Bloody Sexy Anthology

by Carmilla Voiez

  “I need you,” she said as broke the kiss and rolled her hips, thrusting against his hand. His fingers moved in and out of her, stoking her desire. She pulled his pants down and let his erection spring free.

  “I want to fuck you. Here. Now,” he said.

  She looked up at him and sucked his cock between her lips. He threaded his hands in her hair, thrusting in and out of her mouth. She looked up at him through her lashes, her eyes glowing in the soft light of the room.

  He stopped her. “I’ll blow if you don’t stop.”

  She gave him one last lick. “Good.”

  He pulled her panties off and parted her thighs. “Such a beautiful, wet pussy.”

  “Please. I need to feel you inside me.” She moved so she was reclining on the couch. Still holding his cock, she positioned him right where she wanted him.

  He slid forward and into her with one thrust. “Oh, fuck yes. So fucking tight.”

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and grabbed his butt, pulling him deeper inside with each thrust. He rose up on his knees and grabbed the arm of the couch, his body held over her as she writhed beneath him. She looked into his eyes. “Do it. Come with me.”

  He pounded and drove himself balls-deep into her. The heat of her desire spread through her. She clenched and it sent him over the edge. He came, pumping into her. “Ah, fuck yes!”

  Her body arched one last time beneath him. They lay spent and satisfied in each other’s arms, his head pillowed on her shoulder. “That was great,” she said.

  He looked up at her. “Yeah?”

  She nodded and smiled. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Really? I figured you’d have someone by now.” He stood up and discarded the remainder of his clothes.

  “I have a few issues.” She looked around for her clothes. “A relationship requires trust.”

  “What are you doing?” He grabbed her panties from the floor before she could get to them.

  “It’s late.” She reached for her clothes, but he held them out of her reach.

  “So? You’re staying the night, and we’re going to go into my bedroom and fuck each other’s brains out on that bed in there.”

  “I really need to call Lara. We always check in on each other.” She made one more grab for her panties.

  “I need you. I want you back in my life.” He stepped forward and pulled her close.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” She stared deep into his eyes. He didn’t look away.

  “I can only show you by my actions. I realize what I lost when I left you.”

  “Can we start slow? Be mutually exclusive, but no moving in or anything like that?” She clasped her hands together behind his neck and rested her arms on his shoulders.

  “Maybe some sleepovers? Starting tonight.” His erection twitched and hardened against her belly.

  “But I have to go home at sundown. I do have a job.” She dragged her teeth over his earlobe.

  He sucked in a breath. “Fuck. You know how to turn me on. Now get the rest of those clothes off and get into my bed.”

  She kicked off her red high-heeled shoes and shed the few remaining pieces of clothing she still wore. “I’m gonna ride you this time.”

  He kissed her, backing her across the room and into the bedroom until she fell onto the bed. “What was that you said about being girl on top?”

  She pawed at the bed covers. “Let me show you. Get on the bed.” He flung the blankets onto the floor and did as she asked. His cock stood straight up. “Mine.” She held him, straddling his hips and guiding him to her wet entrance.

  He grabbed her hips and pulled her down as he thrust up into her. Soon, the bed was rocking and thumping with the rhythm. The sound of their flesh slapping together filled the room and echoed in the quiet house.

  “Hey, Nick!" Josh yelled and knocked on the adjoining door. "Hurry up and come already. I’ve heard elephants make less noise fucking.”

  Sadie started to giggle. “This is embarrassing.”

  “We’re not done yet.” Nick flipped her over onto her back and resumed his thrusting. She bit down on his neck to keep from screaming as she orgasmed.

  “Fuck yes. I’m coming!” he yelled and shot his load into her.

  “Nick. You fucker.” Josh threw the adjoining door open and marched into the kitchen. “Keep it down, will ya?”

  Nick stood up, tossing a blanket to Sadie as he walked out of the room naked. “What’s the matter? Just you and your right hand tonight?”

  Josh threw a kitchen towel to him. “No. But you’re fuckin’ with my game. I got a girl here too.” His sweatpants hung on his narrow hips.

  Nick held the towel in front of his groin. “I’ll try to keep it down, but no guarantees. I hooked up with my ex, if you know what I mean?” He threw an arm around Josh’s shoulders and hustled him to the door.

  “You mean the hot one?” Josh’s eyes sparkled.

  “Yeah. So get the fuck out.” Nick smiled, showing his fangs.

  A rock tune played from somewhere in the living room. “Oh, crap. I forgot to call Lara.” Sadie, still wrapped in the blanket, hurried into the living room to find her cell phone.

  “Sadie? Is that you?” Lara poked her head into Nick’s half of the basement. The top of her dress was unbuttoned and her hair was messy. She closed her phone and stared at her friend.

  “Um, yeah. Sorry I hadn’t had a chance to call.” Sadie held the blanket closed with one hand and picked up her cell phone in the other. Her blush went clear to her toes. “I was busy.”

  “Yeah. Just a little. I’ll call you later.” Lara walked away laughing.

  “I’m not gonna say nothing.” Josh snickered and followed Lara, shutting and locking the door behind him.

  Nick turned around and looked at Sadie. “Did I tell you how beautiful you are?”

  “Me? Right now?” Her eyes were wide.

  “Yes. The sexiest woman ever.” He tossed the towel over his shoulder and walked over to her. She opened the blanket and put her arms around him. They stood there together, wrapped in the fabric.

  “You know? I believe you.”

  He smiled down at her. “Why?”

  “Because I can feel it.” She kissed him. They moved to lie down on the floor in the living room. He turned on the television and they cuddled there in the glow, making love and talking until dawn.

  ****

  The next evening when it was time for her to go, Nick pulled her close. “Were you serious about being mutually exclusive? Because I am.”

  She smiled at him. “I am too.”

  “Good. I want to see you again as soon as I can.” He kissed her forehead.

  “So it would be okay if I came back after work?”

  “I’ll be waiting. Now hurry up.” He walked her to the car and waited while she drove away. He turned around to go back into the house.

  Josh stood in the doorway. “So Sadie’s the one you fell for, then acted like a total dumb-ass and fucked things up?”

  “I’m lucky enough she’s giving me a second chance.” Nick smiled and pumped his fist in the air. “Fuck yeah.”

  Josh slapped him on the back. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m sleeping over at Lara’s.”

  Nick smiled, showing his fangs. “Might be a good idea there, brother.”

  Golden Moments

  by James Park

  It was one of those golden moments where nothing else seemed to matter. Time stood still...motionless...and the air lingered with an intoxicating aroma that was destined to evaporate. It didn’t matter if Trenton Tross was a multi-millionaire or a penniless hobo; the moment would have delivered the same intensity under either scenario, and nothing seemed to exist until the next moment stepped into queue and nudged him back to reality.

  It held no significance that Trenton Tross grew up in Dayton, Ohio, that he’d been subjected to ridicule as a child because his mother was black and his father was white, or that he’d learned to fight at a
young age as a mechanism of self-defense against the onslaught of schoolyard confrontations.

  The hours spent perfecting his body, always striving to lift heavier weights, swim faster laps, do more chin-ups, held absolutely no meaning. It didn’t matter that he practiced push-ups with his hands in fists, knuckles grinding into broken glass so as to numb his exterior to the pain that he’d otherwise feel while beating an opponent senseless. The vegetarian-based diet, structured to deliver the same degree of nourishment one might extract from the proverbial fountain of youth, held no meaning.

  It didn’t matter that he’d worked his way to third degree black belt by the age of seventeen, or that he’d laid the foundation for a triumphant career by stomping Riley O’Neil half-to-death in the third fight of his rookie year. It didn’t matter that two years later he’d stripped Andrew Mason of the cruiser-weight title with a flying back-kick to the temple, or that he’d broken the leg of just about every opponent that came within breathing distance of the belt. And it didn’t matter that Antonio Moretti failed to stand up after their fight, or that he’d been pronounced dead on Pay-Per-View television while lying face down in a pool of his own excrement. The chump had asked for it, running his mouth like a big shot, when everyone knew he didn’t belong in a cage with the likes of Trenton Tross.

  It didn’t even matter that he’d lost the title to Nigel Andresen seven weeks earlier, or that he’d trained like a work-horse ever since, preparing for the chance to regain his glory; and with a self-acknowledged tone of depravity, it didn’t matter that he was preparing to leave the corpse of Nigel Andresen swimming in a pool of blood and bile fouler than the one he’d left for Antonio Moretti. None of this mattered.

  The wealth he’d piled into a collection of well-diversified securities didn’t matter. And neither did his wardrobe of fine Italian suits. The fresh-squeezed vegetable juice prepared every morning was insignificant, as was the snifter of brandy he occasionally enjoyed before bed. Neither the experience of shaking hands with Ozzy Osbourne, nor the success that gifted him a Rembrandt to hang in the dining room, held any meaning. The Porsche in his driveway, the Lamborghini in his garage, and the Miata he’d parked haphazardly outside of Fererra’s apartment: it was one of those moments where none of it mattered.

  And the women didn’t matter either. In all shapes, sizes, and colors, they didn’t matter. Sharing wine as they awed over his accolades was momentarily reduced to trivial exchanges that held no importance. Their willingness to kick off their heels and slide out of their designer dresses held no meaning as the moment commenced, save for Fererra’s nakedness. The woman was simply gorgeous, and Trenton Tross couldn’t imagine a moment when her nakedness wouldn’t have mattered.

  With his hands gripping either side of Fererra’s sweaty midsection, the weeks of torment that she’d put him through only mattered as much as the picture frame that had shattered against the ground during their struggle to leave one another’s clothes as ripped and unwearable as possible. Trenton’s body pumped up and down, thrusting as though the continued procreation of the human species relied on his performance. Sweat ran down his face only to dissolve amidst the arsenal of kisses that Fererra attacked him with.

  As the golden moment occurred, Trenton’s toes curled inward and the sensation of electrical ripples surged through his body; the built-up accumulation of semen fired, forcing the tingle in his penis to spread throughout his body like an infection. A subdued and warm sensation washed away the electrical overtones and left him feeling at one with the feminine body pinioned between the mattress and his muscular frame.

  And then the moment was over. Trenton rolled onto his back, his chest heaving up and down like that of a gladiator who’s just garnered triumph in an epic battle. His breathing gradually eased to a relaxed calmness as Fererra placed her head in the divot where the ripples of his bicep intersected the thickness of his shoulder. The tips of her freshly-manicured fingernails danced back and forth across his chest as the dopamine-secreting neurons in his brain settled down, allowing thoughts to ease their way back into his mind. And then everything mattered.

  Having regained the ability to think, concentrate, decipher, and even discriminate, it mattered to Trenton Tross that he’d grown up in Dayton, Ohio and that he’d learned to fight by kicking the snot out of racist bigots that challenged his heredity. It mattered that he’d achieved third degree black belt by the age of seventeen, that he dedicated hours to chiseling his body into a heaving slab of perfection, and that he made just about every opponent that stepped into the cage with him wish that they’d never been born. Even the corpse of Antonio Moretti mattered, though it was the type of accolade that he silently cherished in the private recesses of his mind.

  It especially mattered that he’d lost the cruiser-weight title to Nigel Andresen, and it mattered even more that he’d trained like a pit bull and was ready to regain the glory he should never have lost in the first place.

  The wealth, the clothes, the cars, the diet designed to keep him young for longer than he deserved: it all mattered. And it mattered that Fererra liked it when he met new women, and that she shared in the delight of coaxing them out of their clothes and into their tangled web of satin sheets.

  Trenton’s eyes surveyed his surroundings, taking in the mess of Fererra’s apartment. Knickknacks had been knocked over and abandoned during preparation for the moment when nothing would matter. Clothes were strewn about. The chastity device that forced Trenton to blur the boundaries between agony and ecstasy lay open and neglected atop the carpet, right beside the La Perla thong that he’d torn from Fererra’s privates just seconds after she’d turned the key and freed his manhood. He couldn’t even remember if they’d shut the front door. As trifling a concern as it was, Trenton surmised that they hadn’t, and for all he knew the neighbors were now snickering over just how intense the moment had been.

  Moments with Ferrera were always memorable in a strange and esoteric sense of the word, yet moments of a truly golden nature seemed few and far between. Trenton never complained about the longing or the aching, the promises of pleasure that Fererra dangled just outside of his reach. He loved every game she played, to the extent that the recycled bouts of pent-up frustration began to matter as much as the wealth he procured by beating thugs to a pulp inside the steel cage.

  He looked down at Fererra, strands of her silky black hair hiding half of her face. The sensation of her heartbeat purred against the side of his chest as he felt the softness of her left hand moving southward along his bicep. It slithered down his arm until her fingertips danced atop his scarred knuckles, and then began to massage the dulled flesh. Trenton felt as though her touch possessed strange yet eccentric powers, capable of either rejuvenating him or deteriorating him, contingent on the mercy of her own discretion.

  Fererra was a treasure, it went without question. Trenton’s heart had cried bloody tears of agony the first time her bikini-clad body shuffled past him at the beach. But through an alluring series of encounters, Trenton felt as though she was the one that pursued him, snagged him in her web, and then made him work for the intimacies that other women dropped at his feet like an obligatory offering. And it mattered.

  It mattered and it kept him coming back. It made him yearn for her delicious nectar like it was a vile drug, leaving him no choice but to crave the source of his own vulnerability.

  Trenton brushed the long strands of black hair from Fererra’s face, lowered his head for a kiss, then pulled away as a bitter taste seeped into his mouth, dripped down his throat, and invaded every pathway in his body. Then the unimaginable became quite believable. Trenton’s mouth hung open and his eyes widened as he witnessed the mutation of Fererra’s tongue into a lizard-like strand of leathery muscles. Paralyzed with disbelief, he watched her eyes transform into emerald orbs that let loose a sinister glow as beauty evaporated from her skin, replaced with the harsh dryness of overlapping scales.

  The reptilian tongue lashed out and wrapped around
Trenton’s neck like a collar and leash, keeping his shoulders and head relatively still as he fought for release, arms flailing and legs kicking in a futile attempt to escape. Dizziness washed away his ability to think as he suffocated within the grasp of Fererra’s tongue. His arms went limp and his legs stopped kicking. Darkness took over as his eyelids became heavy and clamped shut. He felt the rough contour of a serpentine body slither on top of him. Lethargic and unable to move, his wrists were easily pinned behind his head by a tiny set of crusted fingers. Scaly legs wrapped around his ankles, leaving his limbs motionless, low on life. The lizard-like tongue released its grasp, then licked his cheek, his neck, his lips; it toyed with him like a praying mantis toys with a mate during copulation.

  As oxygen worked its way back into Trenton Tross’ head, he managed the wherewithal to open his eyes and take in the site of the petite yet monstrous creature that held him still. He gave it a final attempt, one last surge of power. His chest heaved up and down as his breathing accelerated, adrenaline pounding against his insides like a mental patient beating against the padded walls of his cell. But the arms didn’t move. The legs felt frozen. And the mutated remnant of the woman he lusted after batted her lashes and smiled like the devil.

  Trenton closed his eyes as a set of dry lips pressed against his. He felt life leaving his body, sucked into a lustless kiss that left him with the agony and frustration of emptiness. Then it happened, during the golden moment when Trenton’s heart stopped beating and his pulse stopped ticking, nothing in the world, save for an ocean of euphoria that swept through his body and washed away his pain, seemed to matter.

  As far as Trenton Tross was concerned, none of it ever mattered again.