Bloody Sexy Anthology

by Carmilla Voiez

  I saw a movement and was certain Robin's body twitched. I transferred my concentration from the chained woman to the one on the floor and searched for signs of life. There...she twitched again. I breathed deeply. Robin was alive. Straining her arms, she pushed herself up from the floor. She groaned as she stood up and swayed unsteadily. Instead of the vibrant thirty-something year old I had admired there stood a body that seemed to struggle to support its own weight. Her flesh and form remained beautiful, but she seemed impossibly fragile as she stumbled towards the wall and the captive couple still chained to it. From beyond my field of vision, Robin collected two shallow bowls that appeared to be cast in gold. She went first to the woman and then to the man, gathering the liquids and paste that covered their sexual organs then she took both bowls and moved out of sight.

  Thankful that I wasn't wearing shoes, I crept away, back to my desk. I laid out a magazine and leant over it, trying to pretend that I had seen nothing out of the ordinary this evening. Feeling exposed, I wrapped the robe tighter around my body. I pretended not to hear Robin's footsteps as she left the executive suite and made her way along the hallway. Unable to resist, I eventually turned to smile at her in what I hoped was a friendly yet nonchalant manner, but she didn't catch my smile. She opened the door to the bathroom and disappeared inside.

  Glossy magazine images of wealthy faces in opulent surroundings swam before my eyes. Photographs transformed into orgies where the rich and famous alike were ravaged by demons who penetrated every hole and tore at naked skin. I closed my copy of Vogue noisily and ran towards the bathroom door. I knocked too softly for Robin to hear then opened it and slipped inside.

  I heard her crying before I saw her. She was sobbing as though she had lost everything important in her life and could never be happy again. She sat in the base of the shower, arms wrapped around her legs and head between her knees. Her spine jerked with every breath she took. I stepped towards her, unable to decide what I would do when I reached her. Even when I placed my hand on the shower door she seemed oblivious to my presence. I took a deep breath, opened the door and bent over her body as hot water soaked through the robe, making it cling to my skin. I pulled Robin towards me and wrapped my arms around her body.

  “It's okay,” I told her. “Everything's okay.”

  She bent her face towards mine and her lips brushed against my cheek, searching for my mouth. I offered it to her, prising open her soft lips with my hungry tongue. We kissed and the world seemed to melt around me. She pulled my robe open and reached for my breasts. Her fingers squeezed my flesh, softly but insistently. I gathered her in my arms and moved her to the chaise longue, taking a moment to revel in her beauty before licking every inch of her skin.

  She licked mine in return, drawing me into her mouth and penetrating me with her fingers. I knew I would always love her as we rocked our bodies together, kissing each other’s faces, breasts and the flesh between our thighs that moistened with each other’s attentions. She tasted like heaven and I drank from her greedily. I wanted this moment to last forever. I didn't want to wake up and nor did I want to discover this wasn't a dream and that two willing victims were hanging from the wall in the executive suite mere metres from where Robin and I caressed each other’s bodies. I declared my love for her again and again as she smiled indulgently and kissed my mouth. It frustrated me that she didn't believe my words, didn't understand that this was real and I would do anything for her; it pained me that I could not seem to reach behind her silent sadness and heal her wounds.

  I must have fallen asleep in her arms, but I woke up cold and alone. I grabbed my robe and wrapped it around myself before venturing beyond the dressing room in search of the woman I loved. Yes loved...completely, utterly and without any reservation.

  She wasn't in the foyer or the corridor. I checked the meagre office kitchen to see if she had gone to make coffee, but that too was empty. The door to the executive suite hung ajar. I walked inside, searching for Robin. I found the couple still chained to the wall, asleep but alive. I could hear the gentle snores of the man and see the woman's breasts rise and fall. I approached a display cabinet. There was a key on one shelf and rows and rows of crystal vials filled with red and white viscous liquids that clung to the sides and shimmered slightly. I left the vials but took the key. It took some effort, but I managed to rouse the man and woman from their slumber. I unlocked the shackles and let them crawl from the room silently. They never offered any thanks, but why would they? To them I was a servant, a cleaning woman perhaps, or a whore. I didn't argue with them or try to alter their perception. They meant nothing to me either.

  I turned to face the door and saw the two silver-bodied demons sitting cross-legged in the centre of the circle. The female smiled at me and the male seemed to peer beyond the veils of my robe and flesh into my soul. It knew me instantly and I felt my blood chill in response.

  The demons clutched each other's hands. Their genitals throbbed and fluttered between their legs making me feel dizzy and nauseous. That's all they were, wasn't it, giant sex organs? Maybe they couldn't read me as well as they thought, for I wasn't like them. My love was complex and complete.

  “What do you want?” I asked. I hadn't meant to say anything, but the words escaped me without the permission of my conscious will.

  “We have everything we want,” the female said.

  “Robin is the perfect host,” the male said, smirking slightly.

  “Will you return to her?”

  “Of course. We exist within her, just below the surface.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Hurt her? I should imagine so. What do you think, Saky?”

  “You cannot imagine the sweet tortures she feels, the burning, scarring, joyous pain she embraces. Or maybe you can... Maybe you would be a good host for us.”

  “No.” I shook my head.

  “You could release Robin. I am sure she would be grateful for the rest.”

  “No.” I shook my head more fiercely than before.

  “Very well,” the male demon replied.

  The female demon, Saky, lifted her hand above her head. A dark rope filled her fist and she tugged at it. I heard a scream and Robin was dragged into the room. The rope was her hair and Saky wound it around her wrist as if it was a fishing rod and Robin was the catch of the day.

  “No,” I said, taking a step towards them.

  “You have changed your mind? You wish to save Robin?”

  I looked at Robin's face and the lips that I had kissed so tenderly a few hours before as she silently mouthed two words, help me.

  I shook my head and the demons dragged her into the circle so hard that she fell to the floor before them. She looked blind with fear and grief. I wanted to run, but I couldn't move my limbs.

  Before me knelt a woman who both terrified and excited me. She cowered on the floor afraid and desperate. Her huge eyes implored me to help. I looked away from her at the demons who held her in place by her beautiful hair. Hair that I had kissed. Hair that smelled of exotic holidays and comforting hearth fires. The demons laughed, baring their jagged jaws and I realised I felt no pity. Here was a woman who I could have loved before she shared with me her terrible secret, but I did not care. The demons were hers to carry. I had not put them there and she could not expect me to fight them for, or even with, her. I resented her for showing this to me. She should have stayed perfect. I didn't ask to see her flaws. I didn't want to know that she was afraid. It repulsed me, that behind her gorgeous face and ripe, intelligent eyes lay this darkness, waiting for an opportunity to overwhelm her and, if I let it, me as well. I felt no pity, no mercy and why should she expect any; from some archaic notion of sisterhood or love, was I supposed to sacrifice myself, my sanity for her? It wasn't going to happen and I could see that she sensed this too. Her body resigned itself and she stopped struggling. When I left the room, the demons and their prey, only the faintest whimpers followed in my wake.

  ****

&n
bsp; The following day I returned to work. The office was silent. I waited for her to scream at me, hit me, fire me, but she wasn't there. I answered the phone and made appointment notes, knowing that this could be my last day of paid employment. I resented her all the more for that. She had a power over me that no one should have. I had been a fool to let her get under my skin. At six-thirty, when my shift was over, I tried the door to the executive suite. As it swung open I saw a bundle of flesh in the centre of the circle.

  “Robin,” I called.

  Weakly, she raised her head and turned a little so I could see her eyes. Eyes that had retreated behind dark circles.

  “I'm going now,” I told her.

  Part of me wanted her to beg me to return that evening, make love like we had fucked before, with sensual abandon, but she didn't say anything. She just lay there and watched me through eyes devoid of emotion. A sliver of guilt caught me unexpectedly. I should have helped her. Was it too late?

  “Robin,” I whispered.

  She shook her head and tears heavy with sorrow formed in her eyes. “It's too late,” she rasped. “You made your choice.”

  I knew she was right. It had been my choice and I had made it freely. That choice meant I was still free, free to abandon her to her sorrow. I lingered in the doorway, wondering whether to approach her or retreat. When she turned her face from me I chose the latter. No longer held in place by her stare, I grabbed my bag, left the appointment book open at today's date and strode out of the office.

  The smell of delicious cooking beckoned me. I glanced toward the restaurant and checked my watch, almost seven. I should eat. Restore my strength for the long week ahead. A week during which I would be searching through the small ads for employment opportunities when not answering Robin's telephone or speaking to clients. I wondered how much the clients knew then decided I didn't care. What I did care about was filling my stomach, hoping that it might also fill the void in my soul.

  Fight or Flight

  by Glen W Hunter

  The room reeked of Indian incense and pretence

  She looked around his room, wondering how she got here

  Recalling the beer that was maybe one too many and left her heady

  He was in the bathroom getting ready as her mind began to spin

  Her grasp on consciousness thin as chemicals rushed through her system

  She felt the bruises from the club where she fell as a victim

  Wondering now how she could even try to get out of here

  Fear felt like it was knocking on the door of her mind

  But there was only fog and mist and a bruise on her wrist

  A small plastic baggy lay upon the Ikea table in front of her

  Rohypnol in the alcohol, it was beginning to make some sense

  No wonder she was not tense or rising to run from this place

  The living room door slowly opened to reveal the monster's face

  It was angelic, much to her surprise, and his eyes seems to shine

  His pale skin divine, lips red as wine, his torso tattooed in mystical signs

  Approaching the old ripped couch upon which she lay

  His hands touched her toes and moved all the way

  Gliding up past her calves, moving upward toward her thighs

  Long bony fingers peeled off underwear with a sigh

  This felt like those dreams resulting in screams at midnight

  Initiating the instincts for fight or flight

  His right hand rose up to her cheek, he looked as if he would speak

  She appeared so weak as he sliced her flesh just a little

  Blood rising to the surface, she felt tiny and brittle

  As his long hot tongue lapped at the small line of red

  His hardness rising as she bled, feeling the very tip of his head

  As he entered without consent with malice intent

  But then suddenly without his notice there was a quickening to her focus

  This dingy little locus was transformed in a flash

  Her legs wrapped around his waist, sharp teeth made a gash

  In his neck, then his chest, rubbing the blood onto her breasts

  She whispered into his ear it's time for your rest

  She flipped his body onto the hard damp wooden floor

  Teeth tearing into flesh taking ever more

  He whimpered for mercy, but this was not her name

  Tonight she was death come to extinguish his flame

  Predator and Prey

  by Nina Stevens

  We’ve been playing this game

  Predator and prey

  I know you are there

  Watching me

  I feel your eyes

  Claiming me

  A sheet of cold glass

  Separating us

  I feel your black lust

  Your desire that I’ll be worthy

  That I’ll be your sublime angel

  The one to absolve your darkness with my light

  I know there were others before me

  But they didn't satisfy

  They couldn't give you what you truly craved

  What you needed

  I’ll be your last conquest

  I can give you more than you imagined you wanted

  I’m ready for you

  Shaking with the thoughts

  Of what I want to do to you

  I have a new toy

  That I can't wait to use

  Its thick shaft gleams seductively

  I caress it

  Its heavy power begging to be used

  I long to give rein to fantasy

  Inhabit you

  Inhibit you

  You move so silently

  Afraid to spook me too soon

  Stalking and sneaking

  You don't know that I’m hunting you too

  Who’s the predator

  Who’s the prey

  You stand above me

  Silent I lay

  Every synapse firing in anticipation

  I’ll let you make the first move

  Dying inside to let loose

  You slide against me

  Ready to take possession

  You’re shocked when I turn to you

  Slide the steel cylinder

  Across your skin

  See the heat rise

  Watch flesh moisten

  My turn to dominate you

  My turn to take control

  I’m going to know you more intimately than anyone ever before

  I’m going to see what's inside your head

  I’m going to stop your heart exquisitely

  I’m going to revel in your blood

  And I smile...

  As I pull the trigger

  The Last Dance

  by Lily Eyre

  It takes awhile for his eyes to adjust, as the door slams shut behind him; the outside world snatched away, leaving him abandoned to the crypt like gloom. The silence is almost oppressive, heavy walls obscuring even the most muffled sounds. A door to the far right of him opens and a fleeting snatch of music and voices escapes proving that there is something else beyond the dark. A heavy figure moves towards him, a shark cutting through the water, graceful despite his bulk and he feels trapped. Flight, a natural instinct, but he stays, knowing that this man, known only to him as Flynn, is here to escort him through to the inner sanctums of the club. Even in the darkness he can sense Flynn smirking at him, one thick eyebrow arched as if to say 'you again'. Shifting nervously, he mumbles a greeting, a nod in return is his reward. The prompt meaning that he has been granted access tonight and that he should follow, a routine familiar to both men. Silently, he is lead through the heavy wooden door, thick velvet curtains parting, a gateway to another world.

  After the silence of the entrance, the club itself is a cacophony of sounds, sights and smells that assault the senses. Décor falling somewhere between a dominatrix's dungeon and Dante’s Inferno; black-winged angels hang su
spended from the ceiling, wrapped in barbed wire chains, forever falling downwards in an eternal plunge to Earth. Torches burn in brackets from the walls, flames dancing. A catwalk bisects the room surrounded by intimate little tables lit only by candlelight. Exotic creatures lounge in chairs, smoking scented cigarettes, teeth and jewels glinting by firelight. Eyes flash hungrily in his direction as he walks past, chatter ceasing momentarily as they watch the newcomer, waiting perhaps for him to do something, before losing interest and returning to their own conversations.

  Flynn sees he is seated at his own table before leaving him behind. His thanks elicits a grunt of reply that borders on pity. It washes over him. He is here and that is all that matters. If his friends’ opinions don't matter then why should this stranger’s? It isn't an obsession; he just likes coming here, likes to watch.

  He waves to one of the staff as they wind round the little tables; their bodies encased in a second skin of rubber, masks obscuring their faces, and orders a drink. Pulling his legs underneath him he settles back into his seat, cutting off the world around him and sinking into his own thoughts. Nervous anticipation courses through him as he waits. No matter how many times he comes here, the thrill is always the same; the excitement never lessens. At first his friends accompanied him, the clubs exclusivity and its reputation preceding it, making it intriguing. Now, though, they worry about his obsession, his need to be here and so he no longer tells them about his trips, allowing them to think that the novelty has, for him too, worn off. They care for him, he knows that, but they don’t understand.

  The sudden silence, that follows the loud rock music, awakes him from his reverie. Around the room people put out the torches, plunging the room into almost pitch black as tension heightens the atmosphere. Not a sound can be heard, not a breath…he realizes then that he is holding his own. A whisper goes up around the room… ‘Curare, Curare’. A name becoming a mantra repeats over and over. Fevered, frenzied, he can hear his own voice joining the rest, the chant irresistible. A flick of an unseen switch and the runway lights ignite, little cat’s eye lamps projecting beams of light from below. Smoke slowly seeps across the floor, from an unseen machine, rising in a shield and cloaking the stage, momentarily obscuring his vision.