Voracious Vixens, 13 Novels of Sexy Horror and Hot Paranormal Romance

by Travis Luedke

  He felt damn proud of himself right at that moment.

  “I’m pleased to be at your service. I had hoped to give you a special evening. You’re a good woman. You deserve a few special moments in your life. Whoever is neglecting you isn’t worthy of your time and attention.”

  “I’ve known that for years, honey, but we can’t always get what we want. Tonight you’ve done that for me. You’ve given me more than I expected and it was everything I needed. Would you hand me my purse, please.” She pulled out three thousand dollars in fifties and handed it to him as he kissed her goodbye.

  He noticed how much money she was shoving at him. “This is way too much!” She had already provided both her body and her precious life’s blood. Taking her money felt wrong.

  “Baby, what you got is priceless. I would gladly pay more. You’re worth every penny and then some.” She smiled at him sweetly. A woman with a smile like that deserved so much more from life. “I hope to see you again. Would that be possible in a couple weeks?” In her mind she debated whether or not she could handle another session with him and not suffer a stroke or heart attack. The boy had fucked her senseless.

  “Yes, I would like that very much. You know how to make the arrangements. Until then, take care, and get some rest.” He blew her a kiss and walked out the door.

  He knew he needed his strength for what Michelle had planned, so he fed twice more on the dance floor on his way out of the hotel. Aaron’s spirits soared. He rode a high of blood and sex as he hailed a taxi cab for the ride home to Michelle.

  CHAPTER 15

  In the taxi on the way home, Aaron contemplated the wonder of his new life. To live without need for the trappings of civilization, food, and drink. To be free of the disease of greed driving every moment and motivation. To have power over all you encounter, both physical superiority and the power to live without want. The only desire that could not be ignored was that of the blood, easily remedied in an instant.

  Money, houses, cars, consumerism, what need did he have for any of these things? People gave him anything he asked for. All his for the taking. What did he really need? Shelter, clothing, blood, nothing more and nothing he could not take or borrow at any moment. What did he desire? Blood and the sensual contact that naturally followed. It was his right, his due, and it could not be withheld.

  Was existence free of hardship and privation any way to live? Where was the need for things and money that had once propelled him out the door to work every day? The need for approval and love driving him to chase Delia so fruitlessly? What was life without need? Could it be said that he really lived at all without the burden of these afflictions? These discomforts experienced by the less fortunate?

  In truth, his existence wasn’t entirely carefree. His autonomy ended where Michelle’s began. Being her slave, her servant, was the great misfortune that defined his life, giving distinct flavor to all his moments of freedom and triumph. Yet he wasn’t bitter. He loved her for all that she was, mistakes and attitudes included. All things considered, being Michelle’s slave was the most fulfilling and enjoyable life he’d ever known.

  Aaron entered the apartment bouncing with anticipation, his mind filled with fantasies of what Michelle might have in store for him. He felt comfortable and secure knowing this was his home and he shared it with a magnificent, fascinating woman ... who he was so in love with that it put a smile on his face to think of it.

  Michelle didn’t carry the same pleasant home-coming mindset. Something was very wrong. Her mind had closed off and he read only an icy-cold, blank wall from her. It was the first time in days she had shut him out like this.

  “You look very happy tonight. Very satisfied. I hope you didn’t ruin your appetite. I have something special for you, my special boy.” Michelle patted him on the cheek with a gleam in her eye and a tightlipped grin.

  He grinned back at her sheepishly, thinking of the energy he’d expended during those gratuitous moments with Rosalie. He thought he was spry enough to handle whatever she had in store for him. His appetite for Michelle held strong as ever. Michelle watched him closely. He thought he saw something in her eyes, a burning ember sparking into flame.

  She turned and marched into the bedroom speaking over her shoulder, “Come take off your clothes. Sunrise in two hours!” This was not a request. It was an order.

  They came to bed nude, sliding under the covers side by side. A remote coldness permeated Michelle’s every move. Even her skin seemed cooler to the touch. Their connection was devoid of any warmth or mutual affection. His hackles rose. What should have been sensual and arousing now seemed menacing. She gave him a feeling of wariness, as though she’d pounce at any moment.

  “Is there something wrong? Are you angry with me?”

  She slid her hands over his chest and reached down between his legs to feel him. Her hand came up. She ran her fingers under her nose, catching the scent.

  “What have you done to anger me?” Michelle had a strange look on her face.

  “Well ... I did have a little bit of fun with my date ...”

  He braced himself for the onslaught, expecting her to tear into him with a scathing lecture. Instead she asked calmly, “Just a little fun?”

  He nodded his head, thoroughly confused. Michelle flashed her eyes, a brief glimpse of animosity bleeding through her privacy wall, but she quickly clamped down her iron control.

  In a cold, quiet voice barely above a whisper, she asked-compelled, “Did you hurt the woman?”

  He tried to issue a straightforward denial, but what came out of his mouth was, “Maybe a little bit ...”

  As soon as he spoke, two vivid images flashed to his mind’s eye, transmitted directly to Michelle. The first was of his hard cock in his hand as he stood in the shower cleaning up after his date. A pinkish-red taint of blood rinsed down the drain from his groin. He had made Rosalie bleed from her womb. The second image was of Rosalie lying on her back quivering and moaning, distinct hand-grip marks visible on both her thighs. He hadn’t really been cognizant of the damage he did to Rosalie until Michelle forcibly extracted the truth from the recesses of his mind.

  Michelle had that gleam, a wild look, like she was about to take a chunk out of his hide. She didn’t. She reached between his legs to grab ahold of his cock.

  “I will be on top this time, lie back and enjoy the ride!” She spoke in a virtual hiss.

  His instincts screamed of impending danger, stripping him of any arousal. He was completely flaccid.

  “Give me your full erection now!” Michelle growled as though ordering soldiers to stand at attention. This was a first. He knew a threshold had been crossed. She had never used her authority to impose her will in their intimacy. Michelle was rewriting the boundaries of their relationship and he was sure to be on the losing side of the fence. Upon her spoken command, his penis reacted of its own accord, growing to full tilt readiness without any sexual arousal whatsoever. Fear, shame, and a desire to run created a sickening boil in his gut.

  This must be what it feels like to be raped.

  Michelle gradually worked him, first licking and sucking slowly, sensually. Then she sped up her ministrations until the intensity reached super-human speed and force. She shifted position, straddling his face with her thighs to place her most intimate flesh in his face, and began grinding herself back and forth across his lips and teeth. His natural reaction of arousal spiraled up. The wonderful sensations of Michelle’s highly skilled attentions could not be denied. All his fears erased in the heat of the moment.

  At the point he reached his peak and could no longer resist his climax, Michelle struck like a viper, driving her mouth down to seal against the base of his engorged sex to the ultimate deep throat position. With this move she buried her razor sharp fangs deep into his pubic flesh, sinking in to the bone, sucking down his blood and climax all together.

  Aaron’s peak, pain, shock, and venom-saturated loins, brought the most excruciatingly intense orgasm he’
d ever known. Without conscious thought, his vampiric instincts reacted. He sunk his fangs into Michelle’s intimate folds, digging down through inner and outer labia to hit home at her pelvic bone. He gave as good as he got, blasting Michelle with the same intensity of climax twisted by pain, shock and the amplified sexual effects of his venom flooding through her tender, vaginal flesh.

  Both Aaron and Michelle’s psychic barriers of privacy shattered in the storm of sensations and pain. Mind-altering waves of ecstasy, agony, and multiple orgasms assaulted them. Each experienced the other’s rollercoaster of peaks simultaneously with their own. The cycle of climax, crash, and repeated climax continued over and over again. The lovers remained locked together, spasming and grinding, consuming each other’s blood and sex until their physical limits of endurance were reached and surpassed. Sometime near sunrise they passed into oblivion, still locked in each other’s parasitic embrace.

  Both awoke at sunset, faces buried in each other’s groins. Michelle arose first and silently prepared a scorching hot bath. They looked like hell––their faces and thighs encrusted in blood and sex, their expressions identically haunted, somber. Aaron sat in the oversized Jacuzzi across from Michelle. They soaked in silence, avoiding eye contact. He didn’t know what had happened. His world traversed from one extreme of happiness to the other extreme of pain, humiliation, and depravity.

  When he finished bathing and moved to leave the tub, Michelle broke the silence. “What did you do to that woman last night? I know you had sex with her and I know you hurt her.” Her face had twisted in a murderous snarl. Her mind was blocked up solid.

  He answered her simply, “Yes ... I had sex with Rosalie.”

  Michelle reached out lightning fast with a whip-snap move to grab hold of his scrotum, her claws piercing through flesh, drawing blood in demonstration of her severity.

  “Show me your memories of what you did to her!”

  The door to his mental vault dissolved. Their connection opened wide to access his memories, or anything else she might want to know. His mind instantly replayed the entire date with Rosalie leading up to his return home, and then followed by the bizarre sexual encounter with Michelle, transmitting all of it to her via their psychic bond. Michelle experienced all his thoughts, feelings, emotions, and sensations as though she lived through these moments inside his body along with him.

  “Enough! I don’t need to see anymore!” She turned away from him as if trying to avert her eyes from what she’d witnessed. She released her painful grip on his genitals and his blood turned the bath water pink. Her face looked stricken.

  He leaned towards her and whispered, “You’re fuckin’ nuts.”

  He climbed out of the bath and dressed without once looking or speaking to Michelle. He ignored the tears of blood silently running down her face.

  She had stripped him of all protections, absolute zero privacy. To him it felt like standing naked out in Times Square, all his dirty little secrets laid bare. Psychic rape.

  It was the most demeaning thing she could’ve done, apart from ordering him to kill himself. He settled into heavy depression. He meant nothing to Michelle. Nothing more than a possession––a servant to be punished when he misbehaved.

  Shattered, smashed, damaged beyond recognition––Michelle demolished all hope that her affections were genuine. He was nothing but her slave, her property, who had disobeyed and needed to be reprimanded. He felt like a dog pissing on the floor, forced to have his nose rubbed in it to learn a lesson.

  “Come, we must feed.” Michelle spoke in terse tones. She wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Her face was tight-lipped and severe as he followed her out the door.

  “Yes, Master.” He wasn’t teasing or smiling.

  Cruising through the night streets in the taxi, his depression took on a new color of resentment. Why should he be treated like this? Was this all because he disobeyed her directive or was there something else? Is this how it would be with her for years to come? Being punished for virtually nothing? He deeply resented her abuse of power.

  He began to hate Michelle for turning an act of affectionate lovemaking into a sadistic punishment. The kindness and mutual care that once permeated their relationship disappeared. Michelle reached out to hold his hand as she had so many times before, but the gesture no longer felt like the loving caress he’d imagined. It felt like a leash.

  CHAPTER 16

  He arose without a word to Michelle. He had slept on the floor in silent protest. She remained in bed. She didn’t say a word when he left, exiting via the fire escape.

  He had to get out. Just go, walk, somewhere, anywhere away from her. Every second of every minute, every waking moment she was there. In his thoughts, in his face, the smell of her saturated every corner of the apartment. He couldn’t get rid of her scent. It was on his clothes, on his skin, in his blood. You are blood of my blood. She owned him. He was marked. He couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without her being there, holding his fucking hand.

  He marched down the alley way, hoping to burn off some steam, put a little distance between them. His temper flared to the point that he burned to lash out in violence. Every word and gesture from her the night before seemed to have a double meaning mocking him and his subservience to her.

  This need for violence and confrontation was something wholly new to him. He’d never before felt such fury and frustration. It was a raging passionate fire threatening to overtake all reason. He had to get some distance and cool off before he ended up going after Michelle. He had no illusions about how that would turn out. She’d kill him.

  He began jogging down the alley moving through the back streets. He stayed to the dark recesses of the city, purposely avoiding people. Oblivious, he passed into one of the seedier areas of New York. This was a place he would never normally walk, especially not in the darkness of night. The new and improved Aaron was unconcerned. He felt absolutely no fear of anyone––apart from Michelle. She’d been telling the truth when she spoke in her condescending tone, they are like cattle.

  He tried to stop dwelling on the negative, but his mind continued to find things to make him angry, worsening his mood. His problem stemmed from one inescapable source: Michelle. No matter how far he walked she was still there at the edge of his mind, connected, waiting, judging him unjustly.

  After some introspection he recognized what the true problem was. Her power over him governed not only his physical body, but his soul as well. No matter that she treated him like a dog to be punished, he still loved her. His heart wouldn’t listen to reason. He needed to be near her like he needed air to breathe.

  Deep in his soul search, meandering aimlessly through the night, he landed himself in the middle of a group of thugs. They were big, black, tattooed, and not the least bit happy to see him in their neighborhood. A quick scan of their minds revealed they were looking forward to some entertainment at his expense.

  By the time he came to his senses, he was surrounded by five black gang members who looked like they spent more time in jail than out. Their pants hung low at the waist, boxer shorts exposed. He could read their immediate interest in him. They assumed he was easy prey with cash, credit cards, or something of value.

  The one on his right in a NY Jets hat yelled loudly to his companions, “Dis mousy ass bitch must be lost.” He turned to Aaron up in his face, pointing at him. “Hey Seinfeld, don’t you know where da fuck you at?”

  Aaron glanced around to find he was standing in the ghetto called Hunt’s Point, an industrial wasteland. Walls covered in graffiti, he’d walked into the middle of one of the worst areas of NYC Nightlife, top of the stats on violent crime and murder. Shit. An old newspaper blew across the filthy street to land up against an abandonded building with broken and boarded up windows. Groups of shady-looking dudes stayed out of the light, hugging the shadows. Liquor stores with barred doors and windows competed for the bustling business on either side of the street.

  “Fuck!” Aaron cursed unde
r his breath as they closed in around him, cutting off all paths to escape.

  The guy directly in front of him wore a black hoodie––the biggest of the lot at three hundred plus pounds of muscle and bad attitude. He stepped towards Aaron with a wicked scowl that left no doubt of his intentions. The thug growled down on him from his six foot six height, “What you got in your pockets, Gump?” Aaron suspected the guy had never been denied such a request. He had the air of one who took what he wanted, when he wanted, from whoever.

  Aaron stepped back. “Hey, I don’t want any problems.”

  The guy to the left in a NY Giants coat grabbed Aaron by his arm. “You are the problem.”

  Aaron reacted instinctively, snapping his arm out to break the hold. He connected hard against the man’s chest, a crack-crunch sound. The man’s entire body flew backwards several feet, and he landed on his butt, wheezing in pain. The excessive force of Aaron’s whip-like reaction surprised him as much as it did the guy he hit.

  “Git dat mothafucka!” yelled the guy with French-braided hair. Aaron’s aggressive response triggered a free-for-all.

  The call to attack punched an adrenaline surge through Aaron. A wildly exhilarating sense of power filled him, a limitless strength and energy. He easily evaded several blows, his movements much faster than theirs by magnitudes. He now understood what Michelle meant, people around you move in slow motion, like turtles.

  As they closed in on him, he had no space left to dodge their strikes, and two of them grabbed at his arms. His frustration mounted as he was struck a solid blow in the back of the head. His desire to lash out and smash these frail meatsacks caught hold, and he roared in rage whipping in a full circle. He momentarily broke their holds which pulled two of them completely off balance. They flew through the air, then scraped and tumbled across the ground.

  Cool. He took a moment to watch their bodies roll to a complete stop.

  He instinctively sensed the others coming back at him from all directions. He spun again and lashed out with his fists in wild haymaker swings, connecting with three of them in a split second. His blows seemed to have an exaggerated effect. Each thug was sent tumbling away, one flipping end over end through the air. They were rag dolls, and he tossed them around with no real effort.