Things That Go Bump

By Lisabet Sarai

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

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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 (more on this next week). 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 was just released as part of D.L.King's anthology The Sweetest Kiss.

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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.

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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.