My Bloody Valentine

by Multi-Author

  She hesitated.

  “Answer me.”

  “...good?”

  “Have another.”

  He spanked her again and she arched with a cry. Then, rubbing.

  “More? You did sneak onto my property.”

  He smelled clean and coppery. Like the river.

  “Yes,” she said. “More, please.”

  He slid down her pajamas, stroking the stinging, naked flesh, and then abruptly gave her another smack. She jumped.

  “Good girl,” he purred. “Hm...three more? Six, for a first offense.”

  She nodded. When the strike came she cried out, the sound turning into another moan.

  The fifth slap came, and this time he squeezed her ass, the bright pink pain melting into sore, sweet pleasure.

  “Good girl. One more.”

  She writhed as the sting sang hot against her bottom. He rubbed her with more vigor, agitating the pain, and then it wasn’t his hand pressed against her but damp, dripping trunks, and underneath, a rock-hard cock.

  “Oh!” she gasped. He reached under her shirt to find her nipples peaked: he twiddled with them, teasing, pinching. Rebekah groaned; her pussy grew tight with anticipation.

  “What else?” he asked, pressing his urgent erection against her with unmistakable purpose. He tugged her breasts, tweaking as his cock dug against her.

  “Calling the cops on me...”

  He reached for one of the thick dildos. She closed her eyes, leaned into him, and heard him pop the cap on a bottle of lube. A few cold, slippery spatters spilled onto her ass and between her cheeks.

  He spread her legs. The toy slid into her pussy and she sighed lustfully. It pressed into her tight sex, coaxing her open, slipping deeper.

  “Well,” Reid murmured. “You gobbled that up! You’ve got a hungry pussy.”

  He slid it deeper, and drew it out. He did it twice more; Rebekah felt sticky lube and cum drip down her thighs.

  “How about your ass?” he asked. His thumb circled her tightly resisting hole, pressing gently, teasing it. She opened her mouth to answer but he cut her off with another sharp slap on her reddened cheek. The head of the toy replaced his thumb, cold and slippery. Rebekah’s breath hitched. There was a stinging, beautiful pain—then it slid in, filling her in a strange, deeply satisfying way. She groaned and wriggled, mewling.

  “Punishment enough for you?” he growled in her ear. Rebekah moaned.

  “You want to know why the women scream?”

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, please?”

  He withdrew the toy and she felt bereft, empty and yearning. Reid unhooked the chain of the handcuffs and bent her over the table. He held her down with one strong hand on her neck.

  “Ass or pussy?” he demanded. She tried to lift her head but he pinned her.

  “Ass or pussy?” he repeated. “Decide, or I will.”

  “Pussy!” she said.

  He bobbed hips against her hot backside and reached into a drawer on the table. “Stay,” he commanded as he released her. She heard a foil wrapper tear and the quick sounds of latex unrolling. His hand came back, holding her down again as he guided his cock against her entrance.

  “Are you sorry?”

  “Yes,” she pleaded. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you going to call the cops over one of my dates again?”

  “No...”

  He whispered in her ear.

  “Last question: is your hungry cunt ready for me?”

  “Yes!” she gasped. With a pleased grunt, he thrust it in.

  He was hard as iron and slid in deep. His strokes were smooth but vicious, thumping her against the table and making her sore ass ache. Her breasts were pressed to the wood. She liked it; the swell and throb of them drove her higher, making her lightheaded. He drove in to the hilt, and she moaned loudly, wriggled desperately. He fucked her into a high, hard, violent pitch, and she came with a scream, her pussy going tight around him. He wasn’t done, though, and despite her hitching, dazed cries, he fucked harder. His pace grew frantic and then he plunged in, buried in her; his cock throbbed and throbbed inside her as he came.

  “Good girl,” he panted. Her thighs were hot and slick when he withdrew, and she trembled.

  “You might not feel like walking,” he said offhandedly. “You can stay here, of course.”

  Her only response was a weak, low moan. He pulled her pajamas back up, gave her a teasing pat on her sore rear end, and hoisted her up on one shoulder.

  She noticed he hadn’t removed the handcuffs.

  ***

  A week later, there was a knock. Reid was rubbing her aching bottom, red from the vigorous spanking he’d just given her; he moved her off his lap to answer it.

  It was a patrol cop. He greeted Reid and explained a complaint had been made—suspected domestic disturbance.

  “I’m sorry, officer.” Reid gestured for Rebekah to join him and she did. She leaned up against him and smiled.

  “We’re having a...romantic evening,” Reid said. “As you can see, my partner is quite all right.”

  “Very all right,” Rebekah replied.

  The cop looked unamused. “Well,” he grumped. “Be a little considerate. Folks think you’ve got her tied up and are killing her, for Chrissakes.”

  Reid waved a hand. “Happens all the time. We’ll keep it in mind.”

  Once he was gone, Reid smiled and closed the door.

  “Wanna see if we can get a second car sent?” he said. Rebekah only grinned.

  Under the Shadow of Wings

  By

  H.K. Sterling

  February 1999

  She arrived to find them all dead. Late to the party again.

  Just cause.

  October 2004

  A full moon of sunny smiles around the room/The birth of angels on all fours/No one ever has strength but by necessity/ Fitness determined by necessity.

  These were the thoughts Kat could hear in her head, coming from her grandmother. Her grandmother lay dying on the couch. Kat and a few of the immediate family were there.

  A moment only/Coffee grows cold/Leather couch grandma/Moment only until the last breath.

  Kat leaned down. Her grandmother whispered to her. The last words came out with a force Kat didn’t know her grandma had left. “Our disco mirror ball obscures the sword of Damocles.” She gave a wizened smile as she died, gripping Kat’s hand. Kat felt the power transfer, suddenly and painfully. She spread her arms. The rest of the mourning party left at that point. They knew what was coming next. As Kat felt the pain spread throughout her body, she could still faintly hear her grandmother.

  Lips rule in fire/From silence to sound/Teeth to tearing/Pig to produce/Egg to chick/Virgin to whore.

  February 2009

  She had come to collect. All the places she had been before. All the places she had died. They had died. She could hear them all now. All her dead relatives. She came back to collect what was hers. What was theirs. She came back to kick some ass. She had already won. She had just come back to collect.

  Playing the fate cards so fast, she caused pieces of past and future to fly by, appearing and disappearing. The onlookers—family—in her head were dizzy and not quite sure where to step.

  While all of this was going on in her head, she sat in the bar of an airport, waiting for the red-eye. Her drink was Chardonnay. Next to her was a man dressed to be noticed. She guessed that with slicked-back hair and a model’s face, he was probably doing his best to feign nonchalance. He has those big, brown eyes—the ones that look at you and implore. Or seduce. Which one is he? Inside she heard her dead relatives bickering. Is he going to be the one?

  They each had food and were waiting for their tab.

  He finally looked at her and spoke. “I hate being held hostage by bad waiters, don’t you?” He smiled, white teeth gleaming.

  She looked him over. His ticket stuck out from his jacket pocket. He w
ould be on the same plane as her.

  “Unless they’re very bad,” she said with a smirk.

  His red face showed that he was unprepared for her forwardness, but instead of backing down, he struck. He seemed to have recovered his confidence. “There’s no time lonelier than the night, baby,” he said, looking at her like fresh meat. She hadn’t controlled her body well enough. She knew her pupils had dilated at him and bet he noticed it too. He was that kind of guy.

  She could hear her dead relatives. My tongue is in your ear washing grime, endless grime, off our face and hands. And the insects crawl around for their share of dead skin flakes.

  Kat smiled but paid the tab she had finally been given and got up. Walking over to the elevator, she hit the down button and didn’t look back.

  ***

  An elevator of dashed endeavors. Why hadn’t he gone with her?

  He was remembering his mother.

  “There go the planes.” He had pointed up in the sky.

  “And what do we do on the planes?” guided his mother.

  “When we see bad breath we kill it.” His mom smiled. Her teeth gleamed.

  “Good, and why is that?” his mother asked for the umpteenth time.

  “Becuz the food is rotting.”

  “Very good, you can go in and have a chocolate chip cookie now off the counter. But not the vanilla ones. And just one, mind you.”

  He was five and did as he was told. His sharp teeth bore down on the dough.

  ***

  Her relatives lectured her again. They thought this was the one. The feral instinct is very real when present. It overcomes rational thought and higher faculties with its intensity. Usually. Be careful.

  He was sitting in a row across from her. The plane was fairly empty. He slid into the seat next to her, having managed to convince the other occupants to vacate her side.

  Wily one, she thought. Or was it her grandmother’s thought?

  He had targeted her and was no longer bashful. “You can’t fake a trigger, honey, and you were programmed long ago.” He spoke in shadow tones. “Give me what is mine.”

  She excused herself to go to the restroom. A minute later he followed. Once inside, he slid the lever; she was waiting for him, back against the counter.

  There were no more words between them. He grabbed her face with his hands, pulled back her hair, and pushed himself against her. She could feel the throbbing mound in his pants. She wanted him badly but needed to control her body. As it was, she was sweating and her pussy was already wet.

  He gently, almost tenderly, unzipped her pants and pulled them down while kissing her.

  Did he know?

  He slid his fingers inside her. Moans of pleasure came from her all on their own. As if she was no longer in control. She felt hot and with the heat, an excitement she’d never felt before. No pain here. Her body ached for him. He seemed to know what she was feeling. Still there were no words. Both were breathing heavily. He rubbed up against her and she undid his pants. He was built like a steam horse and, for a moment, she was taken aback. He still rubbed her gently, slowly, building her up to a crescendo. Using her hand, she tried to guide him in, but he pushed it away. He was about to make her feel him. Grabbing her ass, he held on tight right before he plunged into her, deeply.

  It was then that she said, casually, after catching her breath, “By the way, pupils also dilate at dead bodies.”

  He came immediately with grunts so loud she kicked the toilet lever down to cover the noise. He bent over.

  “Naughty boy.”

  He was genuinely ashamed. “I...I...don’t know what happened...you were—”

  “Pull the past up with your pants and see what fits,” she said, looking at him in all his nakedness. She grabbed him by the head. “That’s right, you can’t fake a trigger,” she whispered hoarsely in his ear.

  He had her legs wide open now, hands holding the curve of her back and her rear against the small counter. Her skin was still glistening. Her neck was so white. His teeth were still gleaming in the poorly lit restroom. He felt the urge. The one he could never turn down.

  ***

  She could see the ‘no vacancy’ sign still showing through the door.

  She had been so good, he hadn’t known. This was her first time. He was so...tasty, she thought finally, after recovering from the intense burst of energy.

  Now his big brown eyes looked at her. Was it confusion or imploring? Or something else? In any case...

  “You always forget,” she whispered into his ear. “Old McDonald’s Farm. This is not your planet,” she said with a raspy voice, for she was still partially spent, yet partly aroused. She was not done with him, even though the energy had been a gain for her.

  She ripped off her blouse so fast that, despite his hunger and his fear, he became aroused again at the sight of her breasts. She let him reach to undo the black lace of her bra and kiss her hard nipples. He was fully erect now and cupped her breasts. Then he slid down to drink in her juices, causing her to shudder over her entire body.

  “Venus,” he implored, almost unintelligibly, and slid down to his knees.

  Her breasts and neck flushed as he sucked her engorged clit. She began to moan.

  This is human, she managed to think through the pleasure. She was dripping over the small counter and bumping against the mirror. He held her gently and rocked her as he moved up her body and entered her, causing her to moan again and lose all thought for a moment. Then she felt it.

  Him. Who he really was. As he thrust inside her she felt a cascading orgasm of waves emanate from her. He began to come. Her arms were clutching his back. His eyes were closed. His teeth were headed for her neck.

  She opened up her arms and gave an internal shriek. Only the relatives in her head heard.

  Brainchild, she heard them say.

  He had her legs wide open now, one hand pushing her against the mirror, the other under her ass on the small counter. “That’s right, you can’t fake a trigger,” she whispered hoarsely in his ear.

  Her wings opened from her back and spanned the distance of the restroom. She kept them partially folded as they were actually larger. Then she enveloped him and her breasts pounded against his flesh. She kissed him deeply. With all of herself.

  In one moment it was over, but not before he came. But when he came, it was through his coccyx, up his spine, through his head, through his entire body. She felt the immensity of the life force of this sexual union.

  “Never deify anything. Especially a god!” She screamed and orgasmed at the influx of his energy. Up her spine and through her body it spread. Then he collapsed. His skin was now pale and his big brown eyes were closed. She reeled from the power of his energy. From him.

  He never really heard it—he was gone by then—but she flushed the toilet.

  She tossed back one last look before she pulled the restroom door handle to again take her place in her seat. A bad word slipped out of her mouth.

  “Tourist!”

  She sneered. The relatives clapped.

  Tysche Dwai

  Tysche Dwai has been writing erotica for several years now. She gets inspiration from her handsome, sexy husband, who is always willing to help with research. Her work has been published by eXtasy, Phase, Mélange, and Mocha Memoirs, among others. She is fond of retelling the world’s fairy tales with a saucy edge. Little Red is the latest of these.

  Decadent Kane

  If I had to describe myself, it would be in a word that has infinite meanings with a complexity which falls off the tongue.

  A word made up of many elements, is deceptive in appearance, and creates an illusion from the imagination.

  My word would be Phantasmagoric.

  You can find Decadent Kane at:

  FB : https://www.facebook.com/DecadentKane

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/DecadentKane

  Blog: http://decadentkane.blogspot.com/

  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show
/23398789-decadent-kane

  Newsletter: https://www.facebook.com/DecadentKane/app_100265896690345

  Robin S. Crawford

  Robin Crawford is a writer, poet, and musician living in Northeast Ohio. She has won numerous prizes for her poetry, and her work has been published in local journals. She also received an award for her short story entry, The Greatest of These, in The Writer’s Digest 76th Annual Competition. Robin’s novel, One Man’s Dark, is available on Kindle. Her current projects are in the science fiction and contemporary crime fiction genres, as well as a blog with the dubious title Driving Miss Crazy chronicling day-to-day life caring for an elderly relative.

  D.F. Krieger

  When D. F. Krieger was banned from writing contests at her school, she immediately set it in her head that she would become a professional writer. Since then, she has thrown away her plans of world domination through books, but she still enjoys writing. Her tastes run from classy urban witches to dragons, space pirates to shape shifters. By the time she pens her final book with a hand ravaged by age, she hopes to introduce her readers to many alternate worlds, lines of thinking, and captivating characters.

  You can find D. F. on the East Coast, hiding away from the real world with a gleam in her eye and a plot in her head. She resides with her husband, kids, and pets; who all kindly put up with her random bouts of laughter (over things she can’t explain) and journal collecting fetish.

  You can also visit her website: www.dfkrieger.com to learn about what she’s writing, what she already has out, and what crazy stuff she puts on her blog.

  Torie James

  Torie James has loved reading since she was old enough to hold a book in her lap. While her friends were out playing, she was generally curled up nearby falling down rabbit holes, catching second stars to the right, and stepping through wardrobes into mysterious lands and countless adventures. When those stories ended, she made up her own and kept going. This later on translated into a strong passion for writing that has helped her keep her feet on the ground while her head stayed firmly in the clouds.