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The
costume worked its magic. I was astonished at how regal I looked, and
how desirable. The bodice pinched my waist to tiny dimensions, and
forced my breasts upwards. The square-cut neckline drew attention to
my swelling flesh, barely hiding my nipples. In fact, they were not
hidden at all. Though I'd lined the top with muslin as the pattern
specified, the tight nubs were clearly visible through several layers
of fabric.
I
cradled my breasts and used my thumbs to trace circles around those
sensitive buds. With each cycle, the spring of tension in my cunt
wound tighter. A light flick of my thumbnail sent electricity down my
spine and triggered spasms of pleasure. I worried briefly that the
juices trickling out of my cunt would spoil the satin. But after all,
what did it matter? There was no one to see me tonight, no one to
please but myself.
"You
certainly do look sexy. Like something right out of de Sade."
"What?
Who...?" I whirled around in confusion, my heart slamming
against my ribs. The voice had been close, right next to my ear. Yet
the room was empty, unchanged. The same rippling walls, the same
thread-bare carpet, the same rusty stains on the ceiling. The
rumpled bed where I'd had my tantrum. The almost-empty glass on the
dresser.
Ah,
the liquor. I must be more drunk than I thought. I turned back to the
mirror, searching my face for signs of intoxication, and yelped as
something, someone, pinched my nipples.
"Hey!
That hurts." Indignation overwhelmed fear.
"It
does, at first. But afterward, it changes, doesn't it? Afterward, it
feels quite delicious." I stared at my image, mouth hanging
stupidly open, as invisible hands caressed my tits. Strong hands,
gentle hands, hands that seemed to know exactly how to make me shiver
with delight. "That's what most people don't understand about
pain. It's the gateway to the most exquisite pleasure."
The
voice was a melodious baritone, rich, deep, hypnotic. "You fear
the pain, but that's foolish. You must surrender to the pain. Let it
move through you. Let it wash away your doubts and your inhibitions.
Let it open you to ecstasy."
Firm,
unseen lips nibbled at my neck. A warm, wet tongue traced the curve
from below my ear to my exposed shoulder, then down to the hollow at
my throat. With each touch, extravagant new species of pleasure
bloomed in my sex. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back,
savoring the delicate caresses and the amazing sensations that they
triggered in my cunt.
Then
suddenly, something sharp pierced the rounded flesh of my shoulder. I
screamed, surprise heightening the agony that gripped me, and tore
myself away from the grasp of the unseen intruder.
My
reflection made me gasp in horror and wonder. Droplets of blood
oozed from several wounds on my shoulder, wounds arranged in the
distinctive semi-circular shape of a bite.
I
felt an arm around my waist, pulling me backwards against the
unmistakable bulk of a male body. I struggled against his seemingly
supernatural strength.
"Let
me go!" There were fingers at my back, unlacing and loosening
the bodice, working their way into my top.
"Is
that really what you want?" A hand snaked into the opening I had
left in the voluminous skirts -- a slight modification I had made to
the pattern. After all, what was the point of wearing a sexy costume
if it made you inaccessible?
Cool
fingertips wandered up the inside of my thigh, smearing the damp of
my secretions into my bare skin. My clit ached in anticipation. A
fresh flow of lubrication made my thighs damper still. "I think
that you actually want something else." He found his way into my
folds and began massaging the swollen bud at my center.
I
moaned and arched backward, my body taking over while my mind whirled
in confusion and disbelief.
"Who
-- what -- are you?" He slid two fingers deep into my sopping
cunt, making me writhe.
"Does
it matter?" Now his thumb beat rapidly against my clit, while
his fingers stroked my depths. His other hand pumped my tit in the
same rhythm. I felt the first shimmers of orgasm, far away like heat
lightning on the prairie horizon.
"I
am who I am, and I know what you want. What you need." He
captured one swollen nipple and squeezed, waking echoes of his
previous assault. I yelped and twisted, trying to get away but
succeeding only in impaling myself more completely on the hand in my
cunt. "Let yourself go, Rebecca," he murmured close to my
ear. Lost in a fog of arousal and terror, I hardly wondered that he
should know my name.
From
Rendezvous
I've
written my share of paranormal stories: ghosts, vampires, shape
shifters. My creatures are rarely very frightening, though. You'd
think that being accosted by an invisible presence in a seedy motel
room in the middle of nowhere would be scary as hell, but my
character Rebecca is a lot like me—she is more fascinated by the
supernatural then terrified. Not to mention aroused.
Magic,
even black magic, doesn't scare me. I grew up believing in powers
beyond the material world and in some sense I still do. Discovering that the dead walk the earth or that eternal
blood drinkers actually exist would give me a thrill. Okay, I'll
admit that I've never actually met a ghost or a vampire. My real
world reaction might be different than my hypothetical, literary
response. I wouldn't bet on that, however. My sense of wonder might
well overcome my natural fear.
The
things that scare me are far more mundane. Domestic violence.
Terrorism. Cancer. Our world is rife with horrors. There's no need to
look to the next.
Even
when I create a cruel, amoral monster, there's excitement mixed in
with the fright. Here's a brief passage from “Fourth World”, my
vampire tale that is part of my dark paranormal anthology of the same
title.
Mai
lays a finger on his lips. “Don’t come yet, little boy. I want
you to last a long, long time.” Her finger meanders down over his
chin, tracing the line of his throat, down between his erect nipples.
As it travels, she increases the pressure. I can see the indentation
of her sharp fingernail. By the time she reaches his solar plexus, a
red trail follows the finger’s progress. Very slowly, she slices
through the skin of his belly, centimeter by centimeter, watching his
face. He seems to be in ecstasy.
Blood
wells up from the cut. She gathers some with her fingers, licks it
off, her eyes closed as if she’s savoring the taste. “Lovely,”
she murmurs. “Truly delicious.”
She
rocks back and forth on his cock, wringing choked groans from
Jeremy’s throat. “Magnificent,” she sighs. Her dagger-like
nails open a wound across his right breast. This one is deeper, and
bleeds more. Mai bends to lap hungrily at the red fountain. At the
same time she pumps him with her pussy, writhing on top of him.
The
more blood she drinks, the more excited she becomes. Her nails flash
across Jeremy’s torso, carving bloody furrows into his fair skin.
Her mouth sucks the ruddy fluid that trickles from a gash near his
collarbone. She licks up the gore that pools in his navel. All the
while she is bouncing on his obviously still hard cock, moaning and
twisting, grinding her pelvis against him.
Then
she stops suddenly, breathing hard, her alabaster breasts damp with
sweat. “But I should save something for poor Harry, shouldn’t I?
You can come, though, little one.” She arches back, and Jeremy
yells, again and again. She is milking him, pulling the come from his
body. At the same time, she slashes her lethal nails across his
throat.
She
rises from his twitching body, bends and laps at his bleeding throat.
He is still alive. The wound is not that deep. His penis jerks and
shudders as she drinks, still hard. Still aroused by her irresistible
allure.
“That’s
enough for you, for now. I don’t want to use you up all at once.”
She turns to me, her black eyes gleaming. “Now, Harry, what about
you?” She kneels between my spread thighs. “Are you ready for
some fun?”
I
should scream. I should fight her. I should too frightened to be
aroused. My cock should be limp with terror like the rest of me.
I’m
hard as granite.
*
* *
Scary?
Just enough to turn me on. That's why I love Halloween—a
celebration of the dark side where fear acts as an aphrodisiac.
