Coming In Hot Box Set

by Gina Kincade

  The fucking was slow but his efforts on her clit countered any remaining pain. The tears she’d thought had dried up, leaked out when she felt her pussy and ass tightening in preparation for an orgasm. She was going to come for him soon, and the way he twitched inside her, she believed he was in the same position.

  "Make me come." The command ran down her spine and into her core. There it coiled and when his finger rubbed more vigorously on her clit, she screamed and thrust her hips back and down on his cock, taking him deep into her ass, stretching her even further.

  "Please, please, please," she begged, coming on him, her pussy still aching.

  "Yes!" His violent thrusts banged her into the wall, and eventually he nailed her to it, his cock seeming to pass right through her into the paint and plaster. He throbbed inside her, making her squirm.

  A moment later it was over and he was pulling out.

  He stepped back and Melody leaned her head on the wall, holding herself and shaking. So much pain and pleasure in quick succession left her weak kneed.

  "Your turn."

  She gasped and turned to face him. He picked her up and laid her on her back on his table. He drew her limbs out and tied each to one of the legs. Her ass and thighs still ached, but it was beginning to dull. He must have noticed her shifting, though, because he brought a couple pillows so she could rest more on her back and less on the bruises decorating her backside.

  She expected, with the accommodation, the attention to her pain, that his dark eyes would be warm, but when he pressed the hitachi vibrator to her pelvic bone, they were still cold.

  She came quickly, and he removed the vibrator long enough to fuck her several strokes with a dildo, shove it deep, and turn the wand on again. She came on that dildo, and a larger one, and a larger one. She'd washed the collection and knew there was one that was an actual fist. Her eyes refused to open after the fourth toy filled her pussy amid intense orgasm, so she didn't see it coming.

  The largest toy wouldn’t go in at first, so Curtis palmed her breast and applied the vibrator, inching the toy into her while she came.

  Once the large head was inside, he took the vibrator away. She huffed and puffed, trying to focus and regroup.

  He kissed her breast and belly, running his fingers through the hair covering her pussy. His gentle touches after all the intensity allowed her to relax. When she looked to him, the darkness was gone and he gazed on her with longing.

  "Little Song. Little Song. You sing so well, Melody. I want to hear you just a little bit longer."

  She sighed and nodded. He moved back between her splayed legs and took hold of the dildo. The size of it was beyond her comprehension, and after one glance that direction, she tipped her head back to look at the light fixture above her. She couldn't think about what he was fucking her with, about how gaping her pussy must be to let it in.

  Slow steady thrusts, with occasional twists, moving the thumb of that fist around inside her, didn't push her over as the vibrators and smaller dildos had. However, when he managed to twist it enough that the thumb of the fake hand dug into her g-spot, she arched and rocked, trying to move it and accomplishing nothing.

  "Yes, yes!" Curtis cried, obviously thrilled to have landed his mark. He continued to twist the toy, rubbing that thumb knuckle into her.

  Melody bit her tongue and tasted iron. "Stop, please," she begged, her whole body shuddering, shoulders and hips banging against the table. Her head slammed into the wood too. "Please."

  He stopped twisting and began to pull the fist-sized toy out. He had to stop as Melody's over sensitive pussy clamped down, making her shudder and orgasm once more before it was removed.

  The complete relaxation she felt once it was gone marveled her. She breathed slowly, deeply, trying to find her mind in the middle of all that pleasure.

  "One more."

  She didn't register Curtis' words, but she could feel his fingers, at least three of them, inside her pussy and curled to dig into her g-spot. Unlike the toy, she wasn't completely stretched open, forcing those points into her. Instead, they reached right over it and pulled. She squirmed, feeling like her bladder was about to burst.

  Then he turned on the hitachi.

  It was over in seconds. Melody screamed while Curtis made her spray. In the quiet stillness after that, she felt a weight on her thigh. "You are amazing, Little Song. So real, so here. Perfect."

  A grin tightened her cheeks and corner of her eyes. The flush she wore from pleasure became one of self-satisfaction. She had pleased him. Was there anything so wonderful?

  Curtis untied her, but left her on the table while he ran a bath. Then he carried her to it and washed her carefully—legs, arms, hair. She fell asleep in the tub and woke next in Curtis' bed with him curled around her.

  He was snoring softly, and as the clock read 8:02, she expected he would sleep quite a bit longer. Rising and stretching, she set about making breakfast for them. She was just buttering the second batch of toast when he stumbled out of the bedroom.

  "Melody?" He stopped watching her bustle around the kitchen. "Little Song, come here."

  She dropped the toast on the table where it was rather than where she wanted it. She hurried to stand before him.

  "Kneel."

  She sunk to her knees and licked her lips. His cock, although not rigid, was right in front of her lips.

  "Do you plan to be my submissive all the time? Are you willing to follow my direction in all things?"

  She smiled and looked up to read his expression. The line on his forehead made him appear concerned. She was anything but. "I will."

  "Then there is something I would give you." He moved to the door where he had dropped his bag as he came in the night before, and returned with a length of chain. He snaked it around her neck and locked it with a small brass padlock. The chain and lock were both light enough that they wouldn't be obvious under a shirt or blouse. "As long as you wear that, you will do as I instruct."

  She reached a hand up to touch the lock. "Yes."

  "Good." He gave her the key. "You can take it off whenever you choose, but I won't put it on again."

  "Yes." She closed her eyes and pulled on the chain. "Yes."

  "I've never done this, Little Song. I might be a very bad Master at first."

  She opened her eyes to his concerned expression. "I expect I'll be a terrible slave."

  "Not a slave, my woman."

  She nodded. "Yes, your woman." She stroked the lock again. "God, that sounds good."

  "Yeah," he agreed, and his growing cock grabbed her attention, especially as he stepped closer to her. "Deal with this." He aimed himself at her lips.

  Wrapping her hand around him, she licked him over, took him in her mouth, and then reached behind him to pull his hips closer. She held her mouth wide while trying to encourage him to thrust.

  "Little Song." He groaned. His movements came faster, less jerky, and she had to fight a gag once or twice, but held on until he filled her throat with his seed.

  She leaned her head back and swallowed.

  "Now that you've had some breakfast, you can serve me some." He wore a cocky grin as he took his seat at the table.

  "Yes, sir."

  She didn't know if this would last a month, a year, or a lifetime, but she knew she had found a Master that put Christian Grey to shame.

  Vital Signs Amy Lee Burgess

  Chapter ONE

  Here we go again! A familiar mixture of compassion and resignation flowed over Jack Grady as he watched the ghost stumble onto the edge of the highway. The figure held solid as any mortal man, but every hair on the back of Jack’s neck rose, alerting his special senses. His tingling nerves paired with the fact no one on the scene noticed the blood-drenched man shambling on the road proved this was no mortal.

  The ghostly face dripped blood. Scalp lacerations always bled like a bitch. However, more than a head wound plagued this particular ghost. His left arm dangled uselessly, bone protruding through
the skin at the wrist. Phantom blood spattered, then evaporated, on the shoulder of the road as he advanced toward Jack. His face twisted as he reached out his good hand imploringly. He dragged one leg, the jeans shredded and bloodied. The gaping wound in his stomach had probably killed him, Jack figured, as he watched him lunge closer. Punctured by something. A tree branch? The edge of the SUV’s door? Something sharp. His mouth moved but no sound emerged. Not close enough yet or Jack wasn’t concentrating hard enough.

  The ghost stared at the wreckage of the SUV slewed sideways on the shoulder of the highway. The mashed-up front end steamed. Jack kept a wary eye out for fire even though Rico and Duke were hosing it down with foam. Fire had a way of erupting, especially when mixed with gasoline.

  Jack’s partner, Rosie D’Angelo, knelt by the side of a bloody woman, taking her vitals, which she relayed by field phone to Dr. Winchester at Fairhaven Hospital. Jack glanced down the highway. No sign of the ambulance yet. A police cruiser blocked the two-lane highway, holding back traffic. Several people milled about outside their cars, craning their necks trying to see the carnage. Lookiloos. Jack grimaced. Thanks to human nature, people gawked at car crashes, but that didn’t make their morbid fascination any less disgusting.

  The second car, the one that had been traveling the wrong way, lay flipped upside down on the opposite side of the highway. Two shaken college kids stood nearby. The girl, wrapped in a blanket, wept as she swayed back and forth. The boy, the driver, was taking a Breathalyzer test administered by one of the police officers. From the way he tried so hard to stay balanced, he wouldn’t pass. Stupid. Who got drunk at four in the afternoon? College kids and alcoholics. Jesus.

  “Help me!” The ghost’s voice floated into Jack’s head. The dead people Jack saw all had one thing in common. Their bodies needed finding. Some of them knew they were dead and led him to their final resting places. Others, like Jack suspected of this ghost, needed help to find their bodies so they could accept their deaths. Telling someone they were dead sucked.

  Jack had seen ghosts since the ninth grade. He’d hidden the fact he could see the dead because he hadn’t wanted anyone to think him crazy or a liar, but when Grandfather had told him the story of how back on the reservation his great-grandfather could guide dead spirits to the other side, Jack had mustered the courage to talk about what he saw.

  Still didn’t make it any easier, though. Nobody he knew could do it but him. And ghosts never liked being told they were dead.

  “Please, mister, you gotta help me!” The ghost moved so close now he stood within reaching distance. Jack braced himself for the icy shock that always accompanied a ghost’s touch.

  When the dead man laid his hand on Jack, a terrible, penetrating cold numbed his arm from elbow to shoulder. Involuntary spasms shuddered down his spine.

  “I’m hurt real bad,” the ghost man said. “Is Audra all right? That car came out of nowhere going the wrong way. We were talking about where to go to dinner, and then everything went crazy.”

  “Audra’s fine.” Jack didn’t have to speak aloud for the ghost to hear him. They were tuned to each other on a secret, psychic frequency. Good thing too, because talking to yourself was a sure way to get people thinking you were nuts. Sometimes Jack forgot and spoke aloud. Little slip-ups like that had cost him jobs. His new chief had put him on probation and warned him to keep his mind on the patients or he’d be out yet another paramedic gig. At first Jack had wondered why the hell the Fairhaven Fire Department had hired him, but then he’d met his partner, Rosie. After two weeks working with her, he figured out why four of her partners had quit or transferred in the past eighteen months. The woman walled herself off like a secret chamber in a castle. She also had no appreciation for blonde jokes. Tragic. He shook himself. Focus. This was no time to be lamenting his luck or thinking about his new partner. He had a sacred duty to perform.

  Rosie remained busy with the female victim – Audra. Rico and Duke had finished hosing down the SUV and now put away the equipment. One police officer dealt with traffic while the other handled the drunk college kids. No sign or sound of the ambulance. Jack took a deep breath and stepped to the edge of the highway shoulder. Peering down the shallow incline, he saw only bushes and trees. But he could decipher the telltale signs of a body crashing through the brush. Bent twigs, crushed leaves, blood spatter, and gaps in the foliage made an obvious path. At least to him, perhaps not the casual observer. He made his way down the incline, the ghost following him with a bewildered expression.

  “Where are we going? Aren’t you a paramedic? You’re wearing a uniform. Aren’t you going to help me?”

  “I am helping you,” Jack said. No one was around. He could speak aloud if he wanted, and it was easier to do so. He needed most of his concentration to find the ghost’s mortal remains. He followed the path through the bushes to the bottom of the ravine where a body sprawled, loose-limbed, and dreadfully still. Even though Jack had seen dozens of corpses, the sight still hurt. The finality of death humbled everything.

  “But…I don’t understand. That’s me!” The ghost man grabbed for Jack’s arm, and Jack endured another spasm of terrible cold. His heart raced trying to warm his blood, but he’d be cold for hours after this. Jackets, hot soup, standing in front of a fire – nothing would erase the frigid touch of the dead except time.

  “I’m sorry.” Jack knelt beside the body. He checked for a pulse although he knew it would be futile. “What’s your name?”

  “Buh...Bob,” said the ghost. “Bob McKenzie.”

  “Bob.” Jack gentled his voice as best he could. Some ghosts hated sympathy. Many wanted to fight him, others wept. A few simply faded away. “I’m sorry. But you didn’t make it. You didn’t survive the accident. Don’t worry about Audra. She’ll be taken care of. I’ll make sure.”

  “Who the hell are you? What do you care? I can’t be dead. I’m standing here talking to you. This is a dream. A nightmare. It must be. It’s not real.” Bob stared down at his dead body. Ghostly blood, which evaporated on contact, dripped onto the dirt and the body’s clothing.

  Denial. It usually started there. Some of them understood right away, but most took a while to come to grips with their deaths.

  “It’s real. You were in a terrible car accident. You were thrown from the vehicle. Your injuries were too severe to survive. I’m sorry.”

  The ghost continued to stare at his body. Some of his solidity faded. Jack glimpsed a tree through abruptly transparent parts of the ghost’s body. A phantom vapor rose from Ghost Bob, dissipating as if torn apart by the wind, but no breeze stirred the leaves. He wouldn’t take long to accept it. Some of them lingered for hours, but most, like Bob, realized. Jack liked to believe he helped them do that and saved them the pain of watching their bodies removed from the scene.

  “I’m dead. I’m really dead.” Ghost Bob reached out a hand to touch his lifeless body, but his fingers passed through the flesh. Jack was the only material object he could touch as he had in life.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said again. “I hate this happened to you, but you aren’t alone. I’m here to take care of your body and bear witness to the departure of your soul.”

  “What comes next?” Ghost Bob asked in such a plaintive voice Jack ached for him. “Is there a heaven? Is there a God? An afterlife?”

  Jack had no answers to questions like that. He was a guide, but he had no idea what lay behind the veil of this life. If anything. He liked to believe an afterlife existed, but he couldn’t lie. Lying to the dead was a sacrilege.

  “I’m only here to help you on this side,” he told the ghost.

  “Audra and I were going to get married,” Ghost Bob said with a wistful smile. “Guess that won’t happen now.” And then he was gone. Just gone. Jack balled his hand into a fist and drove it into the dirt beside the dead body. This never got easier. No fucking way.

  “Jack?” Duke appeared at the edge of the highway shoulder, his face shadowed by his firefighter�
�s helmet. “What the hell are you doing down there?”

  “Another victim from the SUV. This one’s DOA,” Jack called back. “Bring a stretcher down here, okay?”

  “Shit.” Duke’s sigh carried down the incline. “Gotcha. One sec.” He turned and moved away from the edge.

  ***

  “Lie still.” Rosie D’Angelo pressed both hands onto the shoulders of the shuddering woman. Where the hell was the ambulance? She gentled her voice to mask her frustration. “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Aud…Audra,” the woman whispered. “I hurt. All over I hurt.”

  “It’s okay,” Rosie soothed. “I’m here to make you feel better. You’re going to be fine.”

  The poor woman had been thrown from the SUV during the crash. No seatbelt. As she pulled the plastic wrapping off the IV needle, Rosie assessed her. Multiple broken bones. Head trauma for sure. Possible spinal damage. Definitely internal injuries.

  “Jack, bring the spine board.” She didn’t look around at first to see if he heard her. Too busy. He should have been on the phone with Fairhaven relaying vital signs, but he’d left it to her for some reason. Their first serious injury run together, and if this was an indication of his performance, color her unimpressed. On the other hand, an inattentive partner could allow her time to stabilize the patient without a lot of awkward questions.

  She glanced over her shoulder to see Jack standing at the edge of the highway. Judging by his furrowed brow, he paused as if he were listening to someone or for something. But nobody was near him. The firefighters were busy with their equipment. The police officers were dealing with traffic and the drunk idiots who’d caused the accident.

  Dr. Winchester had ordered an IV D5W Ringers lactate. That would stabilize the patient, but Rosie doubted it would be enough to get her through to the hospital. Already the gray pallor of oncoming death clouded the woman’s skin. Her heart rate slowed with every labored breath. Cardiac arrest couldn’t be far away. Goddamn drunk drivers.

  After establishing the IV, Rosie took a deep breath. She could help Audra survive. Given enough time, she could heal every wound the woman had sustained in the horrific accident. Of course, Rosie would be drawn down to unconsciousness, and she’d never be able to explain it. So stabilization was the best she could do under the circumstances.