Tricks or Treats: An Anthology for Charity

by Tiffany Carby

  His hands moved up over her hips, across the bottom of her ribs up to her breasts. Flicking a thumb over her nipple, he gave a small chuckle as her body moved closer to him, begging to be touched. Pinching got him a bigger reaction as she reached down, hands tied together and grabbed his hair. With a sly smile, he moved closer to her pussy, so close she twitched with every breath that tickled against her. After dragging out a minute, he finally gave in and licked along her slit before finding her clit with his tongue. He was merciless, teasing her, tasting her until she was bucking against the bed, all control lost. She came apart on his face, body a trembling mess. He gave her a moment to collect herself before using the ropes binding her hands together to pull her back to a sitting position. Grinning, he stood, took the end of the rope and looped it over one of the horizontal beams on the bed frame. As he pulled and tugged on the silk, she was dragged lazily to her feet with it.

  She gave him a satisfied smile as he tied a knot to keep her in place. Her post-orgasm bliss was like a hazy cloud surrounding her, Xavier mused. There was something about a woman in this state that was irresistible. It was a high that almost couldn’t be matched.

  “We can’t have you peeking now, can we?” he whispered near her earlobe before he fastened a blindfold over her big brown eyes. He usually liked them to watch everything, but this one was a little flighty. Her instincts had almost lost her to him already, so for now she had to be kept in the dark.

  “Is this the part where you give me my treat?”

  “Of course,” he murmured against her flesh as he brought out a small pinwheel from the drawer.

  One end was a typical pinwheel, with tiny metal spikes enough to create a prickly sensation but not enough to break the skin without effort. The other end, however, consisted of three rows of spikes, each sharpened specifically to draw blood.

  Xavier began to focus on her breasts, kissing and caressing them with one hand, as he sucked her nipple, making her back arch into him, he took the softer side of the pinwheel and ran it around her other nipple.

  “That feels so good…” she breathed.

  “Good.”

  If she was relaxed, open to him, then it would make everything all the sweeter.

  As his teeth scraped against the sensitive nub, his free hand cupped her other breast, squeezing and massaging. Selina tilted her head back, and Xavier took this as his signal to use the other end of the pinwheel and run it down her spine. The needles were so fine, it would feel like sharp scratches, and she would be so caught up, she should barely notice. He was right as she let out another moan, not realising that her back was now covered in tiny droplets of blood. Xavier could smell it, the copper tones filling the air. Moving his hand across her body made her squirm, but she wasn’t in pain, she was lost in the sensations, her mind not able to distinguish between pleasure and pain. It was time to move on.

  She growled in protest as he pulled away to get a small knife from the bedside. It was only about the length of his hand, the handle an intricate Celtic design with a ruby embedded in the hilt.

  “Xavier, baby...I need you.”

  “I’m here, I’m just getting something.” Putting the blade between his teeth, he lifted her onto his cock, wrapping her legs around his waist once more.

  “Yes. Yes. Yes,” she panted as she began to move her hips to grind against him.

  With one hand wrapped around her to hold her in place, he used the other to grab the knife. Pressing the metal flat against her breast, he loved how she shuddered in response to the cool metal.

  “Yesssssss. Baby. Fuck me,” she begged as he made a small, soft slice in her skin. She cut like butter, barely noticing the incision. He watched as blood pooled at the opening, trickling down over the tip of her nipple.

  He thrust deeper into her, the sight of the crimson liquid making him harder than he had been all night. As he thrust, he made another small slit on her ribcage. The arm that held her was now slick and sticky from sweat mixed with blood. As her orgasm drew closer, she didn’t notice the other five slashes he made, each one deeper than the last until blood was running freely between them.

  The sight of all the blood took him back to the moment Eliza’s head had cracked open. He’d pushed her, and she’d stumbled, catching her head on the tiles before she fell into the water. Jumping in to save her had been the plan, but when the water turned a darker shade of crimson than he’d ever seen before, he couldn’t bring himself to drag her out. Instead, he held her under, watching her fade. It was over too quickly. Gone in an instant.

  But over the years he had honed his technique, drawing out the experience so that he could bask in it. Hate was not the key like with Eliza, he’d learned that early on. Love and lust gave greater satisfaction in the end, and that’s why he always seduced them first, fucked them, brought them to their knees, and then he broke them.

  Susan finally came, writhing against him, smearing blood all over his torso. It was all he needed to reach his own climax as he pumped into her a few more times before filling her with his cum.

  As he tenderly unwrapped her legs from his waist and lowered them down, he took the blade and made a long, deep gash down inner leg.

  “Ow! What the fuck!”

  He stood, grinning, and pulled off the blindfold so she could see the mess they’d made. Blood spattered the bed sheets and had made small pools on the white tile. A thrill shot through him as he saw their bloody footprints on the floor. The look of horror on her face was worth it, she looked terrified, and he relished it. He committed it to memory because this was as close to perfection as he would get for another year.

  “Okay, enough. Stop now,” she said, voice trembling.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t do that. We’ve only just begun.” He pulled back on his trousers, leaving her wriggling and pulling against the ropes, trying to get free.

  “You said you’d stop,” she whispered, realisation slowly dawning that the handsome millionaire she’d come home with was in fact a monster.

  “I lied.”

  He grabbed the knife back off the bed and stepped towards her. She was crying now, tears pouring down her face.

  “I chose treat, you bastard!” she sobbed, blood trickling down her thighs from where he had cut her.

  “I know, girls like you always do, but this was much more fun. The look on your face...urgh, that look gets me every single time.”

  She stilled for a moment as the words sunk in, he had done this before. How many women had he tied up in his little dungeon in the middle of nowhere? How many had lived to tell the tale? He chuckled, she was about to find out exactly what happened. But first, he needed to feed her a little false hope, that always got the adrenaline pumping and made the chase that much sweeter.

  “If you can escape, if you can find a way to beat me Sasha, I promise not to carve you up like a little rag doll.”

  The crying started again, her chest heaving as she failed to take in his words, her body twisting as she tried to get free of the ropes.

  “I’ll even give you a five minute head start.”

  Sighing dramatically, he unlocked the door and picked his knife up from the tray.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll give you a ten minute head start, after all, I know the terrain much better than you.”

  Taking his blade, he ran it lightly down her cheek, then her neck, moving gracefully between her breasts before trailing lower to circle her navel. Slowly, he moved back up along her ribcage, up her arms to where her hands were bound together above her head, and cut away the bindings.

  She looked up at him, fear and confusion all over her delicate features. He loved that cow-eyed look she had, it was so fresh, so different and so glorious with blood and tears smeared everywhere. Slowly, she blinked...and there...there it was. That flicker of hope he’d been waiting for…

  Holding out his hand, he helped her off her kne
es and led her, like a lamb, to the slaughter, towards the bedroom door. He dragged her down the stairs where she tripped and stumbled over her own feet as he led her towards the back door. Kicking it wide open with his boot, he revealed the woodlands that surrounded them. He’d left lit pumpkins dotted around the gardens, little symbols of hope in the darkness, but the closer she got to them, she would realise that their twisted carved faces were only mocking her. She had a small chance of survival, less than five percent, he figured, if he bothered to work it out. There was no help for miles. The huge stone wall surrounding his lands and a whole host of traps hidden in the dark guaranteed a low survival rate. But people clung to that five percent when it was all they had, and he needed that. He wanted to taste it on her skin, the fear seeping out, when he caught her.

  She looked at him hesitantly, a strange determination sparking in the depths of her eyes, and a thrill shot through him. She was a fighter, he liked that. The realists always spoiled everything because they already knew the inevitable. Taking a step forward, she paused again.

  “It’s Sarah, you bastard!” she whispered as she tried to pull herself together.

  Leaning in close to her, he could smell cherries and blood mixed with sweat lingering around them, the perfect perfume.

  “Everyone knows that the monsters come out to play on Halloween so you had better RUN!” he hissed as she finally sprang into action.

  Xavier watched as she tore off into the night, hoping like the others did that those silly little lights were help. But they weren’t. Looking at his Rolex, he waited. Three minutes had gone by. He could barely make her out in the darkness now, shadows hiding her. Five minutes. That was okay, he knew this land like the back of his hand — there was nowhere for her to go. He grabbed a black hoodie off a hook by the door and pulled it on. Seven minutes. It was a rigged game when you thought about it. They always chose treat, and he always tricked them; it was the most fun he got all year. He pulled on some sneakers and quickly tied the laces. Nine minutes. A branch snapped in the distance. After strapping his knives onto his belt, Xavier grabbed his night vision goggles from the side and pulled them into position. Ten.

  The fun was just about to begin...

  AUTHOR BIO

  Alice La Roux is a dirty minded, foul mouthed Welsh author who dabbles in erotica, horror and fantasy. She’s a bookworm who drinks too much prosecco (is there such a thing?), loves her dog and husband equally and is addicted to social media.

  Find her on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AliLaRoux

  Or see random pictures of her life over on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/alicelaroux/

  Feel free to add her on Facebook, she doesn’t bite…much. You can find her page here: https://www.facebook.com/asmadasAlice/

  Or if one crazy isn’t enough you can find her hanging out with five others in The Romance Rebels Party Room where they talk books, hotties and share exclusives: https://www.facebook.com/groups/RomanceRebelsPartyRoom/

  UNMASKING BEAUTY

  J.C. Madison

  DEDICATION

  This story is dedicated to the zillion cups of coffee and endless glasses of wine consumed during its creation. It would not have been written without either one.

  In a world where your position is decided by how you look, the colour of your skin, Adam is cursed.

  He certainly doesn’t fit in with the Have on the Right Side of the Tracks, with their milky white skin, and hair of gold.

  But neither does he fit with the Have-Nots, on the Wrong Side of the Tracks, with their caramel coloured skin, and rich, brown eyes.

  Cursed with dark skin and eyes so pale, they are barely exist, he’s a beast.

  Adam lives inside a walled garden, where it’s safe, where the world can’t hurt him, until one Halloween night a door opens.

  For one night each year, Adam can escape the garden. Disguised, he’s free to walk amid those who fear him.

  But what happens when he is unmasked?

  Can he find acceptance? Or are people incapable of change?

  In a world obsessed with looks, who is the real beast?

  The Beginning

  Moonlight filtered through the window and highlighted the pentacle drawn on the wooden floor. Five lit candles stood at each point and a hint of sage lingered in the air.

  Marguerite grasped another candle, the name of the demon she prepared to summon, carved into the wax.

  The clock chimed as she whispered the demon’s name.

  Once. Twice. Thrice.

  Orange smoke rose from beneath the floor and Marguerite’s grip tightened.

  “Who the fuc — ” The smoke dispersed as a demon appeared. “Oh, ‘tis you Marguerite, my sweet, to what do I owe this unexpected — ” A whimper diverted his attention to baskets positioned at the edge of the circle. Two tan skinned infants, with tufts of dark hair, and brown eyes lay within. “Naw, you remembered today’s my favourite holiday, and you brought me a treat.”

  Marguerite gasped and drew the baskets out of reach. “The babies are mine, you monster, not some snack.”

  The demon’s eyes widened. “Yours? Ah, I see the resemblance.” He crossed his arms. “You got your Mr Perfect into bed after all, congratulations. So why am I here? You got what you wanted.”

  “If I had what I wanted, you wouldn’t be.”

  The demon chuckled. “Aw, let me guess — Mr. Perfect was more than happy to cross the tracks to get his rocks off, but not so interested in happily ever after. Am I right?”

  Heat burned Marguerite’s cheeks and flamed the anger in her heart. “I thought he was different, and I fell for his pretty lies and false promises. But he is just like all the rest. He will pay for his deception.”

  The demon rubbed his hands. “My dear sweet, Marguerite, you are indeed a girl after my own heart. How may I be of assistance?”

  Marguerite retrieved a third basket and set it between the others. In this one laid a babe with pale skin, golden hair and eyes of ocean blue. “For months he crawled into my bed in the dead of night. Whispered words that promised a better life. I’ll never forget the incredulous look on his face when I told him I carried his sons. The laughter that spilled from his lips, nor the cruelty of his words as he denied both me and the babies growing inside me. To him, I was a means to scratch an itch; a dalliance on the Wrong Side, nothing more. He threw a handful of notes at me and told me to take care of the problem, but I couldn’t. Six months ago, mere weeks after my sons were born, I learned he’d fathered another son — ” Marguerite nudged the middle basket. “ — with his wife.”

  “And you stole the baby?” The demon dipped his head. “Colour me impressed, my sweet. So, you brought me a Halloween treat after all?”

  “No, I don’t want you to kill him.”

  The demon huffed and fisted his hands on his hips. “Then how about you get to the point.”

  “This child represents everything my sons are not. He has everything my sons are denied simply by the way he looks, the colour of his skin. So, I want you to make a trade, his looks for ours. His pale skin, and golden hair, for our darker ones. Our brown eyes for his blue. Make us everything his father loves in him, and him everything he rejected in us.”

  “My sweet, you are more devious than I gave you credit for.” The demon stroked his chin. “Three for one, hey?”

  “Can you do it?”

  “Aye, it can be done.”

  Marguerite smiled.

  “With a caveat or two.”

  Her smile faded. “What kind of caveat?”

  “Well, the kind of request you’re making is conditional magic?”

  Lines creased Marguerite’s brow. “I don’t understand.”

  “Conditional magic, meaning the curse can only be sealed if certain conditions are met.”

  “Like what?”

  “Typically,
it’s related to the reason for the curse. In this case, it’s a story of unrequited love, so something like true love’s kiss would be required to break it.”

  “There’s no such thing as true love.”

  The demon cocked his head. “Then the caveat shouldn’t be an issue. Now a time frame — ”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I am assuming you don’t want this to be a forever thing. Imagine you and your sons enjoying life, perhaps they have families of their own, and then ‘bam’ at thirty-two, little Mr Perfect here goes and falls in love and breaks the curse. Poof. There goes your happily ever after.”

  Marguerite shuddered at the thought. “Fine, how about — ”

  “Hmm, twenty-one should do it.”

  “Twenty-one? That’s too long.”

  “To wait for something that doesn’t exist? Do you believe in true love after all?”

  She lifted her chin. “Fine. Is that all?”

  “Not quite. While the essence inside the child is strong, sharing it amongst the three of you, I can’t promise the results will be exactly what you’re hoping for?”

  Panic widened Marguerite’s eyes. “What are you saying? It can’t be done?” After everything I’ve done, this has to work. It has to.

  “Oh, it can be done, but it’s going to need a little something extra, and for that, I’ll require a caveat of my own.”

  “Name it.”

  “If the little muppet here manages to break the curse, then I get you, my sweet.”

  Marguerite recoiled. “No. Not happening.”

  The demon shrugged. “Suit yourself. The kid’s got enough juice for two perfect transformations, or three mediocre ones. Or you can agree to my caveat and all three of you can outshine even the fairest from the Right Side of the Tracks. Your choice.”

  Bile burned Marguerite’s throat. You’re such an idiot. So hell-bent on revenge, you didn’t stop to consider the logistics of your damn plan. Mediocre won’t cut it. “Fine. If he manages to break the curse, then I’ll go with you.”