Cassie's rhythm became ragged as the monster of her climax rapidly approached, and, as her arms buckled under the sexual tension, Gerry's big, strong hands clamped onto the cheeks of her beautiful black booty, and kept her aim on his ramrod true and deep. Burying her face in the bedcovers, Cassie let out a long, loud, wailing moan, her cunt muscles clenching even harder on his burning prick as the first blast of orgasm ripped through her. In response to her ecstatic pandemonium, Gerry’s rampant erection sent a hot jet of creamy jizz smashing into the mound of her cervix, adding further fire to her throbbing quim.
Fighting to keep a rhythm between them, their bodies crashed into each other again and again, as they shared orgasms together. Even when his prick could pump no more, he kept up his thrusts until Cassie’s seemingly endless ecstasy finally culminated in one last, chest-emptying howl!
She lay on top of him for a few brief moments, her cunt and arms twitching as aftershocks rippled through her, the perspiration of their bodies gluing them together, her head hanging over his shoulder, her mind swimming in the orgasmic afterglow. Then, with a modicum of physical effort, she lifted herself up and rolled off him, the bedclothes cool on her back, and the air in the room cool on the wetness of their bodies.
“Fuck me!” she sighed into the aromatic atmosphere. “If staring at a few pornographic Tarot cards does that to you, maybe we’d better buy some more!” She chuckled as he grappled her hand into his.
“I’d hardly call them pornographic – although that card of The Lovers is pretty explicit!” he laughed.
“And what about the Queen of Storms, eh, hon?” Cassie rolled herself up onto her side so she could watch his face in the moonlight as he answered her question. “Do you think she could fuck you like that, hmm?”
“She’s only a Tarot card, babe,” Gerry replied, rolling on his side to face her. “You’re the hot, real deal!” Their bodies curled together and their mouths melded into one as the passion between them blazed into a fury again.
2
The leaves on the trees rustled anxiously as the growing wind sighed through their branches, swaying gently as the breeze gushed by. Gerry lay on his back, his arms wrapped through the rustic headboard, gazing up at the wooden rafters of the ceiling, visions of the Queen of Storms, Cassie, and himself, running through his mind. In the distance, he could hear the rumble of thunder, getting closer, as the loose panes of glass in the rickety old window frames rattled in anticipation of the coming storm.
Shit! he thought. I’d better get the shutters closed, or those windows will be flying all over the place! Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he quickly located his boxers, then stood up to pull them on. As he did so, a brilliant flash of lightning suddenly blinded him, causing him to fall backward onto the bed, thunder pounding the walls as if they were giant drum skins, momentarily numbing his ears and making the hair on the back of his neck rise in primordial fear. Sitting up again, he looked over at Cassie, expecting her to be wide awake from the deafening noise, but she was still fast asleep, lying on her side, undisturbed by the ferocity of the storm. Gerry knew she was terrified of thunderstorms, and could not believe that this one had not awoken her and sent her scurrying off to some safe, window-less haven. Turning his attention back to the storm, he retrieved his boxers from where they had fallen on the floor and pulled them on, then stuck his feet into his sandals and hurried out through the cottage to secure the screens.
Rain lashed him ferociously as he pulled the door closed behind him, momentarily blinding him as he sought the first set of screens. Rubbing the water from his eyes with two fingers, he deftly closed the nearest set of shutters, pushing the wooden bar across them, securing them in place.
This is like the wild frigging west, he thought, scrambling for the next set of screens. The rain made his fingers slip against the polished wooden surfaces as he struggled to close them, but he held on to the shutters long enough to get the wooden bar pushed home. As he turned to look out across the garden, another flash of lightning lit up the forest surrounding the cottage, and, in the instant of illumination given to him, he could have sworn he saw the black silhouette of a person standing at the far edge of the lawn, but the returning blackness hid everything, and he shrugged it off as nonsense, focusing his attention on the remaining shutters. Three to go! he thought, as a sudden gust crashed one of them against the window it was meant to protect, bringing the sound of breaking glass to his ears. “Shit!” he said out loud, rushing over to the flapping screen. The shutter was hanging awry on a bent hinge, but he forced it closed anyway, rain whipping coldly across his naked back as he jammed the wooden beam across the screens, then rushed on to the next window, which was the room in which he and Cassie were sleeping. The wind lessened as he turned the corner of the veranda, and he raised his head a little to see where he was heading, just in time to see the shadow of a figure disappear around the far corner of the building. “Hey!” he shouted, running in pursuit, but when he reached the end of the veranda and turned the corner, the utter darkness made it impossible to see anything around the cottage, and he pulled up short, squinting in vain against the driving rain. He stood there for a few moments, peering into the unfathomable blackness, seeking for any sign of movement, but, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, all he could make out was the darker shadows of the distant trees swaying heavily in the wind.
A sudden strong gust buffeted against him, reminding him about the last two sets of shutters that needed closing. Turning back, he quickly made his way to the French doors of the bedroom and closed the screens, deftly pinning them with the wooden beam. Once he was sure the doors were secure, he retraced his steps along the veranda and around the last corner, then onward to the large kitchen window, but, when he got there, to his surprise he found the triple screen already in place and locked down.
What the hell? he thought, looking around him for any sign of other people, and seeing no one. Another flash of lightning confirmed his isolation to him, and, shaking his head in confusion, he quickly made his way around to the front of the cottage and let himself in, closing and locking the door behind him. No sooner had he slammed home the old, stiff bolt at the top of the door, when the entire cottage was rattled by a tremendous peal of thunder, crashing against the door and shaking the furniture. In the dim light of the small gas lamp that still burned away against the far wall, Gerry watched as the entire building seemed to lurch back and forth around him, then settle back to the ground, small cascades of dry dust and dead flies falling from the exposed rafters above him. Making a mental note to get up into the roof space and clean the dust and cobwebs out, he quickly made his way back to the main bedroom, fully prepared to calm Cassie down against the terror of the storm but, when he got there, she was still deep asleep, lying naked on her side, facing the shuttered window as if nothing had happened.
Fuck me! he thought, unable to believe the ferocity of the thunder had not woken her up. He pondered whether he should wake her up himself, just in case the storm got worse, but before he could make his decision, he heard a loud hammering at the cottage door, as if someone was desperately looking for shelter from the storm. Distracted, he turned away from Cassie and headed for the front of the cottage. Another rumble of thunder trembled the building as he made his way through the great room, eliciting another round of thumping against the door.
“Coming!” he shouted, dodging around the sofa and table, and grasping for the bolts and locks. A few moments later, and he pulled the door open, to be faced by only the lashing rain and the blackness of the night. “What the fuck?” he said, sticking his head out into the darkness and scanning for any sign of humanity. There was none! Assholes! he thought angrily, slamming the door shut again and turning to head back to the bedroom. Almost immediately, the hammering at the door started again, causing Gerry to spin around in frustration, grasping for the door handle. Wrenching the door open, he was infuriated to see no one there!
He stood there, watching the downpour soaking the
pathway that lead away from the cottage, wondering what was going on. Wind blew sprays of rain across the veranda, drenching his feet and sandals. Lightning continued to flash all around the cottage, but the thunder seemed to be somewhat quieter. Gerry peered through the rain, looking for any signs of movement, but saw nothing.
Fuck it! he thought angrily, turning away to re-enter the cottage and, just as he did so, a flash of lightning illuminated the pathway, where a tall figure, wrapped in a dark cloak, and with glowing white face, stood laughing at him!
That’s not possible! he thought. That looks just like the...
Before he could finish his thought, the figure turned away and started to walk down the path, its long cloak streaming out behind it.
“Hey!” he shouted, starting after the disappearing phantom. Almost immediately the figure sped up, rushing away into the forest, dipping deftly under windblown branches until it was out of sight. Running along the muddy pathway, leaves and branches whipping into his face, Gerry followed the escaping form until he was just inside the edge of the forest, and then stopped, debating whether to pursue the almost hidden escapee. Looking up at the storm-wracked trees, the comfort of the cottage seemed a much more pleasant choice that squelching through the quagmire of the forest, and he was just about to turn back when he heard the distinct crack of twigs behind him. Lunging forward to avoid being attacked from behind, he swung around the trunk of a small tree to face the intruder.
At first the blackness around him seemed totally complete, and nothing was visible to him. Then he began to discern an even subtler shade of darkness lower down in front of him, as if someone was crouched down to spring at him. Then, as lightning blasted the darkness away, the form resolved itself into a huge black bear that suddenly reared up in front of him, its roar blending with the thunder of the storm, its mouth snarling its fury at him.
“Fu-aagh!” he cried, dodging behind the tree as the animal lunged at him, the vicious claws of its paw swiping through the air inches from his face. Without any thought other than self-preservation, Gerry sprang away from the beast and headed into the woods, not waiting to see if the animal was pursuing him. A crash and a howl behind him confirmed his worst fears, and he ran blindly on, his face lashed by branches and leaves, desperately racing through the dense trees, switching this way and that, attempting to shake the bear. Around him lightning roiled across the sky, illuminating false pathways and improbable escape routes, some of which he ran at in desperation. Zig to the left! Zag to the right! Charge straight on, then dodge back and around again, the persistent slap of wet leaves, and twigs gouging at his face and arms.
Suddenly he ran out into a small clearing, sliding to a halt on the muddy, stone-ridden ground. Frantically he spun around, looking for the bear in hot pursuit, but saw nothing. Gasping for breath, he bent over, hands on his knees, chest heaving, legs trembling, trying to get a fix on where he was in relation to the cottage, and evaluating what his chances were of getting back there unmauled.
A loud roar behind him triggered his adrenalin-powered flight response into action again and, without thinking, he sprang toward a dark, narrow gap through a stand of nearby trees – and started screaming in fury and fear as thorns tore into the flesh of his legs and arms, slowing his escape. His mind could already feel the razors of the animal’s claws and teeth biting into his back, making him struggle harder against the ensnaring branches, howling as he went.
Then – he could move no further! He hung like a giant fly, suspended in some monstrous web of spikes and vines, his skin pierced by myriads of long, black thorns, his flimsy boxers shredded into tatters, blood oozing warmly from dozens of scrapes, cuts and punctures.
Infuriated, he continued to struggle and kick against the bonds holding him, vainly trying to force himself through to the other side. Each movement drove the thorns deeper into his flesh, but the adrenalin rush almost hid the pain from his rapidly fatiguing body. He was so engrossed in trying to escape, that he did not notice the sudden lull in the force of the rain and the power of the thunder and lightning. Nor did he notice the tall, elegant woman standing a few feet away from him, watching the futility of his struggle, her long, flowing cloak wafting sensually in the wind. Maybe it was the strange quiet, or maybe he sensed some new aroma or scent, or something less tangible than that, but suddenly his head snapped up and stared straight at her.
"And what is it we have here, my little ones?" Despite the moaning of the wind and the splashing of the rain against the leaves and branches, her voice rang clearly across the space between them, its strong lilt tripping merrily into his heart. He struggled to break free of the thorns and branches that held him fast, trying to get closer to her, but the effort only drove the spikes deeper into the flesh of his naked arms and legs. Ceasing his struggles, he hung there, waiting for the spider to deliver her coup de grace.
“Bear!” he gasped out, trying to warn her. “Bear in the woods! Chased me!”
“A bear?” she repeated, chidingly. “In these woods?” She looked around her, then back at him. “I think not!” She smiled coyly at him. “At least – not while I am here.”
“It’s you, isn’t it?” he asked quietly, then struggled again to break free.
She watched in amusement as he gave up resisting, then stepped closer to him, inspecting the punctures in his flesh, while he took in every detail of her eldritch beauty, comparing it to the figure on the Tarot card, and finding the card wanting. Even as the wind continued to thrash the trees around them, and the rain kept up its onslaught against everything in its path, including Gerry, she stood before him, untouched by any elemental force, the blue sapphires of her eyes glowing with an unearthly passion, her raven-black hair bobbing gently over her shoulder as she moved, her pale skin as dry as a warm summer breeze. He swallowed hard as his eyes dropped to the proud cleavage of her breasts, white and firm in the tightly laced green linen bodice, which was decorated with symbols and words in a language he did not recognize. As with the image on the card, her nipples rose through the soft fabric, hard and enticing, showing her apparent arousal, and she smiled inwardly as she saw his exposed manhood twitch in response to the vision before him.
"To be sure," she said, taking a step back from him, "they have you true and fast, sir." She turned to walk away, as if her interest in the captive had faded, but she stopped when he spoke to her.
"Help me," was all he said, quietly. She turned and looked coquettishly at his face.
"Is it help you be wanting, sir?" she asked ingenuously, stepping back towards him. "And why would I want to be helping you, sir, after your chasing of me so rudely through the forest? Seems it's not safe for a maiden out and about these days."
"I couldn't help myself," Gerry replied weakly. "I had to see if you were as beautiful as the woman on the Tarot card. And I wanted to talk with you."
"Talk is it, sir? But I see more than talk in those eyes of yours, don't I?" She stepped right up to his transfixed body and, gently lifting his chin with her hand, stared deeply into his eyes, the gold flecks in her sapphire blues echoing the colours in the eye on the backs of the cards. Her hand was warm and soft, but had an underlying strength he could feel as she held his jaw.
"Who are you?" he asked, unable to contain the passion he felt, his hardness growing despite the chill of the wind and rain.
"Who am I is it now?" she responded. "I think you have more pressing things to think on, sir, than what my name might be. For instance, you ask me for help, but what would you have in the way of payment for such assistance? And, supposing you had the payment, why would I be freeing you to chase me again through the woodland?" She dropped his jaw, and he struggled again to free himself, to no avail. His skin burned with a fire of passion where she had touched him, and he already longed to feel the heat of her hand again.
"Whatever you want, if I have it, I will give it to you for your help, and your company."
She laughed merrily at his offer, her eyes flashing, but whether
with mirth or anger, he could not tell.
"My help, my name, and my company, is it now? Whatever I want? A man should be careful what it is he asks for, as the price may be too much for his purse. And a threefold ask is the most expensive of all!"
She stepped closer to him, close enough so he could feel the heat from her body as he struggled to touch her, close enough so he could smell her scent saturating the air around him, fresh and lively and stimulating, and, raising her hand, she gently cupped the coldness of his cheek. Instantly heat surged through his body and into his limbs, and he closed his eyes in pleasure as he felt his arousal growing from her touch. He turned his head in an attempt to kiss her fingers, but she laughed gently as she dropped them to trace a pointed, blood-red fingernail along the length of his torso, sending rays of stimulation pounding through him, and driving a groan from his lips.
“My, my, sir,” she said, a huskiness filling her voice as she watched his erection thicken and rise. “I suppose there may be other ways a man could pay for services rendered.” Her finger traced along the length of his twitching cock, across the dark, blood-engorged veins, causing him to writhe in anticipation, while his mind reeled in disbelief at his apparent good fortune, and his eyes devoured her unearthly beauty. Then his body shuddered and his eyes closed, as she wrapped her hand around the base of his thick, throbbing prick and slowly pulled it along his length, the strength of her fingers moving the sheath of soft skin smoothly over the hardness of his inner core.
“And are you prepared to pay me what I ask from you, sir?” she asked, dragging her hand slowly back and forth along the swollen length of his burning manhood. He opened his eyes and gazed with unadorned passion deep into hers.
Voracious Vixens, 13 Novels of Sexy Horror and Hot Paranormal Romance Page 186