Threesomed 2

by New Dawning Books

  "Nothing to fear, love," Francesca whispered in her ear. "I know what you want."

  She lowered her blouse until her breasts drooped over Muca's face. A droplet of milk fell from one pert nipple, landing on Muca's lips. She licked off the sweet fluid, and gazed into Francesca's eyes, begging for more.

  The mother rubbed her full breast over Muca's face until she took her nipple into her mouth. It didn't take much of a suck until Muca tasted the delicious ambrosia that flowed with such ease. As she sucked, Tibor rubbed his fingers against her swollen clit whilst Francesca worked that glass dildo deep inside her. Gyorgy left her side but she was so intent upon Francesca's delicious breasts that she soon forgot about him – until tiny tines scraped against her arm, making her skin erupt in goose bumps. She gasped with delight at the thrilling sensation. Francesca giggled, making her breasts bounce against Muca's face.

  "Ah, I see Gyorgy has brought out his favorite toy. You'll love this, Muca. It's one of his more clever inventions." She grabbed his wrist and held his arm up. Two metal spikes built into a ring sat on his middle finger. So that's what he dragged against my skin, making me quiver so. I want more!

  "What is that?" Muca asked.

  "I call it a 'cat claw'," Gyorgy said. "I created it myself. I'm a blacksmith, you see, and when I'm not shoeing horses –"

  "He shoes women," Tibor said with a chuckle.

  "It's quite enticing," Francesca said. "Let him run it over your skin some more. Use a little pressure, Gyorgy. She'll love it."

  As he dragged the Cat Claw over her forearm, she shivered at the sheer thrill of the erotic sensations it brought out in her. He pressed down hard, allowing the sharp tines to leave indentations in her flesh but not break the skin. Without missing a beat, Francesca moved the dildo slowly in and out of Muca, keeping time with her fevered writhing on the bed. She pressed her breast against Muca's cheek, and Muca turned towards the mound, taking that hard nipple once again into her mouth.

  She closed her eyes to enjoy the full rush of her senses: the sweet flavor of mother's milk, the smell of rosemary, juniper, and olive oil, Tibor's labored breathing as he approached his wife from behind to enter her, the sharp tines against her belly as Gyorgy pressed the Cat Claw into her skin. When Francesca flicked her thumb over Muca's clit, Muca arched her back and came with a cry muffled against the young mother's breast. She groaned and twisted on the mattress, under the full spell of a climax so intense she lifted herself from the bed. Francesca groaned in her ear as the woman came, followed by Tibor's fevered thrusting at his own climax.

  Spent, the four of them collapsed on the bed, which was much larger than most beds in which she had the pleasure of past trysts. She slept well, without fevered dreams she suffered for her years of living from scraps. In the morning, her new lovers surprised her with a breakfast so hearty she nearly returned to bed to sleep off the meal, but she had business to attend to. Very important business. She bid them farewell, promised to return in a fortnight with good news. She refused to reveal her news until she saw the fruition of her great plan. She left with the hot sun shining on her fur as she sauntered down the road on all fours, tail twitching behind her in excitement.

  * * * *

  Muca marched down the road until she reached Derp's castle. This castle shall soon belong to my Master, and my life will become a feast. Her heart raced at the thought of how she would no longer scrounge for scraps or sleep outside in the rain, shivering in the cold. With her magic, cunning, and sheer force of will, she would outwit the ogre at his own game. After many months of observation, she knew his pride would be his downfall.

  She slipped into the castle through an open window, a favored way for cats to enter a home uninvited, and pattered across the stone floor until she reached the sumptuous dining room with a huge oak table that would soon bear her Master's rich and hearty meals. Derp slumped in a chair, ripping at a turkey leg with big, yellow teeth.

  She stood as tall as her lithe form allowed, catching Derp's surprised eye. She shifted her weight to one hip to give him a teasing look at her as her tail twitched with excitement.

  "Good day, dear ogre," she said in her oiliest, smoothest voice. She tossed a dried cow patty on his clean rug. He reacted exactly the way she expected he would. He jumped to his feet, knocking over the chair, face beet red with rage.

  At that moment, she had him under her spell, and she would win her game of wills. She grinned, baring her sharp teeth "You've abused the people of the village long enough. My Master, the Marquis of Carabas, will steal your lands. I'm here to make that happen."

  With a swell of schadenfreude, she knew she would succeed.

  The End

  If you enjoyed this Twisted Fairytale you may enjoy the others

  Hunters' Game

  A Short Vampire Story

  by

  Denysé Bridger

  Copyright © 2012 Denysé Bridger

  Chapter One

  The hunt begins…

  Cliantha Alexandros loved the rain, especially when the fury of thunder and sizzle of lightning tore the sky to shreds. She glanced upward, wishing the torrent of the storm would be unleashed. The heavy darkness in the sky had threatened rain all day, but now, late in the evening, the promise remained unfulfilled.

  But it was there. Like so many other threats lurking within the shadows. Threats like you, her inner voice whispered, making her smile. The storm-grey above her deepened, and a gust of wind shredded chunks of white cloud before tossing them into the emerging maelstrom. Fragments of cloud lost their airborne wildness, drifted, spiraling downward to nestle her in a shroud of fog.

  Mortal fear tainted the air in storms, and the terror lit a frenzy in her veins. Her skin tingled, her body vibrated with awakened urgency. Her mood was quicksilver, dangerous, and she was eager to indulge all her desires.

  Enveloped in the night-cooling, rain-laden air, Cliantha walked, the sharp, staccato click of her stiletto heels tapping out each step. She smiled, soaking in all that surrounded her, both the physical and the internal nuances that caressed her heightened mental awareness.

  Spring loomed nearby, but the chill of winter dominated the air, keeping it crisp and biting. The streets of downtown Toronto were always busy at this time. People rushed through the surreal daylight of glowing street-lights, caught up in the importance of their fleeting lives. Inwardly, she mocked them, the doomed prey among unknown predators.

  Among the multitude of faces and bodies, she stood out. Her superiority came as naturally as breathing, something she accepted without humility. Emerging from the swaths of cottony, damp mist, minion's thoughts washed over her, their unspoken words of praise amusing and familiar. Men gazed at her with longing, women with combined envy and pride for the magnificent creature who embodied the beauty of their gender.

  Snaring the gaze of a staring male, she forged a passing bond with his mind. Laughing, she relished a vision of herself through his eyes for fleeting instants. Blue-black hair, jet-dark eyes, long legs glimpsed with each step she made.

  Cultivated arrogance shrouded her in mystery and sensual allure. She released her hold on the stranger's thoughts.

  Several young men eyed her, and she read their calculations as each decided if they were, indeed, brave enough to approach. Her laughter as her gaze swept over each of them in turn was all the deterrent they needed.

  She knew what she wanted tonight, and her senses resonated with his presence. Somewhere in this crowded mélange, Demetri deVerieux was lying in wait, his deviant desires beckoning to her with invisible fingers. In this alone, was he like their maker, Stavros, with his ability to lure her into amoral desires until all that existed was her need to find release.

  She paused at a dark corner, closed her eyes and reached out to the night. A shudder of rapture slid along her veins at his mental caress. He summoned her to him, taunting her with waves of memory and promises yet unfulfilled. Their game began in earnest.

  Edgy and eager now, she rubb
ed her hands against the velvet of her skirt, her breathing rapid and shallow as harsh reality bit into her eagerness. Her present life was a necessary ploy to disarm an old enemy. Despite the pleasures they shared, her relationship with Demetri served a greater purpose. He was not the mate she had chosen to spend her eternity serving and loving.

  She seized a seat at a sidewalk café, and took a moment to pull her emotions together, before he picked up on her distraction. Or the reason behind it.

  She drew in a calming breath and closed her eyes. Demetri's hunting games always triggered the memories seizing her heart. Shivering, she opened herself to the past. It was the only way she could hope to bury her secrets beyond his reach again…

  The dreams came, as they always did, breaths of disjointed, blood-tainted images. Fragmented and disconnected, the scenes flew across her mind like clips from a movie in which she was the star. Terror assaulted her, a distant, abstract awareness, part of her, but not born of her. Within Cliantha, an unmistakable thrill of excitement awoke—a macabre delight in the fear that flourished all around her. A reckless surge of abandon filled her, and she threw back her head. Laughter filled the night, hers, and his.

  A shudder penetrated the madness and she wondered who he was. She gazed up, drowning in eyes so blue, they filled her vision, and he smiled. That fleeting shift of expression sent a tingle along her spine that made her arch toward him, her body seeking contact with his. He laughed, sweeping Cliantha into his arms.

  Before she could make sense of whom he was, the dream/vision skewed again… becoming one of lust and savagery as images blurred and aroused a hunger she couldn't define. His lips parted hers and demanded her soul.

  She gave it.

  His taste and scent filled her senses, stirring a passion that threatened to make her scream for fulfillment. Still he teased her, his mouth searching out the most vulnerable places, plundering her secrets, revealing them to her with a wickedness that made him all the more terrifying.

  When he refused to answer her broken pleas, she grew angry, and that, too, pleased him.

  "Bastard!" she hissed.

  "Take what you desire, Cliantha!" He matched her anger, but still smiled. "You can have anything you want, if you dare to claim it as your right."

  Her eyes swept over the man lying beside her and she rose to her knees. She stared at him, her passion swelling to an agony of exquisite need with each caressing shift of her gaze. With shaking hands, she stroked his silky platinum hair, while her sensitive fingertips traced the mocking smile that tilted the corners of his mouth. She parted his lips with a gentle probe of one finger, and punctured the tip against the razor-sharp edge of one extended fang. He licked the droplet of blood as she traced the fullness of his bottom lip.

  "I hate you," she murmured, leaning forward to straddle his hips. Her hands wandered over his smooth, cool chest, memorizing contours she knew better than her own. Touching him intoxicated her like a drug, addictive, senseless, and exciting beyond anything she'd ever known.

  It had even ceased to matter that he had forced her into his bed. His dominance had long ago stripped her of the innocence she'd once possessed. She let another drop of blood drip from her finger; it pooled over his heart and she bent to lick the scarlet stain. This time he reacted, and the tiny shiver inspired deep satisfaction, making her smile down at him. Pure hunger blazed within her. A hunger he had cultivated and fed for decades. A thousand years could pass and she'd still crave his touch with an insanity that made her despise herself, and him.

  "Show me how you hate me, bitch!" His hand tangled in the waves of blue-black hair that fell forward when he pulled her to him. She tore away from his embrace and glared down at him. Amused, he gripped her throat.

  She arched her neck, inviting without a word. His blue eyes grew dark and dangerous. She rose and bent forward until her lips brushed his, then allowed her tongue to invade his mouth. Strong, elegant fingers drifted across her back, waking trails of fire that left her shuddering against him. She drew away from the bitter sweetness of his mouth and stared down at him again, her chest heaving with her effort to regain control of her body's responses.

  His hands at her waist shifted, found the fullness of her breasts and she moaned as he brushed his thumbs across the hardened buds of her nipples. Cliantha shook her head and slid back, pushing his hands away as she began to explore his pale, defined body. When her mouth finished its teasing trek across his chest, and closed over him, she shuddered at the rise of his hips.

  "Hate me, Cliantha." He was, even now, unable to resist reminding her that he allowed this erotic torture.

  Her head rose and she smiled. Reflected in his glowing gaze, her fangs gleamed in the silvery haze of muted moonlight that illuminated the elegant room.

  He pulled her to him and rolled, possessed her body with his, biting into her throat in the same motion. She spasmed in a shiver of pain and ecstasy. He mirrored her response when he drew back and she found the softness of his neck.

  * * * *

  Cliantha gasped as the mixture of dreams and memories left her trembling and disoriented. She rose from her seat, annoyed because this always happened when she permitted the truth to surface.

  Ten years ago, Stavros had reclaimed her from Demetri, but then Demetri had killed their master.

  Demetri now owned her in ways she hadn't believed possible. What had begun as a game she'd controlled had become an addiction, a trap from which she made no effort to escape. Even when the truth had returned to her mind, Demetri's seductive hold remained unbreakable.

  He'd destroyed Stavros, run a burning stake through his heart. She'd wanted to die that night, but Demetri refused to allow it. He'd forced her to live, lured her with his seduction and his passion for the darkest desires she could imagine.

  When she had run to her oldest friend seeking shelter, Demetri had killed him while she watched. But, even now, she carried a secret he'd never discovered. He was so certain of his victory, he'd never questioned her absences.

  Demetri had chosen tonight's game, but before the hunt was over, she'd planned a few surprises for him. She stepped onto the sidewalk, moving through the throngs of humanity, and burying the past with determined will.

  Chapter Two

  Meeting

  Mortal heartbeats pulsed in Demetri's head, an undercurrent to the steady throb of music reverberating through the noisy club. A smile curved his mouth, though none who might have witnessed the expression could ever have understood the source of his macabre humor. Toying with the glass in his hand, his long, tapered fingers stroked the smooth surface, tormenting him with memories of her skin. Clia's flawless beauty never failed to sharpen his hungers to near pain. His fangs ached, punching through his gums while the remembered taste of her taunted him.

  Young people drifted through the room, locked in their own worlds. Youth, wild and insolent, full of deluded certainty that they were immortal and untouchable. They played at death and immortality, but the truth would terrify them. The reality he'd show at least one of them tonight would teach a lesson they'd take to the grave–the price of truth in his world.

  He tapped the glass, an unconscious mirror of the pounding music. Cliantha was taking her time joining him, and he wanted her. His muscles tensed, his cock and his fangs ravenous for her, and anger stirred. She was toying with him, and he loved and hated it. He'd lured her from hate to devotion over time. Stavros had chosen a perfect mate in her. Demetri was fascinated by the duality of her nature, sometimes pliant, other times exhibiting a stubborn fury that astonished him. He'd uncovered some of her secrets, but sensed there was much more to know. The only time he could glimpse her mind was when he had her writhing in passion, and from those precious seconds of abandoned lust, he'd pulled hints of betrayal.

  A soft, breathless whisper brushed over his senses, and he looked down at the mortal standing next to him. The girl was no more than twenty, and she wore the pale make-up that created a death-masque look that so many of t
he club's youth seemed to strive for. Desire sparkled in her hazel eyes. He caught her wrist as she reached out to touch him. Amused with her bold recklessness, he lifted the slender limb he'd captured and stroked the throb of life beneath the translucent surface of her skin. She watched, enraptured, when he bent over her wrist. Her body trembled, and she hissed a gasp of pain and pleasure as his razor-edged fangs pierced her vein and he drank.

  Demetri indulged his thirst, but only enough to whet his appetite, not sate it. The girl leaned into him, her eyes dazed. He licked at the wounds on her wrist, and smiled when the soft stroke of his tongue triggered an explosive climax. She twitched violently, her low moan swallowed by his brief kiss.

  "Would you like to dance?"

  He ignored her question and released her, turned his attention to the dance floor.

  "Go!" When she refused to accept the dismissal, he permitted himself the luxury of inciting fear. He turned to look at her again, and his vision altered, grew sharp and gilded by flames. She gasped at the force of his stare. This time, there was no pleasure in her sharp intake of air.

  "Fuck you!" She stood her ground for a few heartbeats, hands on her hips.

  "Not interested." He laughed, and his mental slap made her cry out in pain.

  Seconds later, he was alone again.

  But she was getting closer.

  * * * *

  Cliantha relaxed as she moved deeper into the underground nightlife of Goths and thrill junkies. These mortals she understood. They toyed with ways to bring death to them, so they could flirt with the darkness and decadence of those like her. Excited heartbeats vibrated against her mind, making her body hunger. She licked her lips, temptation gnawing at her control.