Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition

by Alessia Brio

  Kali was an educated woman. She knew that these waves were the results of earthquakes and massive shifts in the earth's crust, and she knew that she and all she loved lived a most precarious life on the thin shell of a hot and violent planet. The very ground they walked on rested on a vast sea of molten rock and melted iron, and the earth was an incendiary ball that cared nothing for people and their dreams and prayers.

  She wanted to tell him that there were forces in the deep, forces that could travel thousands of miles through the depths of the sea and rear up and tear their fragile worlds to pieces and there was nothing they could do about it. She wanted to tell him that even now the souls of the dead who were swept out to sea were rising for their journey to heaven, where they'd stay but briefly before they were reassigned to new bodies back here on this wild and suffering planet.

  Kali believed all this. She knew it was true, and yet still—the sadness, the horror, the grief. With no cause, with no reason.

  She wanted to tell him all these things, but she had no words, and sitting next to this foreigner whose life she'd saved, sitting amidst the wreckage of everything she knew, Kali began to cry. Her tears came fast and unbidden from a place deep inside her, bitter and frightened, and when he reached out to touch her shoulder she pushed his hand away angrily, turned her streaming eyes to him and then threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest, crying as if she'd never stop.

  She hated crying and she hated herself for doing it and for clinging to him. He put his arms around her and held her as she fought to make herself stop. Gradually she gained control. The tears stopped, and were replaced by a burning anger and desire.

  She stood up and tried to pull him to his feet. Her eyes were clear now, "Come with me," she said, although she knew he wouldn't understand. "Come with me. You have to come."

  He got to his feet and let himself be led. She led him back over the ruined pool deck and into the wrecked hotel where men stood around with flashlights and kerosene lanterns trying to get a generator to work. No one noticed as she led him up the darkened staircase where the stairs still reeked of seawater and wet carpet, and up to the second floor.

  The hotel was empty and totally dark except for the moonlight that came in through the windows. With no air conditioning, the air was close and humid. Kali led him down the dark hallway and into a room whose door stood open. She closed it behind them.

  He stood uncertainly in the moonlit darkness, and she knew that what he needed was more than she could possibly give him, but it was what she needed that concerned her now. She had never done anything like this before, and she didn't know how to start.

  From the window of the room, the rest of the town was dark. The moon was unusually bright, a soft, buttery white. There was no other light. Kali stepped into the light with him and took his hand, hoping he'd understand. He seemed to be about to say something, but then he gave up, not knowing her language and knowing she didn't know his. Instead he just pointed at the sky. "Moon," he said.

  Kali smiled. "Chandra."

  He smiled back, and Kali repeated, "Moon." She liked the way the word felt on her lips. She stepped closer. "Moon," she said again, and then she kissed him.

  He didn't return her kiss at first, but that didn't bother her. She knew he didn't know what he wanted. He couldn't possibly know, but she wanted it enough for the both of them. She wanted it like she had never wanted anything before in her life, and she pressed her small body against him with surprising strength and an eagerness that left no doubt as to what she wanted.

  Kali reached up and pulled the comb from her long, black hair. She reached up for his mouth and took it with the ferociousness of a tiger, standing on tiptoes to reach him, and she kissed him with a hunger that shocked and inflamed her as much as it did him. His big hands were on her shoulders, and as they kissed they slid around her back and he squeezed, holding her, his grip increasing as he felt the force of her desire. His hand went to her face and he held her still as he looked at her in the moonlight. Then he crushed her to him and drank from her mouth.

  It all came out then: his anguish and sorrow and fury, all borne on a sudden flood of overwhelming need. It was just what Kali wanted, to be pawed and squeezed and used, consumed by a man's mindless passion, beyond thought, beyond grief. He kissed her: her face, her mouth, her neck and shoulders. She stood there as his mouth consumed her as if under the roar of a mountain stream, letting his desire spill over her and wash her clean.

  She wanted his lust and his strength, and when she pushed herself away from him and untied her osariyah, she did it slowly so he could see, her fingers shaking as she studied his face. She was a beautiful girl, smaller than him but entirely feminine, with the high, perfectly round breasts of her people, long legs and generous hips. She felt raw excitement surge in her belly as he looked at her. She'd never felt so female in her life: utterly and primordially female, like a force of nature.

  She went to him again and he seized her hungrily, bending her head back for his kiss. She pressed her naked breasts against his chest and her hands went to his shorts, fumbling with the buttons. He realized what she wanted and stepped back, peeled his shorts off and let them fall, and Kali looked at him with undisguised lust. He was hard and erect, not as big as Kumar but thicker, and she'd never seen a man's cock look so terribly eager, standing straight out from his body and arching up like a wild horse straining to run free. He was primeval too, a force of nature in his own right.

  He was feverish with desire now and as he took her in his arms, she closed her small hand on his cock and groaned as she felt it throb with the hot blood of life. The man moaned deeply and took over, guiding her back to the bed and easing her down upon it. Kali lifted herself onto the bare mattress, pulled her hair back out of her face and lay back in the rectangle of moonlight that came streaming in the window with her legs apart in lewd invitation, totally beyond shame. He climbed on the bed and knelt between her knees, and his hardness and rampant virility made her head swim. She felt an empty throb in her pussy, a deep, urgent ache.

  She sat up and pulled his face down to hers again and caught his lip between her teeth, wrapped her other hand around his cock and pumped him until she felt his hot lubricant run over her fingers, and she shuddered in salacious excitement. She lay back slowly, pulling him along with her, one hand on the back of his neck, the other still on his prick.

  "Yes, yes!" she whispered up into his face, "Hurry!"

  Kali tried to pull him into her, rubbing the head of his cock between her wet folds and gasping at his hardness and heat. He had to pull her hand away to show her he could do it himself now: he was recovered, he was a man again. He grabbed her slim wrist and held it down on the bed as he positioned himself on top of her. Kali shifted around beneath him, spreading her knees wide and planting her feet on the mattress. He pushed into her just as she lost patience and heaved herself up at him, lifting her bottom off the mattress, impaling herself willfully on his hard cock.

  "Ohhh," she gasped. "Ohhh…"

  She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulder and squeezed, feeling the hardness of his chest on her breasts, the fevered thickness of him in her cunt, stretching her and hurting her with the most delicious pain. Her body came alive now with a depth of pleasure like nothing she'd ever felt before, a deep satisfaction and obliterating fulfillment that made her sob in gratitude.

  She began to fuck him, gorging herself on his hard male meat, moving her ass obscenely, using the muscles of her thighs and belly. She sucked and clutched at him with her pussy, showing him what a woman was for, and he choked back deep sobs and groans of savage pleasure as he filled his hands with her breasts and drove into her, forcing her ass down into the mattress and making her take it, seeking the sweetness of her acceptance.

  Kali hissed with delight. She stretched her hands out over her head to press them up against the headboard and keep him from driving her up the mattress from the strength of his furious
thrusts. This was what she wanted: his flesh inside her, fucking her with all the dumb hunger of naked sexual need, male and female, no room for thought and no room for sorrow, just this blind search for ecstasy, for the fusion of body to body.

  When he slowed she pushed him over, clambered on top of him and impaled herself again on his prick, riding him like a wild horse in the night, her black hair hanging wild around her face, her breasts quaking on her chest. She called him her master, her prince, her wild elephant of the forest, her slayer, her jewel. She bruised her cunt against him and sucked his tongue into her mouth, inhaled his breath and cried out her pleasure.

  She wanted his come. She wanted his seed. She wanted to feel him bursting inside her with all the blind force of life itself so that when he came, it would be like a wave of rapture. A wave bigger than any wave she'd ever seen: a wave that would wash everything else away.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  About the Authors

  Alessia Brio got her start writing erotica and poetry Literotica.com® under the oh-so-humble pseudonym impressive (affectionately shortened to Imp). Readers can now visit her online at alessiabrio.com and find her published work at Purple Prosaic, Phaze, Clean Sheets, Amazon.com, All Romance eBooks, Mobipocket, Sony, Barnes & Noble, 1 Romance Ebooks, eXcessica, and Fictionwise.

  Alex De Kok is an incurable romantic who writes erotica for fun. He started writing erotic fiction because he enjoys reading it and hadn't found much that was good. Whether his is any better is for the readers to say, but he's encouraged by the feedback he's received so far.

  Blue Rains is a writer of various topics, from science fiction, metaphysical, zen, to learning the art of erotic fiction. She loves to be on the water, watching the sea life and birds, and is most inspired by poets like Kilbran, Rumi, and Anaïs Nin. Her greatest goal is to write words to inspire those who thirst for the eclectic and exotic.

  Boo Merengue is a writer who is not necessarily talented, but has a lucky turn of phrase now and then. She lives in Tennessee most of the time but travels to new places whenever possible. Her interests are legion, and she spends most of her free time exploring new places and new ideas. She's also very busy learning to age gracefully. When she is reincarnated she wants to be a giraffe or a seahorse or a National Geographic photographer. In that order.

  Dave Edgar, raised in Maine, is a retired firefighter. Writing and illustrating fascinate him. "The point is seeing how people tick. Pornography?" he asks, "I don't even own a pornograph."

  Dr. Mabeuse churns out erotica and fantasy from his basement laboratory outside Chicago. He specializes in tales of transcendent passion and transforming sex, and enjoys playing along the interface between sex and religion. He's had three books published by Ellora's Cave (www.ellorascave.com)—Overcoming Abigail, Helene Blackmailed, and The Experiment—with another due out shortly. The Croft, an erotic vampire story, is available through Extasy E-books. He maintains (just barely) a website at mabeuse.com

  Dranoel is a middle-aged man from the mid-west who enjoys writing characters. Sometimes they have sex, but it's all just part of the story. Once described as "Demented in a sophisticated sort of way," his twisted humor often manifests in his stories as unexpected twists.

  Duel Citizen is the culmination of combined talents. Riding the Rain features Raine Messiér, a seasoned author currently publishing fiction, fetish, and travel articles under various pseudonyms and Jonathan Pryce who writes for the love of writing.

  Gabrielle Miel has been writing erotic stories for almost two years and takes pleasure in sharing a secretive part of her life, mind, and heart with her readers. Honey is the type of person who always has a glint in her eyes and a smile on her face, and she delights in making people wonder how they got there!

  Harley Stone (a/k/a lucky-E-leven) weaves tales of women, revealing their diversity and complexity when it comes to life and love. She might shatter a few of your preconceived notions about lesbians, but makes it worth your while because she's the one lesbian that will actually let you watch.

  Justanne Farrow is a delightfully wicked "old" woman with a knack for the vivid expression of loving passion and intense longing in every word she writes. She resides in England, but her heart spans the globe.

  Lauren Hynde is the Atlantic, the Mediterranean. Their waters flow in her veins and permeate all she does: poetry, prose, art, life.

  Liar is an almost-30 viking rooted at the shore of the Baltic Sea. A fetish with the English language's musicality turned him to writing, and plain randiness turned him to writing erotica. Militant pacifist, freeloading poet, and cat person.

  Moonlight Elf is an illustrator and a poet whose passion is her art. At the age of three, she created her first masterpiece on the living room wall much to the horror of her mother and delight of her father. Today, she still loves to draw on walls.

  My Erotic Tale lives in south/east Texas on the Trinity, River, which is what he calls his number one muse. The country life that so many pursue, he is fortunate enough to live. Coming Together for Katrina victims is an icon example of Americans helping Americans, and he is honored to be a part of it.

  Jamison Landry is that guy in the coffeehouse with his heels kicked up on the table. He's a permanent fixture there much like the fake ficus trees and clichéd French art. His artful muses are sex and lattés, which he finds splayed naughty and nude, topping off his wicked caffeine fix. Jamison's poetry can also be found in print in issue #10 (Spring/Summer 2007) of Bare Bone.

  Rebecca Leah is an underground erotica author for fun. During daylight hours, she is a perfect example of the theory: it's always the quiet ones. She would like to thank Literotica.com and her fellow authors for creating a nurturing community to scribble in.

  Savannah Reardon is a Southern gal who started writing at an early age. She is the author of many short stories, some of which are featured on the free erotica site, Literotica. Several of her stories were nominated for monthly category Reader's Choice Awards, and one of them went on to win the special End of the Year award in 2005 for the How-To category. She also won the 2004 Earth Day contest. She has recently taken the leap and submitted to a publisher. You can get updated news and information on Savannah's works at http://savannahreardon.tripod.com

  Sherry Hawk lives in the heart of Dixie, although her home will always be Southern California. She is active in many Native American issues, and likes to write stories with women just as stubborn and strong-willed as she is.

  Vella is a raving lesbian who thrives on making people laugh. Writing on a part time basis brings her joy and release from every day doldrums. Though she will never write a Pulitzer Prize winning piece, if she's made someone smile or laugh out loud, then she feels she has done her part as a writer.

  Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan, and erotica writer. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories. Passion, love, and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her life. To find out more, visit Victoria online at www.victoriablisse.co.uk

  Wicked Eve is a stunning, southern creature who is tragically afflicted with poetry trances. She credits all her work to automatic writing. She believes her hand is guided by some brilliant poet—long dead and quite possibly sexy—and she loves her hot red car, Fifi.

  Will Belegon is a poet and author from California who has come to believe that there is no better teacher than experience; that just because it hurts does not mean it is bad; and that nothing is more important than those we love. He intends to never guard his heart. Will has published works available from Phaze and Venus Press and has scripted audio plays for Sensual Whispers in the United Kingdom. Those interested in more of Will's everyday adventures, erotic and otherwise, can visit him online at willbelegon.com.

  * * * *

  For more information about Coming Together and its authors, download the free, comprehensive-ish Playbill at:

  http://www.eroticanthology.com/playbill.htm


  Copyright Acknowledgments

  Wave Length ©2005 by Lauren Hynde. Reprinted with permission.

  The Fury ©2004 by Sherry Hawk. Reprinted with permission.

  Thunder Beach ©2004 by Dranoel. Reprinted with permission.

  Identity ©2005 by Liar. Reprinted with permission.

  Wet Panties? ©2004 by Will Belegon. Reprinted with permission.

  Ridden Tempest ©2004 by Harley Stone (lucky-E-leven). Reprinted with permission.

  Deluge ©2004 by Vella. Reprinted with permission.

  it's raining ©2005 by Jamison Landry (neonurotic). Reprinted with permission.

  Encore: Passadumkeag Waltz ©2004 by Dave Edgar. Reprinted with permission.