I gotta go to work.
I rolled out of bed and jumped in the shower. Why do people say that: “I jumped in the shower”? More like I plodded across the room, wishing I could crawl back under the covers, and crawled into the shower. But I slowly woke up under the water pulsing out of the showerhead. I don’t know why people like “gentle rain” showers. I need a good strong pounding to wake up, much less to feel like I’m getting clean. Before I knew it, I was out the door and kick-starting my bike, then off down the mountain to civilization.
“Hey, Van, I got a good one for ya,” Larry called as I walked around the side of the garage. I saw a powder-blue Porsche on the lift.
“Okay. But first I’m going to the Bluebell for breakfast. I’m not all the way awake yet. I’ll be back soon,” I called.
“Oh, you think this is for you? Nah, this ain’t for you. This beauty is all mine.”
“Whatever you say, Larry.” Larry could do anything with American metal but he hated what he called “all them foreign jobs.” That’s one of the reasons he hired me; that, and I am a kick-ass mechanic.
I walked into the Bluebell and saw that my usual table was occupied. I took a seat at another two-top away from the windows. Too bad. I like being able to look out when I’m eating, but the cute little redhead who’d stolen my table almost made up for it.
“Morning, Van.” Tory turned my cup over and poured
the best coffee in Washington State into it. “Sorry about your table. Want your usual?”
“Yeah, thanks. No worries. It’s not like my name’s on it or anything. ’Sides, I’m kinda likin’ the view from here.”
Tory chuckled and went off to place my order with the kitchen and I took a few more surreptitious glances at the redhead. Definitely from out of town. I knew all the locals and I would have remembered seeing her. I wondered what she was doing here. We’re off the beaten path and not really a tourist destination. Maybe she had relatives in the area.
I cut into the beautiful, rare steak Tory placed on my table, and it bled into the hash browns and eggs just the way I like it. I’m a carnivore. Well, I suppose I’m an omnivore, to be absolutely correct. I eat other things, like vegetables and breads and fruits too, but I like meat, the bloodier the better. The redhead was eating dry toast and what looked like yogurt, fruit, and granola mix, along with one of those big cups that held the fancy coffees, like the lattes and such. Nope, I was a meat and black coffee woman. But she sure was cute.
I laid waste to the plate and did everything but lick it clean in about fifteen minutes. I took my time to watch the view, but I had to get back to work and find out what was wrong with that pretty sports car. I left money on the table and called a goodbye to Tory and went back to the garage, fueled and ready to work.
Turned out the Porsche needed a fuel pump. Wouldn’t be a hard job, but I had to send to Seattle for the part. It was going to be two days before someone could schlep one out to us because—off the beaten path. I was changing the oil on a Toyota when I heard Larry talking to someone who sounded upset.
“Hey, Van, can you come out here?” Larry called.
I walked into the office, wiping my hands on a rag, to find the redhead there. She looked about to cry. “What’d you do, Larry?” I said.
“What? Nothing. She’s just… Can you just tell her about her car?” I looked at him. “The Porsche.”
“Oh, sure. Hi, I’m Van, uh, Vanessa. That’s a sweet car. It’s not too bad; just needs a new fuel pump. I called our supplier in Seattle and they’re sending one out. You visiting relatives? Got somewhere to stay for another couple of days?” Her mouth dropped open.
“No. I was just passing through. I really need to get home today. Is there a car rental place in town?”
“Sorry,” I said, “we’re not much more than a wide place in the road.” She looked at me, and I thought she was going to cry.
“But don’t you worry; I’m a top-notch master mechanic. I’ll do your baby right. Meanwhile, there’s a motel that’s not too bad, up near the freeway entrance. Larry could run you up there.” I looked at him. “Right Larry? I only have my bike with me, or I’d do it.”
Larry said, “Sure.”
She still looked really upset, but she knew there wasn’t anything else to be done about it. “What’s your name?”
“Oh, sorry,” she said. “It’s Katharine.” She reached out her hand and I grasped it. The lady had a strong grip—and something else I sensed. “Is it okay if I hang around town for a little while? Maybe even explore a little bit? I wasn’t planning on staying overnight.”
“Sure thing. Come on back whenever you’re ready.”
We were pretty slammed in the garage the rest of the morning. Beauford may be in the middle of nowhere, but that’s just it, it’s in the middle of nowhere, and Larry and I are a class act as far as fixing cars goes. Miss Katharine wandered back about lunch-time with a few bags. I told Larry I’d take care of her and went to get his keys.
“Hey, Katharine,” I said. I stretched out my arms and neck when I hit the patch of sun just in front of the garage doors. “I’ll get you settled. How about some lunch first?” She looked a little wary, but our eyes met and she bowed her head slightly and nodded her assent. “All right then. I’ll take you to the pub. We’re just a little kink in the road and we don’t have much, but the Bluebell’s got great breakfasts and the Star’s got the best burgers I’ve had anywhere.”
I settled us into a booth in back and ordered a bacon cheeseburger, rare, with all the fixins, a plate of sweet potato fries and a Coke. She started to order a salad, but I put my hand on hers and said, “Remember? Best burgers. And I know you aren’t a vegetarian.”
She looked at my hand and then at my eyes and said to me, instead of the waitress, “Okay. Cheeseburger, medium-well, with lettuce, tomatoes, and onions and a Dr. Pepper. “ The waitress wrote her order down and went off toward the kitchen.
When we were alone I said, “Look, you’re in the best place you can be. You can’t get back to Idaho today, that’s a given, so you should make the best of a bad situation. I’m not going to take you to the motel; I’m going to take you home with me.”
She pulled her hand back. “No! I can’t go home with you. No. You don’t know…I’m not like… You don’t know me…”
“Katharine, I know you.” I looked into her eyes. “I know who you are and I know what you are and I know we’re the same. I have a house up the mountain, away from everything, on the prettiest piece of woods you’d ever want to see. There’s nothing out there but some deer and coyotes. There’s the occasional cougar and maybe, if you’re lucky, you might see a black bear or even a moose, but there ain’t any people. So you’ll be safe.”
Her eyes filled up. “How—how’d you know?” she whispered.
“How’d you not know? That’s the question. Honey, I could smell you a mile away. Like calls to like.” She looked at me like I was speaking a different language. “Is this—wait a minute. Is this your first season? No, it’s not your first; you were way too intent on getting out of town. But it’s not long, is it?”
“It’s my fourth time,” she said, tears and defiance in her eyes.
“But surely someone must have helped you through it all. I mean, the one who turned you…” I could tell that was something worse than a sore subject.
“No one. There was no one.”
“I’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry about it. Let’s get out of here and go home, where we can talk.” We walked back to the garage to get the truck. I let Larry know I was taking Katherine but that I’d be back before closing to swap out his truck for my bike.
“Hey, Van, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he said.
“Larry, you old dog! It ain’t like that.” Well, it wasn’t. She was in a bad place and I’d never take advantage like that. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t thought about getting closer. I thought I’d like that—if things were different. That red hair, those green eyes and that tight butt? Oh yeah, I’d like that—if things were different.
I think the farther up the mountain we went, the more relaxed she got. She knew I was taking her out to the back of beyond.
The story wasn’t a good one. The creature that turned her ran off. She never knew who the human counterpart was and she had to find out about being a wolf on her own. I can’t even imagine. If Stokeley’s brother hadn’t found me and brought me to the pack, I don’t know what I might have done. But Katharine had no one to tell her the lore or show her the ropes. All she knew was that she’d become a monster and her only thought was to get away from people.
After she told me what she knew about her changing and I told her my story, she asked me the hard questions—the ones even I didn’t have answers to.
“No, I’m just not the pack kind of girl. It made me feel too confined. I don’t like living by other folks’ rules, you know? I guess I’m just a lone wolf.” I barked a laugh. “But I can find out about any packs in your area. You know, get you involved with the people out your way. I think, when you’re new to shifting, a pack is good. It’s good to have folks standing behind you, teaching you, helping you, running with you. Well, you’ll see tonight. We’ll run together and you’ll see what that’s like.”
I carried her suitcase up to the guest bedroom and told her to make herself comfortable. “I’m just going to switch Larry’s truck out. I’ll be ba
ck soon. It’ll be a few hours yet before sundown.”
When I came back, she was sitting on the couch in a pair of really short cutoffs and a white A-shirt, feet up on the coffee table, watching the news on TV. She was all legs and arms, long and lean and so sexy. I cleared my throat and she looked at me.
“So, here’s the thing, you probably already know this, but I don’t know what you do and don’t know yet—but it’s easier to get naked before you change, because, you know, if you don’t, your clothes will get all ripped up. I’m just sayin’.”
She looked at me and said, “Yeah, I figured that one out last month. Sometimes I can be a little slow.”
“And it’s a good idea to be outside before the moon rises, you know, so your house doesn’t get torn up.”
She nodded, “Yep, makes sense.”
“I also built an outside shower off the back deck so you don’t track in mud ’n’, you know, stuff.” I felt so nervous talking to her. She was just watching me from the couch, looking like she was taking it all in, but I was practically vibrating with nerves, not to mention starting to sweat. It didn’t make any sense. I was telling her normal, everyday stuff, well, if you’re a werewolf, but still, nothing earthshaking. I was beginning to feel like I could fall into her green eyes and take a swim, though. Maybe that had something to do with it. I cleared my throat again.
“So, a shower, that’s a great idea. Maybe I’ll do that when I get home,” she said. “Are you okay? You look a little, um… Would you like some coffee? I made some while you were gone.”
“Sure, great,” I said. “Just black.”
She walked into the kitchen. “I know. I was watching you at breakfast.”
Huh, no shit. I took the proffered coffee and sat down on the couch with her. I was afraid it’d be too weak, but it was good— nice and strong.
