Deadly Ever After

The Writing Adventures of The Undead Duo–Julie Hutchings and Kristen Strassel

Archive for the month “February, 2013”

Creating The Animal by Julie Hutchings

TODAY’S BREW: So much coffee that Juan Valdez gave up his borough and is now running for more coffee beans.

by Julie

It’s the last day of February, and I am celebrating Stories to Strip By until the last possible minute.

You’ve met my very own beast, Trent Dixon, in The Animal, but only briefly. The story of how he came to life for me is one for another day, but the first thing Trent said to me still remains the first line in The Animal: “Everything reeked of sex to me.” Without knowing what I was writing, I created in that first chapter a mysterious, narcissistic womanizer. I did not know it was a first chapter when I wrote it. I didn’t know it was the beginning of my newest passion when Trent became possessed by a sexual force of dark, unknown origin. Well, Trent will tell you better than I will how it felt to be taken by this energy: (From chapter 1)

The change didn’t start inside of me.  It levelled me from above, screeched into my feet from below, smashed me side to side, tearing me limb from limb, desecrating the bloody stumps, burning my entrails.  A hurricane of anger and molten fucking that would implode me and make me new.

It was freezing, but I was sweating profusely and my dick was hard as a rock.  Rawness filled me, the need to fuck something or someone grinding me into less than human.  I searched the platform for a woman, though I would have settled for anyone. 

I wrote for a few chapters with no idea who or what this thing was that invaded Trent, and just called him “The Fuck Beast,” which I stick with, to Kristen‘s pure delight. But as I realized I was going somewhere with this character, that I needed to figure out what exactly had taken hold of Trent. 

That’s where it gets fun.

My love of twisting the classic horror figures into something new and different could not let me settle for the typical demon possession or an incubus or any little Whore Monster as such. So I started researching aggressive sex gods when I woke up for Twitter’s 5am Writer’s Club with my pot of coffee. Best way to start the day! After some digging, I came up with the creme de la creme or however you spell that of sex gods; Min.

Our Min hails from pre-Dynastic ancient Egypt and is a reproduction god, the god of fertility and sexual potency. He fueled the pharaohs to reproduce. Min was worshipped in a time when sex was guilt and rule free. Gods were earthly and of the flesh, so he was able to participate in the sexual debauchery that ensued in his name. The Egyptians did not shy away from orgies, adultery, incest, homosexuality, masturbation, or even necrophilia. My guy was depicted as a man with black skin, holding his fully erect penis in one hand and a flail in the other to represent his power and link to the pharaohs. The coolness kept coming, no pun intended. He was badass.

What I was not expecting was to find myself sympathetic to the sex god. This ruler of creation was defaced when the Christians came, his phallus destroyed in all monuments, and when Victorian Egyptologists took pictures of his statues, they would cover his penis or only shoot him from the waist up. Eventually, even his name was screwed up, and he sunk into obscurity. I could envision how shameful this would be for a god of the earth, and how he would feel so lost in the Afterworld, and how vengeful he would be. I could see how he would find like-minded men in spirit, and try to regain his place in this world through sexual deviance beyond reason. Min became a mass of sexual fury that even Trent can’t keep up with. And Min has an agenda–his conquests aren’t the prettiest girls at the bar. He has specific needs that want unleashing.

But my evolution of these characters and this story is for another blog, as is the story of how I even began writing it. Boy I do love to hear myself talk about this stuff.

Devilish Desires and Zoey Derrick Cover Reveal

Devilish Desires

Today’s Brew: Julie’s French Toast.  Sorry Julie.  I’m enjoying it more than I usually do. 🙂

Today we wrap up our guest appearances feature of Stories To Strip By with a bang.  During our first short story exposition, The Nightmares Before Christmas, Zoey debuted Devilish Desire.  She enjoyed writing the story so much that not only does she offer the second installment of the story for your reading pleasure today, but Zoey is also thrilled to announce that she is developing Devilish Desire into a full length novel!  Here is your first chance to sneak a peak at the cover!

ZD-Cover4

Cover Art completed by Olivia Rivers with permissions outlined here; http://olivia212.deviantart.com/#/d5suzi3

Olivia is a member of the Twitter community and can be found https://twitter.com/RiversOlivia
Release date: Right now Devilish Desire is on my list to follow Finding Love’s Wings and the best release date I can say is Fall/Winter 2013.

Now, without further ado, here is Devilish Desires by Zoey Derrick:

The time that has come to pass since Christmas is a blur. I remember Christmas clearly, my friends and my family are clear, but when I think back to the vision and look at the pictures, there’s a void. A missing piece, not just mentally, but physically. When you look at pictures, there is a gap between people, and not just an area of space, but an object has been removed from the image. I had a distinct feeling that what ever was there bares no reflection and camera’s look past its presence.

The more I think about it, the more the pain comes. It wreaks havoc on my heart, and tears through my brain like burning fire. Something somewhere has been lost. Most days, I don’t think about it, and most days, I feel as though I can remember, but today is different. Today is Valentine’s and the ache of lonely emptiness plays with my soul.

Since Christmas so much has changed, my eating habits are over the top and I eat just about anything in site. Being the girl that has always had problems with weight, I have learned over the years the important necessities of diet and self-control. Though lately, the times have changed. If I crave a chocolate bar, I eat it. A big greasy cheeseburger smothered in mushrooms, bacon and onions, a big juicy rare steak, all of it, I consume without a second thought and I hate red meat. But what is strange and has me concerned is that I don’t change. I haven’t gained a pound, my hair is still the same length and my nails haven’t lost the last manicure I had nearly three months ago. It’s almost as if I have been frozen in time, yet moving forward from one day to the next.

Despite my feelings of emptiness, I always feel like I’m not alone. Like someone is watching me. Deep down inside my soul, something is telling me that whatever is watching me will not be hindered by locked doors, windows, light blocking curtains, and a security system.

Despite the business of the bakery and all the people at the dinner that I work at, I’m off today. No one even bothered to ask me to work for them, which was surprising because most of the women I work with are either married or deeply involved with their significant others. Maybe the money is better tonight and I really am missing out. Come to think of it, I have been at work most days and it seems as though most people are ignoring me. The conversations we once had have been nearly non-existent.

It’s just another thing to add to the growing list of weird.

As I’m dwelling on the fact that I appear invisible to the people around me, I enter my apartment. All the lights are off, that’s weird, I swear I left the light above the stove on before I left this morning. Maybe it burnt out. As I reach for the light switch near the door the lights flicker on.

I scream.

“Sh Nyssa, it’s me.” That voice, I know that voice, somewhere deep down inside my very being, I know this voice. I feel his arms embrace me, cuddling me close to his body. Gently caressing my hair.

Every fiber of my being is warning me to scream and kick and fight, but my fight is gone. His embrace is warm and welcoming and I can’t help but be coddled by his touch. “Wha…Who…who are you?” I manage to sputter.

I feel his hand cradle my forehead and in an instant a mountain of images come flooding back to me. An onslaught of images of Christmas, the dark warmth, the chains, being restrained, being tortured in so many delicious ways. All the laughing and crying, a feeling of complete happiness washed over me as I take in the images of a tall beautiful man, a man that I love, he has returned.

“Link.” I breathed and turned my head ever so slightly, my lips searching for his, and they found their purchase, kissing him ignited a raging inferno throughout my body, an inferno of desire, of necessity and need. I managed to turn in his arms and I wrapped my arms around his neck, while bringing my legs around his waist, pulling him closer to my body. This is the reason I feel lonely and confusion quickly swarms my brain. I want answers, I need to know where he has been and why he has left me alone. But, in this moment, I don’t care. Right now I need him, with me, in me.

He picks me up off of the floor and carries me down the hall to my room. I notice that he is moving slower than his usual pace and I am puzzled by this revelation. “Link?” I ask, breathless from our kiss.

He looks at me and answers my unspoken question. “I must savor you. I cannot allow my short time with you to be rushed. I only have tonight, Valentine’s night and then I must leave you once again.” I felt unwelcome tears start streaming down my cheeks.

“Link, it’s not fair, why must you go? I want to come with you. I need you.”

“In due time my love, you will stand by my side for eternity, but for tonight, I must have you. Here and now.” He reached the door to my bedroom and as the door opened, I caught the glimmer of flames and the sparkling of crystal as he crossed the threshold. Here in my room, on every surface including the floor were the petals of black and red roses, surrounding the vases from which dozens of long steam, in full bloom, roses of red and black stood in all their glory. Surrounding those vases were candles of white and black and the fresh floral scent that filled the room was like an aphrodisiac coating my senses and pooling in my core.

“Link, it’s beautiful.” I breathed. “Thank you.” And once again my lips found his and we melted into a tangle of lips, tongues, arms, clothes, and all kinds of nakedness.

Once we were naked he laid me out on the bed with expert care. His body hovered over mine, shoulders strong and straining against his skin. The muscles of his arms and chest were in perfect form as he held himself above me. My hands gently stroke up and down his arms, across his chest, down his stomach, around his hips to his tight, finely tuned arse that fits perfectly into my hands. I tug, trying desperately to bring him closer to me, trying to bring him inside me.

He lets out a low chuckle and in one quick burst of movement he is buried inside me, to the hilt. I can feel the curve of his balls smack against the crack of my ass and I moan. I’m full, he has filled me completely in one movement. His girth should have had me torn in half but I accepted him willingly and without pain.

Without moving inside me, he rears up and pulls at both my legs so that my feet come up towards his mouth and he licks, then nips, at the pad of my big toe and the sensation sends my mind into a tailspin of wonton desire for him. Finally he begins to slowly slide in and out. The motion is painstakingly slow as my desire builds harder and deeper. I can feel my sex turn slippery and wet as he slowly picks up his pace.

Once satisfied that my body is fully responding to him, he gently lays my legs down on the bed so I’m laying on my right side. My shoulders remain square on the bed as he runs his hand over my engorged nipple, wanting and needing to be touched, and licked. His hand continues downward and lingers along my stomach. A look of pure raw devotion crosses his features, a manner that, in my pre-orgasmic state, I cannot comprehend. “So beautiful.” He breaths as his pace increases. I feel the warmth of his hand across my belly, but no pressure. I look down to where our sexes are meeting in pure raw passion. Though I can feel his hand, he is not actually touching me.

He leans down and begins licking, sucking, and biting at my breasts and he quickly takes a nipple into his mouth. The sensation is so intense that my orgasm is building to unmanageable proportions. I’m going to explode, there is no other definition for what he is doing to me. “Cum for me beautiful, cum now.” He growled and my orgasm erupted from deep inside. My eyes close involuntary and he brings his hand down, hard, along the bubble of my ass and my eyes fly open. “Look at me. I need to see you.” The stars continue to fall in front of my eyes and I watch as his growling intensifies and his body begins to morph from the beautiful pale face I fell in love with, into the bright red eyed, dark black skinned, bald beast that has become a part of who I am. His horns become visible from the peak of his now absent hairline. A normal person would be scared stiff, but I, I caress his beautiful face, because even in this form, he is still beautiful.

I feel his need and desire pour into my body as his orgasm rocks his body. His in and out motion slows, but I can still feel his erection, as hard has it was when we started. Slowly he morphs back into the beautiful, violet eyed, long jet-black hair, strong-jawed man that I love.

Follow Zoey on Twitter and check out her Blog!

The Exception by Kristen Strassel

Today’s Brew:  get your popcorn ready! Julie and I just came from a really romantic night at the movies.  Beautiful Creatures?  Wait for DVD.

by Kristen

I’ve been fooling around with this concept for a while.  Finally the inspiration came from a dinner party I attended the other night.  This story is inspired by Immortal Dilemma.

The Exception

“So you think you can handle me?” My tattooed fantasy stood just inches from me, his eyes soft, wearing a smile that said nothing but danger.

I nodded.  I couldn’t speak.  I’d played this very moment out so many times in my mind.  I’d known just what to say to lure him closer.  But it was already a done deal, a negotiation of sorts.

Not what I had imagined so many times before, alone in my house, the car, the shower. You get the picture. What the hell was I doing? I’d only slept with three people in my whole life and here I was, with this larger than life stranger, practically paralyzed.

Now that I was actually here with Tristan Trevosier, my whole body trembled, and I had to clench my teeth together not to fawn over him, profess my love like some pathetic preteen fangirl.

“What’s your name?”  His voice was little more than a whisper.  He took one more step, close enough to touch my arm.  He ran his rough fingers, calloused from playing guitar, down the length of my bare skin.  With his other hand, he tipped my chin up to meet his eyes, which burned with every scandalous thought I knew brewed in his soul.

“Andrea.” Why did I feel so shy now? This was what I wanted, wasn’t it?

“Your husband seems like a nice guy.”

My eyes widened. My guard rose like iron gates around my conscious. I shouldn’t be doing this.

But I had to.

“He’s wonderful.” I gulped.  “Your girlfriend is okay with this?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“That girl, who was sitting in the room. I’ve seen pictures of you with her online.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, she’s my soulmate.”  He smiled, amused.  “Like you and your husband, we understand each other. What we have to do.”

My jaw, still in his hand, dropped.  I didn’t understand this at all.

“Back to your husband.”  His eyes bore into mine so I could look nowhere else. “What doesn’t he do for you?”

We’d been married for six months, this trip to Vegas technically our honeymoon. We’d hardly had a real fight yet. I’d waited longer than my girlfriends to get married, but Brian had made every minute of that wait worth it. Now, here I stood before this Adonis, barely more than a teenager, who had no problem questioning our marriage right after he asked me my name.

“What do you mean?”

“This is your fantasy, right, Andrea?” Tristan cut me off.  “I want to make it worth your while.  What doesn’t he do for you? Sexually.  I don’t give a rat’s ass if he takes out the trash or puts down the toilet seat.”

Despite the electrical charge in the small space between our faces, I couldn’t help but laugh.  I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. “He doesn’t like to go down on me.”

Tristan rolled his eyes.  “I’ll never understand why some dudes are so stupid.”

He pushed me against the wall in the small room and sunk to his knees in front of me.  I lost my urge to defend Brian’s honor as he pushed up my skirt to my waist and tore my lace panties off of me like they were made from tissue paper.  My breath quickened as I stood in front of him. Bare.  He only used his hands to part my thigh, kissing my pubic bone before moving down, licking, sucking, teasing. His dark hair tickled my thighs. All my muscles pulsed and sang. His hands and mouth held me steady against the wall, or else I might have fallen on top of him in a crumpled heap.

I wanted to beg him for mercy, but I never wanted him to stop. Sanity was overrated.

In a fluid moment, Tristan rose to his feet, his hands sliding up to the waded fabric at my waist.  “Do you understand what Bloodlust is, Andrea?” He breathed into my ear.

I hadn’t expected him to stay in character.  But I couldn’t deny it.  Something pulled me to him. “I do. That’s why I’m here.”

“You don’t know what it is for me.” He kissed my neck, and I stiffened with nerves. “The blood is what gets people like me off.”

He grazed his sharp teeth against my neck.  Weren’t they just part of his costume? He wouldn’t really take it so far and try to bite me, would he?

“It’s real?” I could barely manage the words.

“It’s real. “ I could feel him nod against my neck.  “Relax.  This is why you’re here.”

I didn’t relax. I froze as he punctured my neck.  My mouth opened to scream but nothing came out. As he sucked, I entered an alternate universe, almost a higher consciousness.  My muscles softened and all those little things that mattered just second before didn’t matter now.

“Good girl.” He reassured me as he finished. His hands moved back down to my legs, pushing me up against the wall, entering me.  My god, was he wearing a condom?  The panic seemed separate, like someone else worried about it for me. He sucked on the wounds on my neck as he thrusted in beautiful rhythm, like the musician he was. I exploded, seeing nothing but stars.

Tristan gently put me back down on the floor, back to earth, and adjusted my skirt.  He kissed me on my forehead as he adjusted himself, a bizarrely chaste move after what he had just done to me.

“Go back to your husband, Andrea.”

With that, he walked away from me.  Shut the door behind him as he left the room. The curtain closed on my fantasy.

Real life awaited. I was terrified.

I dug in my purse for my phone.  As I expected, Brian had left me close to a dozen messages.  He waited for me at the bar in the lobby.  Before I ventured out, I stole a quick glance at myself in my compact mirror.  I was still real. My only souvenir to remember my encounter he left me with was two neat little teeth marks.

I peeked out the door into the hallway.  Thankfully, everything was well marked and I was able to find my way back out into the Sin City Vampire Club without having to ask for help.

Brian sat alone on a corner stool, happily sipping some concoction out of a plastic skull souvenir cup.  His face brightened when he saw me, kissing me in greeting. “So, did you do it?”

How could he be so enthusiastic about this? So casual? After all, it was his big mouth that set the whole thing into motion in the first place. “Hey Tristan, you’re the one that I’d let my wife sleep with.  It’s her fantasy.”  He had blurted out in the Immortal Dilemma meet and greet line.  I had wanted to kill him for saying such a thing until Tristan cocked his eyebrow, looking me up and down, and smiled.

I’m sure he’d spend our time apart texting his buddies at home, bragging about what was going on. How would I ever be able to face our friends?

I’d cheated on my husband. And everyone would want to hear every single detail.

I nodded, climbing up on the stool beside him, wincing at my soreness. I could barely look him in the eye.

“So was it hot? Like real vampire sex?” Brian’s eyes blazed. This still wasn’t real to him.

I pulled my hair away from my neck, revealing the puncture wounds.

He ran his fingers gingerly against the swollen scabby marks.  “Wow.”  His tone changed a bit as what happened sunk in.

I folded my hands in front of me and stared at them.

“Do you want a drink, babe?”

I shook my head.

“What do you want to do?

“I just want to go back to the room.”

“Okay.”  He threw some money up on the bar, leaving his skull cup behind as we slid off our bar stools.

We walked back to our hotel, hand in hand, forever changed from how we arrived.

Bloodlust

Today’s Brew: Not blood. More like Great Value Grape drink stuff.  Yeah, basically Kool Aid.

by Kristen

Blood-Lust-Blood-Mania

Photo courtesy of posters.grindhouse.com. Isn’t it AWESOME??

Bloodlust–
The desire to see blood being shed
A lust or desire
A fetish associated with sexual activity
The need to consume blood
A feeling of
intimacy
power
control

Bloodlust is not a new concept by any means. It’s even got it’s own Wikipedia page, making it super legit.  Many vampire books before Immortal Dilemma have dabbled in Bloodlust and still more thayhave yet to be written will play with it.  Many vampire flicks bear its name and musicians sing about it.

In Immortal Dilemma, Bloodlust refers to the inexplicable attraction that people feel towards certain vampires.  Sexually,  the blood is erotic, mind altering, and addicting.

Bloodlust makes these vampires hard to resist and impossible to forget.

 

 

 

Stranger by Jillian Marques

Windows Live
 TODAY’S BREW: So much Hazelnut my body will weep with need for water.
My long time friend Jillian Marques has been kind and brave enough to give us her first attempt at writing for Stories To Strip By! Wait until you see this, and like me, beg her for more. Follow Jill on twitter @j_moo107.
STRANGER
by Jillian Marques

I spent most of my walk home thinking about how I needed more excitement in my life. I mean… Here I am. 30. I work too much. I live alone. I probably drink too much. And I’m bored. The most exciting thing that’s happened to me in the months is this storm. Lightening in the city is terrifying but I was invigorated. Every flash brought an accelerated heartbeat, a quick in my step, shadows lurking behind corners… my imagination was getting the best of me. It had started to rain, but I didn’t mind. It was warm and holding my face to the sky it made me feel alive.

When I got to my building the power flickered in the lobby and I only thought for a second about taking the stairs. My heels were killing me and it had been a long day….
I hadn’t noticed him until the doors started to close. He was lurking in a shadow and I could just make out his eyes. I could hear the thunder rumble and a heat flew through the air. We were only halfway to the top when with a jolt the elevator stopped.

Excitement you say? This isn’t what I was expecting…

The stranger and I could both feel it in the electrified air. Whether it be the storm outside or the fact we were stuck I will never know, but does it matter? I put it out of my head. He stared me down with catlike green eyes. He stared so hard I hadn’t noticed he was right on front of me. I could feel his breath on my lips. The heat of his body radiating to mine, one more inch and his body would be pressed into mine. I couldn’t stop myself! A fiery energy burst out of me with flames that could only be smoldered by giving in to my desire. I found myself against the wall. The heat of him was all around me. His manhood pressing into my thigh as his tongue found its way inside me. He held my hands over my head and grasped my breasts with undulated yearning. I wanted him.

“Take me.” I whispered.

“Not yet.” He whispered back. “Not. Yet.”

His hands found their way down my neck, my shoulders, ribs, hips, right past that place that makes you quiver with anticipation. He was on his knees. Kissing my ribs, my belly… Oh the hips! He kissed me through the sexy skirt I wore today and I wanted more. I groaned. He nibbled. I wanted more. His hands made their way up my thigh lifting my skirt. He parted my black lace thong and I could feel his fingers find me. I gripped his manhood which was hard and inviting. I needed him. I needed this. I lifted my leg and wrapped it around his waist. Pulsating into him I could tell maybe he would give in.

I felt my way down his muscular chest and unzipped to my bliss. He spilled out and I couldn’t wait any longer. I made him enter me. He grabbed my ass and lifted me. Pressed against the cold elevator wall I shivered. The heat was all around me now and I could feel it building from the inside. I could feel the smolder turn into flame as he found me over and over. He filled me to the brim and I was ready to explode. I moaned louder with each move. Ecstasy was what I felt. The excitement of a stranger with the pleasure of physical love… I couldn’t hold on much longer.

My lips found his, his tongue found mine, our breath moved in beautiful unison and the fire came to an unbearable climax. I grabbed his silky hair and gave it all I had. His lips found their way down my neck to my collar bone as he thrust me harder. Harder! With a moan of epic proportions fireworks exploded. A release of all that energy, mystery, suspense, melted out of me as we both exhaled.

I felt my way down his muscular arms to his chest feeling his muscles rise with every intake of sweet breath. Slowly he began to release me. First one leg, then the other, never backing away, never letting go. He must have been a gentlemen because he pulled down my skirt, still not letting me go. He embraced me, holding his lips to my ear, I shivered again with the memory. I laid my head on his shoulder and took a deep breath. He smelled exotic.

The elevator started to move and we began to unwind. He placed his hands on my hips and my breath caught. I wanted him to leave them there. I wanted him pressed against me again… I went to speak and he pressed his finger to my lips. I closed my eyes and let myself have the moment. “Our secret.” He whispered.

When the doors opened I had to get out. When I turned to ask his name he was back in the shadows. I decided I would let it go. He would remain “the stranger”, and this would be our little secret.

Believe by Christopher Liccardi

Today’s Brew:  Mary Lou’s Creamy Chocolate Coconut

Here’s a dreamy little number from our friend Chris Liccardi.  Do you believe?  Follow him on twitter @NiteWriter07 andvisit him at The Darker Half for more!

BELIEVE

by Chris Liccardi

As she stood in the shower, hot water pouring down her cold tired body, Teagan reflected on the pain that the day brought her. It was a terrible reflection, empty and hollow and she hated it. The crushing emptiness in her chest felt like it would cave her in. She would be crushed by heartbreak.

Teagan had been through the worst possible day of her life save for the day he died. She could not possibly feel more broken.

Images of the day flashed through her mind, free of order or purpose; confused emotions all with tiny sharp fangs, biting and gnashing at her soul until she could no longer breath. The pain was immense as she stood in the shower, living each moment over and over again until she was sure she could not stand one more.

“Take a breath baby. Just take a single breath. One at a time…for me.” It was the voice of the man she just buried.

“Oh fuck, my imagination is going nuts now.” Teagan said out loud to herself.

“One breath for me Teag…Please? That’s it…just breath.” His voice, so close she could feel the heat from his breath on the her neck.

Teagan inhaled, head down and soaking herself in the hot spray. At first the breathing was slow and staggered, a gasp but she forced it into her lungs. The effect was instantaneous.

“Good job Baby. Just take one more, for me? Please? I know you can do this. I wouldn’t lie.”, his voice, strong and sure, behind her. She could feel his hand on her shoulder in a way she remembered.

“You’re dead Celyn. You’re DEAD.” She started to scream now. It seemed like the right thing to do.

“Teag, I’m here with you baby. Why are you screaming? I can hear you.” Steady strong voice, quite and powerful.

“I am what I am and you need to be okay. You are my concern. I will always be here with you, for you…” his voice faded and his hands moved from her shoulder. The caress on her face was gentle and soothing.

“I.. You… Celyn I don’t understand this.” Teagan once again began to cry.

There was no response and Teagan was convinced the day’s trauma was the cause of this hallucination but the fingers on her face and her shoulder were so real.

“I miss you, DAMIT. I fucking miss you!” shouting again. She wanted him to come back, if not in life than in her delusion of a life she had to let go of.

“Don’t let go Teag. I’ll be here as along as you hold on.” He caressed her back in long sweeping strokes.

Teagan arched her back at the feel of his touch, alien and yet so familiar. She pushed back from the wall, slowly testing to see how good her imagination really was. Would she feel him? Would the motion of her falling body be stopped by the man she loved standing, behind her?

His form, wet and warm against her back did stop her. She could feel his pulsing hardness lying against her lower back. He was with her. Somehow he was here, now!

“I don’t want you to go.” Her mouth was stopped by the most sensual kiss she had ever felt in her life. Pain and fear melted away and she was overcome by such a passion to have him she could hardly stand it.

She was engulfed in him now. He was in front of her, kissing her like a new lover. He was behind her, hands caressing her wet skin, finding her nipples and running fingertips over them with the gentleness of long experience. His cock was pushing up, seeking to find that place where they always came together. She felt elation, confusing, doubt.

“I don’t understand?” was what she wanted to ask, but one that would have no immediate answer. Not in the verbal sense.

Teagan felt her legs being parted, slowly and with gentle warm hands. Her instinct was to resist but even that melted away in mere seconds. She could feel the hands working their way down her sleek wet skin, rubbing their way to her sweet spot. She had felt this loved before, many times over and she longed for it.

She could feel her lips being opened, something long and hard finding its place, a private place where he had been so many times. She opened her mouth to say something and it instead moaned with the sensation of being filled with his love. Something had taken up that space where emptiness had been since his death.

The lovemaking went on for what felt like hours. Groping slow hands finding sensitive tender places where she loved to be touched. The ache in the center of her was satisfied over and over again. There was no end to how many ways and places he filled in her. She kept taking of it over and over again until she could stand not another moment of its intense and dizzying pleasure. She came more that night than she ever thought possible and in the end it was all a blur of strong arms, naked seeking bodies and the sense of peace that overwhelmed her to the point of surrender and exhaustion.

The morning light pouring into the open window brought with it a sense of newness but was fleeting. Teagan opened her eyes, slowly wondering where she was. She remembered so much and yet it seemed reality was kicking in the door like an angry mob out for blood.

“Celyn… baby are you…?” Teagan trailed off. She suddenly remembered the funeral, the rain driving people away. She remembered standing in the downpour, crying and trying to breath.

Flash to the apartment, standing empty and cold now without him in it. She blinked as tears began to well up in her eyes, doubling and then tripling the view from her over-sized bed. It was the morning after the funeral. The weight of the thing hit home and she began to sob.

Another flash and she was undressing on her way to the bathroom. She laughed at that moment realizing he would not be there to pick up her clothes and join her in the shower. She would have to pick up her own clothing now and shower alone. The tears were coming now. No stopping this flood and no more happiness for a while. She would not hear him bellow out her name as she put the key into the lock, laughing all the while as he forced her name into every movie title he could think of. No more celebrating the little things like coming home from work or making it to a concert just in time.

Teagan could barely breath again. She was struggling to get any air into her lungs as she relived the last five years of her life with him. He was center and side of the world she revolved around and now he was gone.

The birthdays, the flowers for no reason, all the things he did just for her. All gone!

Teagan’s crying was in full force now. She was hitching in deep uneasy breaths like a little girl who scared herself silly. She fought to regain some sort of control but failed.

“Baby… be easy with this. You can’t change it, neither can you change the way I will always feel.” The voice in her head and heart was so strong it gave her goose bumps.

“This isn’t real. This isn’t happening?” she questioned the empty room. She was starting to think her sanity was now up for grabs along with everything else.

“Its real for me Babe. Its real for you if you believe it.” The voice grew closer and she felt the kiss on her cheek. It was soothing, as it had always been. Teagan’s breath began to steady, the hitching slowed now. She was gaining control again.

As she wiped her eyes, she again thought her imagination was giving her an out; letting him go easily. She was convincing herself it was not a loss of sanity or a ghost coming to visit her like some bullshit story of morality and conscious.

As she sat up in her bed, she realized she didn’t know how she got there. She was about to get up when she realized she was naked under the covers and laying on the pillow next to her was a single red rose, freshly cut and wrapped in a silk ribbon the color of her hair.

“Celyn… baby?” Teagan’s voice wavered.

“If you believe Teagan…only if you believe.”

His voice echoed through the house and her tears flowing again. This time, the pain was gone; replaced with an intense joy and love. The force of him there crushed her like a wave and she began to believe…

 

Tristan In The Flesh

Today’s Brew:  Popsicles.  Yeah, I’m sick. 😦

by Kristen

Tristan

But mostly, I just watched Tristan.  Tonight he wore his signature black leather pants, which clung dangerously low below his hipbones.  They ended in black combat boots that were casually untied.  He topped the outfit off with a black T shirt adorned with an intricate white pattern, front and back, that clung like a second skin.  His eyes were heavily rimmed with black liner and his hair hung in his face, down on his chest and back.  It swung around him as he roamed all over the stage.  His fingers moved over his guitar seductively, teasing it, bringing it to the brink of hysteria then coaxing it back down to a purr.  Almost as if he was making love to it. —Immortal Dilemma

 

As soon as I saw this picture, all I could think was THERE HE IS.  Tristan.  The main male character  from Immortal Dilemma.  My Tristan has a sleeve of tattoos on his left arm and his hair is possibly longer (hard to tell in this picture).  But otherwise, it’s him.  I enjoy him tremendously so I wanted to share my findings with Deadly Ever After.

I found this photo through Pin Queen 1369, who also has a awesome pinterest full of sexiness. It’s not safe for work in any way shape or form, but what fun is?  Pour yourself a glass of wine and enjoy what she’s got to offer.

Meet The Animal by Julie Hutchings

TODAY’S BREW: Vanilla Chocolate Cherry thing I made up.

by Julie

I’ve been working on a new novel since mid-December which has seen no air time here at Deadly Ever After, so it’s exciting for me to release a first draft chapter of it! It could not be more different from Running Home, and while I cannot wait to tell you all about it and about my process of writing it, now is not the time. Now is the time for me to make you blush.

Meet Trent Dixon, 32 year old playboy who could make a profession of hiding from himself. But nothing could shield him from the ancient power that would possess him and give him something real to run from. This is The Animal. 

 

I found myself staring at her, becoming angry in a way that was unacceptable, but felt so right.  Stacy dug for something in her battered purse, not noticing that I was salivating at the thought of having her alone.

This animal cruelty erupting in me was not sexual, but it was the only way I wanted it.   Blackness rolled over and over inside me, keeping me hard, and panting.  It was its own creature.  And it needed me.

The train rumbled and pulled to a stop.  Jumping up and pulling her with me, we made it to the door before anyone else.  Stacy was silent, as still as she could be, and I felt her submitting.

A woman with blow job lips and hot librarian glasses stood up from the seat next to the door.  I looked at her, Stacy’s hand still clenched in mine, and growled at her. My teeth gritted, I spat “You’re next.”  She gasped and fell back into her seat.  I laughed under my breath, squeezing the hand of the oblivious Stacy.

“Where do you live?” Stacy asked me as I continued to pull her along the lamplit street.

“Just down here.  Brownstone.”  I couldn’t even form complete sentences, and I was moving fast, still hard, teeth grinding.  Fire boiled my veins, and I felt less and less like myself every second.  More and more like some never before seen sex animal that would fuck and kill everything in its path.

She tripped on a cobblestone but I didn’t slow down.  She began to wriggle her hand out of my grip.  I needed to stop, needed to calm her down.

She could feel the animal, too.

I stopped abruptly, pulling her close to me in a firm embrace, nuzzling into her mousy hair.  Its average smell aroused me more, my mind reeling at the thought of raising this average creature to something divine, naked and trembling.  For that second, I was pure.

“I just want so much to have you,” I mumbled into her flowery hair.

She sighed, loosening.

“What’s your name?”  she asked me, but was not committed to care.

“Trent.”

“Let’s go, Trent,” she whispered into my ear.  And we walked a little slower.

I breathed deep and slow, trying to calm the tiger, trying not to eat her alive before we made it up the outside stairs.  The sex-thing in me cooperated, I could actually feel it give in, knowing that this was the only way to achieve our end.

And I knew that it could have won, if we were to fight it out.

I shut the door behind us, Stacy tripping over the threshold .  I pushed her roughly against the door, my shoes bunching up the Oriental runner underneath us, making me slip and fall into her harder.  We kissed , her lips soft and childlike, chapstick flavored.

And the sex-thing took over, having waited patiently for me to get her home.  It wanted in, it wanted her, and everything around it, drinking it in like delicious poison.  My senses twisted and turned to take it all in, hyperaware of this world, sensitive to everything, loving everything.  Wanting to consume and own and end everything.

My teeth smashed into hers making her grunt, getting me harder.  The button on her pants flew off under my nails, the zipper breaking in half, and I dug into her underwear, cheap cotton, dull, pubic hair curling under my nails.

NOW.

The sex -thing yanked her pants down in a wild flash, my face now level with her untidy pussy as she leaned back against the door, smelling of equal parts fear and arousal.  I buried my face in her, knowing she had only done this three times before, somehow, that the sex-thing would always know these things.  She was tearing up.  I could tell.  I licked and prodded, the hair soft and sweet, new and ready.  My tongue went inside her and she was limp.  Her fear was gone, and now she was mine. I grunted a laugh, and lifted her, wrapping her legs around me, undoing my pants and forcing my cock into her like it was the last thing I would ever do, like fucking her would end the world, and I didn’t care that she yelped in surprise and pain, didn’t care that her head was banging against the door, didn’t care about anything except cumming and destroying her, ruining it all.

“Trent,” she whispered, and I knew she was wondering if she should ask me to stop.  I would not let her.  I smothered her mouth with mine, still tasting her pussy, jabbing my tongue into her, slamming my cock into her warm tight wetness with the force of  hurricanes.

Stacy was going to cum on me, I knew it like I knew my own name.  I knew it like I knew that there was something else inside me now, and I never ever wanted it to leave but could never see it .  She exploded on my cock, the stickiness running onto me, she screamed so loud I think the neighbors heard, and I gritted my teeth, staring at her, she was mine, and she was the first that would have this.  The first of many.  The first to know what sex could do.  The first to be a slave to this feeling, the only power that could create, and now would destroy.  It would finish everything it touched.

She was done, but I was still pumping and pumping, fucking her until she would cry, until I came in a torrent of brimstone and fury.  My muscles clenched and got stronger with every drive into her, my arms pinning her to the door, reveling in the sound of her head against the grain.

I should have been afraid of this feeling.  I should have known it was primordial, otherworldly, evil.  I should have been, but I was not.  I wanted this like death wants to grab and hold you until obliteration.

“Ugh! Trent!”  She was finished, wanted me off, but I was ready and there was no stopping now.

Pure, unadulterated power forced me to orgasm, and it was alive, it had a heartbeat and a mind, and it owned me.  The sex-animal-thing that had taken me over could taste the world this way.  Blackness enveloped my own mind, taken over by the thing that possessed me.

The terror I felt as I came was unlike anything I had ever known.  It was the end of the world in its tiniest stages.  I drank in death as I watched Stacy squirm in all her averageness, fear in her eyes mingled with her own power.

After all, she was the reason I was becoming this right now.

I gently let her go, sweat slick on her legs, my hands trembling.  I felt my senses return to me, become mine again, and I swear I heard the thing inside me laughing as I showed Stacy out the very door behind her.

 

 

 

 

Giant Tales–Now Available!

Today’s Brew: Not enough coffee. And if you were following my Twitter rant earlier, I finally got my oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.  And everyone lived.

by Kristen

I should be having champagne! Four of my short stories, including Broken, have been published in the Giant Tales Beyond The Mystic Doors anthology!  There will be two more volumes in this series I will be featured in.

It’s available on Amazon.  I’m biased and all, but I suggest you pick up your very own copy.  Seriously, kids, it costs less than my Starbuckian Goodness and did I mention my stories were in it?  🙂

The three-minute stories in this anthology, Giant Tales Beyond the Mystic Doors, are full of suspense, surprise endings, and fantastic thrillers, which will surprise you, alarm you, and take you to unexpected places beyond the mystic doors.

Sixty-one stories written by sixteen authors, each tale is sure to take you to a new place with new characters. Moving with surprise twists and turns, this work of fiction is a real page-turner.

Take an unexpected journey beyond the mystic doors where you will experience all new stories, fresh and first-rate workmanship.

In essence, the three-minute tales of fantasy and thrillers will keep you turning the pages for more.

Turning Point by Jeanie Grey

TODAY’S BREW: Chocolate cherry medium roast. Mmmmmm.

Now here’s a story to strip by if there ever was one by the delightful Jeanie Grey. Follow her on twitter @jeaniegrey.  Get ready to sizzle.

Turning Point

by Jeanie Grey

The next day she gets little hot flashes every time she thinks about him.

The day after that, she finds herself trying not to Facebook-stalk him, settling instead for re-reading for the hundredth time the messages he’d sent her. They turn out to be less fitting material for fantasy than she would like.

She finds herself humming “I’m Not in Love” by 10cc: I’m not in love. So don’t forget it. It’s just a silly phase I’m going through.

“I didn’t know if I’d ever get you here,” he’d said. She was straddling his lap on the futon in the downstairs office of his house. His wife and kids upstairs.

Earlier they’d sat side-by-side at the bar, kicking around the idea of going somewhere to play pool, but she couldn’t think straight. Had been in a near-constant state of arousal for the last several days. Finally she just said it: “What I’d really like to do is go somewhere and make out. How would you feel about that?”

He liked that idea. Suggested the Gold Dust Meridian for its high-backed booths that shielded patrons from casual on-lookers.

She said it wouldn’t be enough privacy for what she had in mind: a certain amount of groping and possible clothing removal.

He texted his wife to see if it was cool to bring her home. The wife said yes.

They kept their jeans on but took off their tops. He blew air along her spine and she jumped. His hands were warm and large and patient as they moved over her back. Pressed gently into her flesh. After a few minutes his energy shifted. He gave up on the massage. Licked the almond oil from her back; brought his head down close to hers so all she had to do was turn her face toward him and arch her back a little, and their tongues could collide and tangle.

He moaned and panted. Inhaled sharply. Bit his lower lip or pressed his lips together. Smelled clean. Got excited and exclaimed “Fuck!” A surprised half-smile on his lips. Said he liked the way she touched him. Liked it when she bit and sucked on his nipples. Licked the corner of his mouth. Sucked his earlobes.

He said he’d been thinking about her pussy for weeks. Wanted her clit in his mouth. She felt faint at the suggestion, desire so intense. She’d soaked her underwear clear through. Her hand in his jeans. The head of his penis felt disproportionately large to his shaft. His penis seemed a good length. She wondered how it would feel inside her.

Their bodies seemed to like each other immensely.

At one point he said her name and she couldn’t believe how sexy it sounded coming from his mouth, his chest bare, his penis hard, his cheeks flushed with desire. His face was beautiful. She hadn’t noticed before.

She put her bra and shirt and sweater back on. He pressed against her backside. She leaned back into him and ground her ass against his crotch, then protested that she was trying to behave herself. He walked her to the door. Got his coat and put on his shoes. He did something magical with his shoelaces: tied them without seeming to tie them. Later she’d reflect on the trick with renewed awe, would come to think of him as a magical being. Like a unicorn.

Rolling around in her head for a couple weeks, since their last real date: If I thought for one moment that I was falling in love with you, I’d say good-bye and never see you again.

Even she recognized it as a sign that she was beginning to lose her conviction.

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