The Hunter's Prey

by Diane Whiteside

  I did it again but this time, Jean-Marie’s hands directed my head as I swirled my tongue over him. Jean-Marie continued to guide me, curving my tongue around, over and down his scarlet shaft. I remembered sucking candy canes, how I followed a red stripe around the long shaft, then up and over the top, before sweeping back around to the base. I tried that motion on him and he growled approval, his hands tightening in my hair.

  I did it again and again, enjoying how he began to rock under my mouth. My hands came up and echoed my tongue’s movements. Heat built under my attentions and I tasted his own sweet spice, better than anything I’d ever found in a Christmas stocking.

  His body jerked harder and faster as I sucked him. The rhythm reminded me of how my hips danced beneath his tongue. Then he tensed and shuddered. I lifted my head and watched thick white drops pulse out from the head of his cock. His cream flowed down his crimson shaft, red and white together like peppermint candy. . . .

  Well, what else do you want to know, Joan?

  That night was when I fell in love with the law and the people who’d made it. The final went well, even though I was still bleeding a bit from that bite on my thigh. I found a new boardinghouse for the second semester and things got better at the University.

  Occasionally, my thigh will start burning under a full moon and I’ll feel a little trickle of blood running down. Then I’ll go to the library and browse through the stacks, hoping to hear a French voice talking about the founding fathers. . . .

  thirtieth birthday a tale of ethan templeton

  I’ve been working on a grandfather’s book of memories, which makes me feel ancient. The cowboy told me that I would remember but I could only speak of it once. So I am writing this now, while I can still recall the details, just to prove to myself that even a tenured professor of mathematics and his wife were young and crazy once.

  I was on sabbatical in Austin for my thirtieth birthday. Carol and the kids were doing well there but I felt old. Carol still looked like the crazy blonde I’d fallen in love with but I looked much the same then as I do now—as I did when I was eighteen: a nerd. Brown eyes, brown hair going bald, glasses. At least I still swam enough to have a decent build.

  Carol really surprised me that year for my birthday. She gave me a certificate good for one fantasy of my choice. We’d talked about it long enough that she knew which one I’d choose: seeing another man make love to her. I wanted John Travolta in Urban Cowboy, she wanted Frank Langella in Dracula.

  Carol found a baby-sitter for my birthday weekend and we were free.

  We drove around that Saturday to a lot of different roadhouses, looking for just the right cowboy. We started at the trendy roadhouses and watched dozens of urban cowboys two-step across the floor.

  Too fake, said Carol.

  We tried other roadhouses, looking for real cowboys. Men who could wrestle a steer or ride a woman. The roadhouses got dirtier and raunchier as we hunted. We started seeing drunks and bouncers more often than dancers.

  Too sloppy, I said.

  We wound up after midnight at a roadhouse in the Texas Hill Country under the full moon. We found a table by the wall and looked around while sipping some surprisingly good beer.

  We couldn’t see much of the band. The lighting was too bad and they were sheltered behind chicken wire. A few couples were swaying across the floor to some Western swing. Most of the action was at the bar, where men were holding forth over beer and eyeing the available women. They were real cowboys, with scuffed boots and easy drawls.

  One man really drew my attention. He was tall and blond, slender but muscled, with a dusty Stetson pulled down over his face. He leaned back against the bar, watching the room like a bored jaguar surveying the wild pig population in Honduras.

  He looked like just the man I’d always dreamed of being. I wanted to see his reaction to Carol. I wanted to see him get hot when he saw my little blonde wife. I wanted to hear her moan when he tugged her nipples. I wanted . . .

  I glanced at Carol. She was watching him too. Our eyes met and she nodded, slowly then emphatically. I stood up and went over to him.

  His eyes were very cold while I explained what I wanted. He studied Carol while I talked then looked back at me after I finished. He scrutinized me as thoroughly as he’d watched her, and I flushed. His hazel eyes flickered down to my crotch. Blood was gathering there, as it had done since I first saw him. I blushed harder but stood my ground.

  He agreed to make love to her on one condition: that he’d get to bite each of us. That was easier to agree to than some of the things we’d imagined.

  Carol led the way out of the door with him following right behind. She jumped a bit when his hand went down the back of her jeans but recovered quickly.

  We walked across the parking lot to a little motel. I went inside to get a room, while they waited. I came back to find Carol leaning against a car, his hat on her head and her shirt open to his kisses. Her eyes were half-shut as she fondled his shoulders. I could hear his wet mouth moving across her skin and the way she choked and gasped as he worked.

  An old bed with a sagging mattress took up most of the motel room. A small table and a narrow chair were the only other furniture. He jerked his head at the chair and I sat in it.

  He kissed Carol long and slow, holding her so that I could observe all of her response. His sharp white teeth gleamed when he sucked on her lip. He caressed her thoroughly, rousing her then backing off, always making sure that I could see. It was better than any movie.

  I moaned once, when his mouth drew out her nipple until it popped free. He glanced at me and I bit my lip. His look promised retribution if I disturbed them again.

  He leisurely stripped off Carol’s clothes. I saw the sweat running down her as I felt my cock start to drip. He laid her across the bed and knelt on the floor, her legs hanging over his shoulders. His fingers worked her and then his mouth. I watched hungrily, my hand on my cock echoing his movements.

  I tried to time myself to match their climax but he was taking too long. I tried to hold myself back but I could see her cream dripping and hear the bed as she rode his face. He lifted her hips higher and worked her ass. The bed’s rattles started to drown out her sobs as she begged him for more.

  I shuddered when his tongue disappeared into her back entrance. I felt pressure deep within me as my body demanded completion. I must have made a noise because he looked at me again.

  His green eyes stopped that surge and I froze, like a gazelle under a lion’s eyes. Carol whimpered but he still watched me, silently ordering me to wait. I slowly lifted my hands and placed them on the chair’s arms. He studied me a minute longer and then went back to Carol.

  I clenched the chair until my knuckles turned white as I watched him build Carol up. He finished her with his fingers deep inside her, driving her body across the bed. He bit her thigh and sucked her. Scarlet beads fell slowly to the worn carpet. I closed my eyes as she screamed how good it was. . . .

  “Behind her,” a voice said in my head. “Get behind her now.”

  Who is that? my mind bleated.

  “You know who it is.” The cold voice carried the cowboy’s implacability. “Move. Now.”

  My body obeyed him while my thoughts tumbled over each other. I opened my eyes to see his tongue flicker as it followed a crimson trail toward her knee. Carol’s arms were flung over her head, arching her beautiful breasts with their pink nipples to the ceiling.

  I climbed on the bed behind her so she lay between my legs, her head resting on my lap. My hands found their way to her breasts, plumping them and stretching out the nipples. She purred like a kitten and rubbed against me.

  He stood up easily and stretched. Then he casually gathered Carol’s hips and lifted them, rubbing his shaft’s fat tip through her creamy folds. Carol groaned and writhed, begging him to finish her. He entered her slowly, varying his angle and depth and speed, while she strung four-letter words together into a mantra.

  I coul
d see every move they made as he pleasured her. I ached with frustration and excitement.

  He lifted Carol off the bed and held her against his chest. I stared at them, startled.

  “Lie down.”

  I obeyed quickly, unwilling to cross him again. Then he brought Carol over my hips and held her there, where I could see every detail of her enjoyment. White and red drops gleamed on her golden thatch. He slowly lowered her, while I avidly watched my shaft disappear into her.

  Carol braced herself on her knees as she settled fully onto me.

  “Wait.”

  I bit my lip, willing myself not to climax. I saw him leave her and walk around the bed toward me with a gunfighter’s deliberate stroll.

  Then she began to ride me, using me as she chose and as she had never done before. I memorized every bounce of her rosy breasts and every toss of her bright hair as she moved, slowly at first but gradually faster. Her thighs slapped against my hips as she chanted my name in rhythm with her thrusts.

  I fell back, my body bowing as it centered under her. Her cunt clenched me as her climax grabbed her. She threw her head back and shouted my name, grinding her golden thatch into my dark fur.

  “Now.”

  I arched as cream burst from me and the vampire fed from my neck for the first time. . . .

  What do I remember most? Once I licked Carol’s breasts like an ice-cream sundae, while he rode Carol and she gasped encouragement to both of us.

  Or was it when I licked his cream out of Carol’s cunt while he probed her asshole with his tongue and she purred above our heads?

  Once Carol lay on my stomach while he bit and licked her back, catching every drop of sweat and blood. She twisted and moaned under his attentions, her nipples stabbing at my chest.

  Another time, Carol sprawled across the bed, boneless and exhausted. We both still sought her out; my mouth explored every inch of her feet as I tasted and sucked them. I paused frequently to watch his tongue clean her hidden folds while his fingers dallied with her asshole.

  Once Carol sucked his shaft like a dog working a bone when I took her from behind. I bit my lip when she rolled her hips eagerly against me. The blood dripped slowly down before I remembered to lick it away. I was glad no one at the university could see me.

  But mostly I remember feeding him our blood, opening myself to him, while Carol helped him drink from me, or helping him feed from her. Yielding to his demands heightened our sexual frenzy. Our bodies oozed scarlet drops from his bites. Blood stained the bed and scented the room.

  His hand toyed with Carol while he fed from my thigh for the last time. She’d lost her voice and I’d lost my glasses sometime during the night. Her eyes were shut as she idly fondled my bruised cock in rhythm with his fingers’ motion.

  She shifted and I whimpered when she lifted her hand. She rolled me from my side to my back and kneeled above my head. I hummed approval as her cunt settled over my mouth. I happily drowned in her while she sighed in ecstasy and his mouth returned to my thigh.

  He finally let us lose consciousness as first light flickered behind the grimy curtains. I slept a long time, waking to Carol’s concern. We both had bruises and sore muscles in intimate places. But the bite marks faded within a week. . . .

  Sometimes, when the Detroit winter is long and cold, my neck itches under a full moon. Then Carol and I both look south and remember, and almost wish to be thirty again.

  the morning after a tale of don rafael perez, ethan templeton, and jean-marie st. just

  Liz yawned her way into the breakfast nook and dropped into a chair. Becca eyed her over a mug of steaming black coffee then stood up. She put down a fresh mug of coffee in front of Liz and then resumed her own study of the coffee’s potential.

  “Thanks,” Liz offered. She cupped her hands around the fragrant brew. “Thank God for coffee, especially after nights like that.”

  “Amen,” Becca responded and took a deep drink.

  Julie appeared in the doorway, somehow managing to look like a supermodel in her scruffy Miami Dolphins jersey. Her face lacked makeup and her blonde hair was finding new ways to defy gravity. She was still the most beautiful woman in the room.

  Becca sighed into her coffee. Julie was also the sweetest girl in the room. She even had a knack for match-making. Becca shuddered over her two divorces, both from men that Julie hadn’t liked. Next time she’d listen to Julie.

  “Anybody need a warm-up?” Julie asked, holding the coffeepot up.

  “I do,” Becca answered. She got out of her chair, wincing as muscles protested last night’s hard use. She hoped her steps weren’t as loose-limbed as the other girls’ but suspected they were. It had been quite a party.

  Liz finished stirring her usual flood of cream and sugar into her mug and sniffed it cautiously. “Perfect,” she muttered and took a deep swallow.

  Becca and Julie’s eyes met over Liz’s head. Liz never bothered with calorie counting like the other girls. She was still as much of a tomboy as she’d been at twelve when they’d all met. But her athletic skills kept her figure trim and her skin freckled, a nice anchor for her dark eyes, brunette hair, and big smile. She often complained that men always treated her like a kid sister and never had any serious intentions.

  Becca thought about adding cream to her coffee and then decided against it. She spent too much time in the gym now, trying to keep her curves on the slender side rather than the pleasingly plump side. Men liked her honey-blonde looks and curves, almost as much as they liked her family’s money.

  “Have a good time last night?” Becca asked the room in general.

  “Great Halloween party!” Julie enthused. “You were right. I had a much better time here than I would have in New York. And that Frenchman. Ooh, baby!” She kissed her fingers in salute.

  Liz and Becca stared at her.

  “Tall guy? Dressed as the Phantom of the Opera?” Liz asked.

  “That’s the one. Jean-Marie St. Just.”

  “But, Julie darling, you barely reached his chest.”

  “So what? And let me tell you,” Julie smiled reminiscently as she licked a milky mustache from her upper lip, “he knew clothing too. Recognized my dressmaker immediately and said some wonderful things about my gown’s bias cut. He was almost enough to make me move back to Texas permanently.”

  Liz and Becca looked at each other in shock. Understanding each other completely, they immersed themselves in coffee-drinking again. Coffee was something they could handle, unlike Julie talking about moving home.

  “What about you, darlings?” Julie asked. “Your vampire was a real hunk, Becca. Rafael Perez, right? He looked damn good next to your Morticia Addams outfit. Rather large for your typical Latin lover but who cares with that body?”

  Becca remembered seeing Rafael’s shoulders looming above her as he thrust into her. Was that the second or third time he rode her? The aches deep down in her body said that he’d had her more times than that. She blushed all the way down to her chest.

  She opened her mouth to say something but an iron vise clamped around her throat. She remembered a deep voice forbidding her to ever speak of what they’d done together. She took a deep breath and relaxed slowly, as the ban faded with her decision not to talk.

  “So he was that good after you two went upstairs. Good for you, darling.” Julie lifted her coffee mug in salute.

  Then she and Becca turned their attention to Liz, who kept her face buried in the enormous mug.

  “I saw you, Liz, with that tall rebel officer. Nice, nice butt there. Didn’t seem to be eyeing you like a sister,” Julie teased. “What was his name, Becca?”

  “Pete introduced him as Ethan Templeton. Come on, Liz, tell us about it,” Becca urged, glad to turn attention from herself. “Blond guys don’t come along every day who look like a mountain lion on the prowl. Especially fellows who match your Gone with the Wind finery. Did he roar in the bedroom? Or were you the one doing the roaring?”

  “I don’t reme
mber,” Liz managed before grabbing another gulp of coffee.

  Julie’s eyebrows went up. “I swear I heard you giggling for a solid five minutes in there, Liz. Right after the bed stopped pounding the wall.”

  Liz shrugged. Her oversized T-shirt fell away from her neck, revealing a substantial hickey.

  Becca whistled. “Sounds like we all had a good time last night. I think this needs a special salute.”

  She unearthed a bottle of Kahlua and poured a dollop into each mug. The three friends clinked their mugs together and drank.

  “Halloween, and I met a vampire,” Becca mused.

  “Jean-Marie said he was a vampire but I just laughed at him. That costume was definitely for the Phantom.”

  “Ethan mentioned something about being a vampire, while we were dancing,” Liz offered. “He did leave before dawn.”

  “That’s when Rafael left.”

  “And Jean-Marie. He said his fangs were real, too.”

  The three women looked at each other.

  “Could it be?” Liz started.

  “Nah.”

  “Definitely not,” confirmed Becca.

  Each woman took another drink and resolved never to mention the bite marks on their thighs to another. After all, a guy could be kinky without being a vampire.

  And there’s no such thing as vampires, even on the morning after Halloween.

  spotlight a tale of don rafael perez

  TO: ritacat@nyc . . .

  FROM: brynda@austn . . .

  DATE: Mon,

  SUBJECT: Scenery

  Thanks for the care package! It was waiting for me when I got home tonight. You can find a lot of things down here in Texas, some of them damn good like the cowboys. But nothing really compares to a genuine kosher pickle from Brooklyn.

  I’m still working temp, always as a paralegal so the money’s pretty good. Moving from assignment to assignment keeps me from getting bored. And yes, it also keeps me busy enough that I don’t think about Dave all the time.

  No, I’m not coming back to Brooklyn, no matter how often you ask or tempt me with talk of clearance sales in the garment district! I’d rather stay in Texas where we were happiest. Okay, I did move to Austin but that was to avoid reminders of the Navy.