It was difficult to keep still once she felt her body start to flood, the beginnings of a climax tugging at her. He hadn’t demanded silence this time, but she suspected that the innkeeper already believed her to be a prostitute or worse, and she didn’t want to make any sound that would carry downstairs and confirm his suspicions. The killer seemed to be thinking the same thing. He kept her muffled with his lips for as long as he could, but they were forced to part when his own exhaustion caught up with him.
He searched around, his breathing worn and shallow, and grimaced in annoyance when it turned out that things to mute her with were harder to come by in a bare room than they were in dreams. Rose covered her own mouth to stifle a giggle. Had it been so long since he’d last laid a woman who wasn’t dreamed up?
“Wait,” he told her. She pouted, unhappy that things were ending when they’d barely started and she was so close, but there was nothing for it. He slipped out of her and got up, leaving her laying on her back, panting softly and mourning her lack of release.
He returned with the bottle — the one with the thing that was meant to make her sleep — and took one of the cups from the bedside table. Then he dripped a generous amount of its contents inside the cup, and added some of the drink she’d been downing earlier. Once he’d shaken the concoction to his satisfaction, he offered it to her.
Rose took the cup like it was poison. That wasn’t far from the truth, after all. The distance between her mouth and her outstretched hand had never seemed longer. Still, it arrived at its destination, and she tipped it over, cringing and making faces when she tasted the bitterness.
“Unpleasant, I know.” He laughed an uncomfortable little laugh. “It should work soon enough.”
Rose knew that already. Now that she’d smelled it and tasted it, she knew the stuff he had given her was the same as Mrs. Cross took, and it had never taken her more than a couple of minutes to sink into sleep like a rock in a well. She laid back, attempting to make herself comfortable, but he would have none of it. Instead he flipped her over and pressed her face into the pillow.
“When I said I would make you exit this life with good memories,” he whispered, settling over her and filling her with a mixture of dread and excitement, “I meant up until the last minute.”
“Oh.” She closed her eyes, not quite knowing what to expect. Then another thought bubbled up to the surface of her mind, rising on the heels of her drunkenness and opium high. “May I ask you a question?”
“Certainly.”
“Roger Eade. Is that your name?”
“I was born and named thousands of years before people learned the sounds that make up your language.” He used his legs to spread hers, and started pressing into her from behind. He slipped in easily, helped along by her juices and blood — she might not have been a virgin in her soul anymore, but her body still had been, up until moments ago. Rose hadn’t known things could work from behind as well as from the front, but then again, the whole time since she’d met him had been one learning experience after another. “No, my name is not Roger Eade. Bite.”
He meant the pillow. She shook her head, though. She had one last question. She felt silly for never having thought to ask before.
“What is it, then?”
He leaned in and left a whisper in her ear.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, earnestly. He smiled — she could feel his lips curve against the nape of her neck — and kissed her with his teeth.
“Not as beautiful as a rose. Now, would you . . .”
She bit down, and was rewarded with a powerful thrust that almost undid her. The next few were gentler, although there was no telling if he was moderating his pace on purpose or the drug was slowing down her senses. It was a different sensation, but not a bad one. She supposed that not everything between them needed to be fire and brimstone and breathless intensity. There was no reason why a quiet end couldn’t be as enjoyable as a bold one.
She sang her pleasure into the pillow as she came, twisting underneath him, squeezing him and milking him until her vision started filling with bright spots and her head filled with soft cotton. Unlike the previous times she’d climbed to similar heights, she didn’t come back down afterwards, and no moment of clearness followed. She stayed as she was, suspended on strings as fine as hairs, knowing fully well that she could fall at any moment.
“When I wake,” she mumbled, through the clouds, “will you show me the world?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “Although to show you all of it, I shall need more than forty years.”
Rose smiled, only comprehending his agreement, and allowed his voice to lull her into sleep.
He got up and stood quietly, watching the sleeping girl, drinking in the tender beauty of every rise and fall of her chest. Mostly, though, he pondered what she meant. Company, at last. A warm body to hold. A shiny ray of sunshine to take with him wherever. A new set of eyes to watch the world through.
He laughed to himself. Forty years. It seemed like such a ridiculously short amount of time. A mere drop in the ocean of forever. But it would do well enough as a buffer, as a window to find her more life. To find someone worse — as far as she defined worse — than the old woman at the bakery. Someone long lived. Someone whose sacrifice she would gladly accept.
“Goodnight, sweet dreamer.”
He lifted the knife, and started to work.
About Alice Schermer
Alice lives somewhere on the northern hemisphere. She likes misty weather, small animals, apples and parentheses. She's been forcing the plot bunnies that live inside her head onto paper since her early teens. Somehow, the resulting stories always seem to revolve around evil men doing bad things to plucky young ladies. She has no regrets about that. (Unless her mother asks, because then she regrets everything. Sorry, mom.)
Website: http://behindthisglass.wordpress.com
What if…?
A Continuation of The Prince of Darkness vs. The Prom Queen:
Descent into Darkness, Cherishing Luminescence
by
Christine Hart
Text copyright © 2015 Christine Hart
All Rights Reserved
Many thanks to the authors and editors of The Erotic Collective and to my special luminescence…
Chapter One ~ Ascending
The plane was already waiting on the tarmac as the car carrying Donovan Corbett arrived at the airport, not that he expected otherwise. Having expectations met was one of the benefits of having money so he paid his pilot well and knew everything would be ready when he was. He didn’t want to waste any time, especially now. He was headed to his favorite place in the entire world: home.
The concept of home was relatively new for Donovan. He’d grown up in a world where his family owned and traveled to any number of enormous mansions and palatial estates, but they never stayed very long at any of them and he never truly thought of them as home. They were places to sleep and shower, places where good food was served by attentive staff, places where his parents entertained, places that felt impersonal and meant very little.
Was it any wonder that when he started his own businesses and traveled the world, he acquired houses and properties the same way his family had? It was the only way of life he’d ever known so he followed along and did what was expected.
The first dwelling he ever purchased went by the majestic name of Anscombe Manor. It was in a remote location and much too large for a single man and his one and only assistant. Boredom quickly set in and Donovan found and bought another isolated place, this one called Stone Edge. His assistant, Victor, always referred to the place as a cold, stone mausoleum which, in retrospect, seemed appropriate. Located on a cold, stony mountain ridge, it was as desolate and silent as most mausoleums. Donovan quickly moved on to another place. Calderwood was added to the list of his purchases and was soon followed by other large, sprawling, empty houses on even larger pieces of property. Soon came the townhouse in Seattle, a villa on the Amalfi Co
ast, the penthouse in Manhattan, a pied-à-terre overlooking Paris and the flat in London.
The only relative Donovan could truly abide was his cousin Marion and she lived in a charming town in Georgia. Hotel life reminded him too much of the impersonal homes he had grown up in so it seemed logical to purchase a place in Georgia for the occasions when he visited his cousin. Located at the end of a cul-de-sac and surrounded by lovely gardens, this location was probably his favorite but he still never stayed very long.
On a whim, he purchased an island retreat. Actually he purchased the entire island which was known as Kalake. He quickly discovered that the word Kalake was Hawaiian in origin and meant grace and it wasn’t hard to see how appropriate the name was for his newest residence. It was truly a tropical paradise with tall palm trees that swayed in the ocean breezes and exotic flowers growing wild around the large, white plantation style house. Although as remote as any other tropical island, it was the only place other than Georgia where Donovan felt at peace with himself and his world. Kalake. Grace. If only he’d known then how fortuitous his island paradise would become in his life.
Back then he would have described his life as routine and very organized. Victor called it tedious. Or mundane. Or monotonous. Uninteresting. Dull. Stuffy. Boring. Drab. Colorless. Insipid. Victor knew too many damned words and he didn’t hesitate to use them to get his point across, which annoyed Donovan endlessly.
What was so boring, Donovan wanted to know? He had single-handedly built a business that acquired other businesses which weren’t financially sound, and split the companies or merged them with other organizations to make them stable and stronger. Everyone kept their jobs, new jobs were created, the new companies were more profitable than ever, designed to withstand economic downturns. Donovan made huge amounts of money controlling the entire empire. In addition to being good at purchasing vast amounts of real estate and unproductive companies, Donovan excelled in control.
The control part came in particularly handy when he started his second business enterprise. Donovan also trained submissives and sex slaves. Back in his college days, he had wandered into the world of BDSM and discovered how it felt to be a Dominant, in complete and absolute control at all times. For a man who had grown up with servants and staff and knew little about doing anything for himself or anyone else, the concept of control fulfilled a strong need and a desire locked deep within him.
Over the years, Master Donovan became well known to the habitués of BDSM. He rapidly became known as a Master’s Master, largely because his training techniques were superior to all others and produced exceptionally fast and lasting results. To help expedite the process even further, he used one of his many properties for a training facility and, with the help of his outstanding technical skills, even designed many of his own pieces of training equipment.
All was as it was supposed to be in Donovan Corbett’s world: routine and organized - unless Victor happened to point out that it was actually stagnant, empty and lonely. Donovan realized he might have been happier a lot sooner if he’d listened to Victor.
He was settled in a cushioned and comfortable seat when the pilot’s voice came over the intercom to announce the expected flight time and perfect weather conditions for the journey. His jet wasn’t the largest but it gave him the luxury of making his own schedules rather than following standard airline time restrictions. Time was always important and these days it was more important than ever. These days he had a reason to be on time.
Make that three reasons.
Reason number one was Matthew Donovan Corbett, almost four years old, never walking if running worked better; logical, smart, adventurous, full of childlike wonder and Donovan’s son. To Matthew, Donovan was better than any superhero in the world.
Reason number two was Victoria Grace Corbett, Donovan’s just about two month old infant daughter. Donovan had a daughter. A little Prom Queen or perhaps a Prom Princess. He was still figuring things out with his little girl when his preplanned business commitment and training session took him away for nearly a month. The thought of leaving was guilt-inducing and heartbreaking. Heartbreaking? Donovan Corbett was heartbroken? That was a shock but completely true. Now he couldn’t wait to get back home and get reacquainted with his beautiful, little dark-haired daughter who looked so much like his other good reason for being in a rush to get home.
Reason number three was probably his best reason of all: Laci Grace Corbett, Donovan’s wife and the glowing center of his universe. The day Laci entered Donovan’s world, Victor was forced to halt the talk of boring and mundane. Laci, with her long blonde hair and big blue eyes, radiated light and love, was never boring and was the best thing that had ever happened to Donovan. Donovan still didn’t completely understand how a totally non-submissive woman was attracted to him. He was still attempting to figure out how Master Donovan had fallen head over heels in love with anyone at all, much less a Prom Queen who had never learned the meaning of the word submission.
Life with Laci was amazing every day. Sex with Laci was also amazing every day. Every day? Sometimes every hour. His mind wandered back to his wife’s announcement that she was expecting their second child. Donovan vividly recalled being panicked for a few minutes while he became adjusted to the news but before long euphoria settled in and he was more thrilled than he had ever anticipated. Of course, several minutes after that a lot more panic set in when he realized Laci’s pregnancy hormones had returned. He’d barely survived when she was expecting Matthew. He wasn’t sure he could handle another bout of Laci’s horny-mones and actually make it through alive.
When Laci was expecting Matthew she craved oranges and with Victoria it was lemons. Who knew the clean scent of citrus could stir a woman’s passions and induce all manner of wanton lust? He sure as hell did now. Donovan certainly wasn’t complaining and he’d been an extremely dutiful, caring and supportive husband, continually catering to her endless desires for both citrus and sex. Oh the memories …
Like the time she ambushed him in the closet. Always compulsively neat, he’d simply intended to hang up his jacket, but Laci had other plans and he found himself backed against the wall, her fingers skillfully removing his clothing and rapidly tossing it in every direction. Maybe neatness had suffered a bit but lechery had taken over and within a few minutes he was on the closet floor, moaning with utter contentment while her tongue caressed his cock. Her swirling technique was unparalleled but he’d known that for a very long time. She’d swirl the tip, lick up, then down and back up again while gently tickling under his balls. Somehow the process both aroused and relaxed him, at least until she hit on his special spot. Did her tongue have cock radar? Did cock radar even exist? How else did her tongue always manage to zero in on the special spot that made him lose all sense of the world around him? He understood the concept of time-space continuum but Laci’s Laws of Physics didn’t seem to follow any of the general rules. Her physical theories and sub-atomic levels appeared to overtake his relative velocity as he thrust his hardness into her and listened to those cosmic sounds she made that kept his arousal levels at the maximum. Damn! Gravity was amazing and so were closet floors. Did it matter that the bed was only steps away?
How about the pineapple? Pineapple day had also been educational. Donovan believed he was doing a good thing for himself and his pregnant wife when he substituted pineapple for lemons. Both were yellow and had nutritional benefits plus pineapple had the added bonus of not being a citrus fruit, thereby allowing him a brief rest. Brief was shorter than he anticipated. So was the chair in his office. He was almost positive he’d been working when Laci suddenly appeared with that look in her eyes. Who knew she could get her clothes off that fast? Who knew she could get his off even faster? Who knew his office chair was so accommodating? Who knew she was so flexible? Okay. He already knew about the flexibility but this was a first even for Laci. She climbed on top of him, straddling both him and the chair, while sinking her wet pussy onto his hard length, carefu
lly and slowly undulating her hips, over and over and over. Maybe he had felt a little like she was riding her favorite growling horse but she compensated for that. He always loved when she ran her fingers through his thick, dark hair and massaged his scalp but he loved it even more when she twirled her tongue around his nipples, making them rival the hardness of his cock. It was truly a memorable afternoon. Who knew pineapple was a natural energy booster? He did now. Another lesson learned.
He knew that after Victoria’s birth there would be a certain period of down-time while Laci recuperated. Then he’d flown to Texas for his training session so they’d been apart for almost two months. Or 57 days. Or 1368 hours. Or 82080 minutes. Damn he was horny and not just regulation horny. He was almost ready-to-howl-at-one-of-those-full-lemony-yellow-moons-horn-dog-horny. Laci made him crazy. He knew it. She knew it. Just thinking about her made every iota of his usually considerable control vanish in a cloud of carnal greed. Carnal? Car — nal? Would he ever forget their auto interlude?
He had to take full blame and he really thought he’d done his research but perhaps he’d been too tired to read the small print. Pineapple might be a natural energy booster but bananas, aside from their obvious phallic shape, contained tryptophan and tryptophan was a mild sedative. Did Laci like bananas? Oh yes. Laci did indeed like bananas. Too bad he’d missed the part about mixing tryptophan with B-vitamins. Laci was faithfully taking her prenatal vitamins and, upon further research, he learned the mixture aided in the creation of the mood lifting hormone called serotonin. Great. More horny-mones.
He’d quietly driven into the garage late one evening after a business meeting. Of course he hadn’t anticipated that Laci would be waiting, full of banana-induced horny-mones. And naked. The memory was a little hazy but somehow she was in the car and he was in the car and how the hell had she thought of that position? Part kneeling, part leaning, mostly in the back seat and she really understood how to manually operate his transmission. He definitely didn’t need to put on the brakes when she made sure his turbo-charged drive shaft found its way to her intake manifold. Could he get a ticket for speeding in his own garage? Who knew a few bananas could have such an accelerated effect on his own internal combustion? He had a happy dip stick that night and damn good thing the car had shock absorbers so the airbags hadn’t deployed. Another good lesson. Read up on auto mechanics and stay away from all yellow fruit.
The Darker Side of Love (A Dark Erotica Boxed Set) Page 52
