Anthology

The mischievous and provocative strut of the small yet well-proportioned frame diverted the eyes of males from whatever they were doing and swelled tiny green monsters of envy in those of women. Her pert bum, slender figure and fresh young breasts were constantly drawing attention. During adolescence, Becky had discovered the power of her body and learnt the art of dressing it.

She knew how good she looked approaching the counter. Aware of the tiny clicking noise her heels created on the painted concrete floor that followed her, each click causing her heart’s flutter at the deviousness of plan, the potential new addition to her collection. The deliberate swing of her hips as she walked, making the pleated fabric of her short red skirt perched tightly on her waist sway with the movement of them, while the fitted cotton vest remained stationery, clinging to the flesh of her frame.

Reaching the counter, excitement growing as she watched the guy behind nearly burst the seams of his boiler suit as he attempted to flex his arm muscles in a natural unobvious movement, her ribcage was still, offering no outward sign of the adrenaline fuelled racing heart within.

 "What happened to the fire?" Cathy asked. "Did it suddenly go out?"

"Open your baby blues. We're not in the motel," Adam said.

Cathy looked around. They were in an office, but not their own. "How did we get here?"

"I'll be damned if I know. Last thing I remember is my body was on fire and it hurt like fucking hell."

"You don't look like you have any burns," Cathy said, glancing over Robert's naked body.

"Maybe it was all a bad dream," Adam suggested.

"Yeah, right. And we're still in the dream in a strange office."

"Good afternoon, gentlemen, madam." Someone entered the office and walked to the large oak desk.

Cathy gaped. The man had to be a hundred years old. A snowy beard almost reached his waist, as did a mane of snow-white hair. He wore a white robe tied at the waist with a silver cord.

"Cathy Whenero? Adam Falkner? Robert Buchanen?"

"Yes. What's this all about? Who are you?"

"Rob, it's a dream. Dammit, all that's missing are his wings for God's sake," Cathy said with a giggle.

"Please don't use the Lord's name in vain."

"Right. Sorry." This time Cathy burst out laughing.

"I fail to see the humor. You have arrived at mid-station, or as some call it, purgatory."

"Huh?" Adam's mouth fell open. "You mean we're dead?"

"Your Earthly bodies are dead, yes."

"So the fire was real."

"I'm afraid so. My name is Valerus. I have been assigned to your case."

"Our case?" Cathy asked.

"Yes. Before you can advance, you will have to do penance for the cruelties you inflicted upon others."

"What cruelties?"

"For instance the young couple who came to you in need."

"That's business. You can't have a soft heart when you're running a business for God's sake." Robert felt a searing pain attack his tongue as he uttered the blasphemy.

"Those young people needed your help and you turned away from them."

"They were a couple of druggies who talked about vampires. Give me a fucking break!" Adam shouted.

"They told the truth."

"How the hell were we supposed to know that?" Cathy asked. "What happened to them anyway?"

"The vampire killed the young man, then he killed the girl."

"And set the motel on fire?"

"The vampire broke into the office. But you were too busy satisfying your perverse carnal desires to hear anything. During the struggle, a candle fell. The motel burned to the ground. I'll show you what happened." With a graceful wave of his hand, a hologram appeared.

"My G…science fiction. Look at that," Cathy whispered.

The hologram was almost life size, causing them to feel as if they were there. They watched as a shadowy figure descended from above, landing just outside the old barn. Huge black wings disappeared and a naked man stretched his arms high. He swiveled several times giving them a full view. The man was beautiful. He was more than beautiful, he was perfection. Wide shoulders, narrow hips, a muscular body, a cock to drool over, Cathy noted. He had the most perfect face she'd ever seen. His skin was very pale, his long wavy hair was jet black, his eyes were as black as his hair.

STONE COLD DESIRE

Mark Alders

 As Alcandor approached the cave, screams of anguish bellowed from it, like the mountain itself was in pain. He jerked his head toward the sound, hesitated, but moved forward, intent on his purpose. The wail of the one inside beckoned to him, for he knew of the torment she had harboured on his lover. An eternal hurt, a hurt he had come to mend. To set right.

He also knew of the danger.

Hope welled up inside him and, as he clutched the crocus flower he knew she liked so much, he proceeded. He stepped forward cautiously, trying not to disturb the loose rocks underfoot for fear of giving himself away before he had even begun.

Alcandor approached like an expectant suitor would to a black-widow spider. One foot placed tentatively in front of the other, he moved deliberately and with purpose in his stride. Even the gentle flap of a bird’s wing taking flight or the chirp of a cicada wanting to mate, could mean his demise.

He wasn’t deterred. He had to see her, to get her to release his Demetrious. He was so alone without him and so lost since his lover had been taken by her. His heart ached to be in his man’s strong arms once more.

Alcandor had to make it known there was a way for her, this Medusa, to let Demetrious go without diluting any of the legend she had become. He knew her reputation was important to her, but he also knew of her stubbornness. Alcandor stepped cautiously forward, using his hands on the rocks to keep himself balanced.

If only he could get her to see his reason before she destroyed him.

Perspiration had beaded on his brow and stained his tunic where his skin had come close to the cloth. The midday sun was so intense, so unrelenting, that it drained out the colours of the land like too many washed clothes. He licked his lips to try and moisten his dry mouth. He had to admit, he was nervous.

He looked down to the little flower in his hand and began to worry that it would wilt before his mission was complete. His brow furrowed, directing his sweat down his temples. Would a wilted flower anger her beyond reason?

Alcandor moved forward.

The stench from the cave made him retch. To make matters worse, the odour stuck to him like the cold sweat he produced in volumes. Alcandor then felt sadness wash over him. His Demetrious was trapped in such a place. That thought alone chilled him to his soul.

Demetrious didn’t deserve to be here. No one did. How could she treat sentient beings like they were possessions to collect as one would jewels or buttons or slave boys? But this terrible thought did not deter Alcandor. He knew Medusa was not beyond redemption. He had a plan.

Placing his foot inside the mouth of the cave, he proceeded, cautiously but with purpose set in his heart. The gloom within the cave consumed him, and his eyes, unable to focus immediately, became soaked in the darkness beyond the sunlight.

 “Who dares enter my domain?” a voice from behind the veil of shadow shrilled.

Alcandor spun on the spot. He tried to see where she was, but couldn’t. The darkness and the dust he had just kicked up conspired against him. He didn’t have time to answer her, could do nothing else but try and make out what was inside the cave.

Once the dust settled, he stepped into the cave proper. The dark enveloped him and he found that he could just make out objects in the murkiness. He heard movement, stopped and then stared wide-eyed in the direction the sound had come from.

And stare he did. Right at her. At first he saw the emerald shimmer created by the scales on the snake-like part of her body. Then as she moved closer, the evil temptress Medusa herself became apparent from the darkness. He could not help but be awed by her presence. She was beautiful, contrary to all the legends, the rumours and the whispers from the village.

Alcandor then gasped.

He had also seen his Demetrious. His lover was a stone cold statue, set with the look of pain, arms outstretched, pleading for his life. His pleas obviously hadn’t worked. Alcandor’s heart sank.

Alcandor scrambled to get into the position that he thought might be his salvation, unable to tear his eyes from her, for to do so would be to lose where she was. Not a tactical move he wanted to suffer, especially in the presence of the enemy’s home.

On bended knee, and with the crocus extended out in hope, he was about to speak, to bargain for not only his, but his lover’s life as well, when his words became lost to him. His lips couldn’t even form the words his lungs gave air to. He was struck with fear.

The light flared in his eyes. “Ah, Dee! It will be a long time before I find another woman with your strength.”

“So why go looking?”

“I’m a vampire. My blood stirs.”

“And that explains it all?”

“It should.”

She flung herself up from the bed and padded across the marble floor, halting before him. Her taut nipples touched his rib cage. His erection pressed out to sear her stomach. She reached up and ran a finger through his jet hair, flicking a long strand back over his ear, smoothing it down his back, her nail scraping his skin. Deliberately drawing blood.

Laughing, he captured her hand, bringing it to his palm and gently licked, then bit, then licked again.

“Where will you go?” she whispered.

“Home.”

“To Cordoba? There’s nothing for you there, only a ruined castle!”

“I will rebuild it. I must do this.” His words were hollow, but she heard the nuance of deceit. The bastard was hiding something from her…something, or someone!

“Alone?”

He inclined his head.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He smiled gently. “A man must always have secrets from his woman.”

“By your own admission, I am no longer your woman.” She paused. “Cristóbal…”

He put a finger to her lips. “Don’t. When you speak my name, I’m powerless.”

“Then I’ll hold you prisoner. Come here.” She tugged him and they fell onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs. He plunged into her, a sudden and deep fuck, of need. Flesh taken and being taken—no gentle lover’s caress. No, this was for possession, to each claim the other. To bring pleasure amid the pain.

Even as she kissed and fondled him, hers a desperate loving, the resolve hardened within her. She would show this bastard what he was rejecting. He had taught her so much, but now the student would become the teacher.

He had entered her life as master, demanding, making the rules, but she knew his game, knew how to make her own rules, play her own game, make him suffer.

“On your back, Cristóbal.”

“When you take that tone with me, it is so exquisite!” Laughing gently, he acquiesced and lay with his arms and thighs widespread, his hair fanning around him like a black silk cape.

“I aim for beyond exquisite.” She knelt between his legs and lay over him.

“Ah…Madre Dios!”

The hands were soft as feathers as they stroked along her thigh, upwards, moving inexorably higher, then retreating, until after an agony of waiting, the fingers reached her purple curls. The fingers transformed into coils of water, thin slivers of iridescence that shimmered in the mauve light. The water spread over her, dipped into her, washing her every cell with silver. The arousal spread through her, the ebb and flow, like the waters of home, slow and thick like blood. She ran a tongue over her parted lips and moaned.

“Majesty.”

The word barely penetrated her fevered mind as the feathers stole into her body.

“Please, Your Majesty!”

Violet snapped out of the illusion, angry—angry at the interruption, angry at the thwarted sex. She had taken so long to prepare this program, to bring her to a peak that would last for hours—or so she hoped.

She opened her eyes and glared at the minion.

“Curse your grey-scaled hide, Garit. I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

Garit, the mud demon, bowed, his peaked forehead scraping the ground before him.

“Yes, Your Magnificence, but this is a matter of great importance.”

“What can be so important that you would drag me from my pleasure?”

The girl was passing down an alleyway. It was a foggy night, and the occasional gleams of headlights made little impression on the general air of chill and damp. She wore black shoes with stiletto heels, sheer black stockings and a little black cocktail dress that hugged her tight bottom and curved around her thighs. A black feather boa provided a skimpy wrap, and she had black curly hair, languorous black eyes, high cheekbones and a mouth that was red as a poppy. She sauntered along, picking her way past cardboard cartons and flotsam in the gutter, slim, young and alone.

She was a working girl.

Three toughs in leather were strolling down the alley. She assessed them coolly and decided on discretion. She could have taken any man in the city, but when it was a case of several, things were more complicated. If she were feeling reckless, she could accommodate all three against the cold wall of the theatre, standing tall on her stilettos and challenging her clients to take her where she stood. Some of them found it exciting to watch their mates; their money stayed in their pockets and their consciences stayed intact while their imaginations made good the details of slippery warmth and the tight warm curve of her buttocks in their hands. Sometimes they'd settle for spectating, sometimes they'd demand a run of their own. Tonight, it would have been risky to have engaged with three; her hunger might have overtaken her before it was time. It had happened once before.

She slipped past them like a shadow, and when one of them shivered and half-lifted his hand in an ancient, half-remembered sign, then that was proof that she had made no mistake in passing them by.

* * *

A man watched from the shadows. He saw the girl, the blend of waif and woman. He saw her gift for slipping through the shadows. He had that gift himself. He saw the tough's hand lifted in the ancient warding sign. He watched the hesitation, the recovered swagger.

His name was Tor, and his face and figure matched the name. It was an open face, with honest eyes of blazing blue. It had a generous mouth and hair that shone like honey in the sun. It was a reckless face, a face that could be moved to pity and to justice. He watched the girl with her airy stride, with her boa that hung like wings down her slender back.

He had watched this girl before.

Excerpt From A Tale of a Tail by Paula Calloway:
 

Miranda gasped when a powerful arm embraced her waist. "Hey--"

"Hush. You tire. My strength is yours." Reef nuzzled her shoulder. "And you're right it's not pleasantly plump… it's pleasingly perfect."

Such a warm tone and kind words had never graced her ears before. She stilled in his grip, her voice a whisper, "Let me go." His arm tightened.

"I don't want to."

Her attention garnered by the waving hem of her sundress, Miranda grabbed the material and tugged at it. "M-my dress! Put my dress down."

Reef chuckled. "Why?"

"Someone might see."

"I enjoy being the reason you squirm." He wrapped his other arm around her waist. "Who might see?"

Miranda closed her eyes. The caress of his warm breath on her neck surged heat through her body. "There might be more of you down there."

Reef nuzzled her neck. "I thought I was a myth?"

Warm breath cascaded over her shoulder and pulsed shivers down her spine. "L-legend. Myths aren't real, legends are… were." She whimpered when the downward slide of his palm ended with a gentle press on her lower belly, which pushed her backside against his groin. The subtle movement of his lower body kept them afloat. When his fingers slipped inside the elastic waistband of her panties, she gasped.

"Rest assured, my delectable water sprite, I am Atlantean."

Miranda grabbed the hand now lodged inside her panties and squirmed. "You're definitely male. Stop."

"Humans exude strong and spectacular emotions my people feed off. Many times, we simply swim near the passing ships. Such suffices our darkest hunger." Reef nestled his finger inside her warm folds. "Until now." He stroked her clit, which swiftly responded to his touch. "So beautiful."

She arched her back and pressed against his hand. His breath caressed her neck. "Wh-what do you mean?"

He eased his other hand up and growled at the covered supple mound. Even through the material, a nipple garnered his attention. He circled the aureole with his thumb, but ignored the demanding bud. "I no longer wish experience of your emotions with my mind from a distance."

Miranda grasped his highest forearm and mashed his hand against her breast. She nudged his lower hand with her hips. "Please… don't… stop."

Reef growled into the curve of her neck and nipped a path to her ear. "Don't stop or don't and stop?"

"Oh, God. Harder."

He complied and pitched his voice to seduce, "I'm hungry in many ways. I wish to taste your succulent slit with my tongue and drink of your delicious nectar. I need to feel your muscles clamp on my finger and feel your nectar slick your innermost core. I want to bury my myself deep inside your hot body and savor your delicious euphoria as my seed pours into you with every pounding thrust while I pump you and then again, only slower and gentler when I make love with you. Open for me, sweet water sprite, and I promise pure pleasure."

Miranda whimpered when the tingle centered in her lower belly exploded and sensation rushed through her body. She bucked at the erotic pleasure his touch delivered. Her legs instinctively parted. "This is wrong, but… oh, God."

"Nothing that feels this good…" His finger slid over her hooded pearl. "Can be that wrong. I wish to kiss you with a passion you will never forget." Reef eased his hand deeper and circled the velvet opening of her pussy with the tip of his middle finger. "How long, my little water sprite?"

With her head tilted back against his shoulder, she dug her nails into the forearm, which kept her afloat. "Several months. God that feels good." Warm breath teased her ear and neck.

"Turn and give me your mouth."

Compelled by the softest yet most commanding whisper even encountered, Miranda obliged. Captured by an intense sea green gaze, she shivered. Gooseflesh scattered over her shoulders.

Reef secured her in his hold again. "I'm going to kiss you."

"Why?"

"Need you ask?"

When his intense gaze shifted to her mouth, Miranda licked her lips. His throaty groan accompanied the clamp his mouth over hers. She hungered for more, wanted all and whimpered.

Reef plunged his tongue inside. Hungry, he caressed her mouth, explored her delightful taste and sampled heaven. His jaw worked steadily, his tongue danced with hers in a torrid duel and craving seared his blood.

Reluctant in breaking their oral embrace, Reef turned her and pressed her back against his front. "My name is Reef, like the corals scattered along the ocean floor. Come with me and I'll show you paradise."

Marti wondered how she could have thought, for even a moment, that she had forgotten this woman. There was a vibrancy about her that seemed to resonate across the inches that separated them and tremble against her skin. She reached out and ran her fingers through the woman’s hair, taking control the way she always did.

Control was her thing. She was definitely a top. It’s what made her who she was, what made her hot…but this woman didn’t know that or didn’t care. She had other plans.

Reaching up, she grabbed Marti’s hands and brought them down to her sides. Their fingers intertwined as the woman leaned in and kissed her hard on the mouth. She moved her hands to Marti’s hips, taking Marti’s hands along for the ride and trapping them behind her. Marti’s breath caught in the back of her throat in a sort of surprised grunt, which certainly, she told herself, could not be mistaken for a moan.

Marti didn’t moan.

She fought against the woman’s grip, wanting her hands free to explore, and found herself surprisingly turned on by the fact that she couldn’t break free.

Another small noise escaped her, muffled by the press of warm lips against her own, as the woman pushed Marti back until her shoulders were against the bathroom door. The kiss grew deeper, hungrier. The woman’s tongue pushed itself into her mouth. She gasped as her hands were released and the woman grabbed her by the hair, kissing her hard for a long moment before trailing her lips downward across her jaw, down her neck.

Marti felt teeth bite down on the spot where her neck met her shoulder and she cried out, a short quick burst of sound that got away from her before she realised it was coming. The pressure of those teeth, those lips, seemed to pinch a nerve somewhere deep inside her, sending a bolt of electricity to every part of her body, leaving her tingling, throbbing, in all the right places.

She gritted her teeth and struggled to recapture her usual unaffected demeanour. But her heart was racing. She couldn’t remember ever being quite so turned on.