Rendezvous

A Total-e-bound Publication

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Halloween Heart-throbs: Rendezvous ISBN # 978-1-906328-44-3 ©Copyright Lisabet Sarai 2007 Cover Art by Anne Cain ©Copyright October 2007 Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz Total-e-bound books This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-e-bound eBooks. Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-e-bound eBooks. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork Published in 2007 by Total-e-bound eBooks 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK. Warning: Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated total-e-taboo

Halloween Heart-throbs

RENDEZVOUS Lisabet Sarai

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Lisabet Sarai

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Chapter One

It was as though I'd been cursed. First, my boss sent me on an out-of-state sales trip for the day. That effectively nixed my plan to leave work early and help Christie get ready for her party. Then, as I was rushing to get back to the city, the trusty Taurus blew a gasket on an empty stretch of I-35 south of Emporia. The mechanic told me that the problem wouldn't be fixed before noon the next day. The next day? I couldn't believe my bad luck. I was stuck until November 1st in some dinky town nearly a hundred miles from Kansas City. If the car had been my own, I would have found a bus or a cab home and come back after Halloween to pick it up. But of course it was the company's car, and I knew I'd catch hell if I abandoned it in some no-name garage. The motel was the last straw. Maybe I could have consoled myself in a nice modern Holiday Inn or even a Super-8: taken a long hot shower, relaxed on the king-sized bed, and wallowed in self-pity while eating take-out pizza and sampling the mini-bar. The Rendezvous Ranch Motel, though, was the kind of relic that you’d think only exists in horror movies. The fake pine panelling was warped by damp. Staring at the wall, you felt that you were looking in a fun-house mirror. The furniture was pure Ozzie and Harriet, right down to the twin beds with their faux-colonial bedposts. The shower head dribbled even when shut tight; streaks of red stained the bottom of the bathtub. Rust, of course, but I couldn't suppress a little shiver at the gory appearance. The grizzled desk clerk shook his head when I asked about restaurants, bars, any kind of local entertainment. “Closest food is the diner in Cottonwood Falls, eight miles back. But they don't deliver past six.” He looked alarmed when he realised that I was on the verge of crying. “There's vending machines 'round back, Miss.” Seeing that this did not reassure me, he reached under the counter and brought out an unopened half-pint of cheap scotch. “Here, you can have this. Help you relax. And we've got satellite TV, too. Works most of the time.” I managed to swallow my tears and take the bottle. “Thanks. What about breakfast, though?”

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“If you're awake by six tomorrow, I can run you into Emporia at the end of my shift.” “Thanks, I'd really appreciate that.” I paused at the screen door, surveying the empty parking lot. “Expecting anyone else tonight?” “Nope. Might get some late-night trucker, but they usually want a place with better — amenities, I think you call 'em.” “Yeah, that's right. Amenities.” I tried not to be sarcastic. The old guy was working hard to be nice. I strolled across the gravel on the way back to Room 7. It was crisp and breezy, but warm for October. A golden crescent moon hung near the horizon, across the fields of stubble that stretched in all directions. If I strained my ears, I could hear the distant hum of traffic on I-35. Otherwise, it was as quiet as the grave. An appropriate comparison for Halloween. I threw myself down on the chenille spread, tears threatening again. Damn, damn, damn. Why tonight, of all nights? I checked my watch; it was just seven. Christie would be in costume already. She'd be lighting the candles, dumping the brandy into the witches' brew punch, laying out the tarot cards in preparation for her guests' arrival. I wanted to be there, more than I'd ever wanted anything. You have to understand. For me, Halloween has always been special. When I was a child, I'd count the months and then the days. I'd spend weeks working on my costume, thrilling with anticipation of the moment when I'd actually put it on and become someone else. For a few glorious hours, I'd be a witch or a black widow spider, a gypsy or a pirate or a creature from outer space. On November 1st, I'd already be planning who I'd become on the next All Hallow's Eve. I haven't changed. I still believe in magic. The air is still full of possibilities on Halloween. As I've gotten older, I've realised that some of the thrill is sexual. On Halloween, I become someone more exciting, more daring, more willing to take risks. I exchange my dirty blonde hair and B-cup breasts for raven tresses and a voluptuous cleavage, my suits and sensible heels for fishnets and stilettos. On Halloween, I flirt, I fascinate, I bewitch. I draw my lovers to me, attract them with the pure power of my lust. Of course, I hadn't actually had a lover for nearly a year, since Jim packed up and moved to San Francisco. On Halloween, though, anything could happen. To miss Halloween was a tragedy. To wait for another year, for my next chance... I couldn't bear it. I buried my face in the lumpy pillow and wailed at the injustice. What had I

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done to deserve this? I cried until my eyes burned and my throat was sore. When I finally sat up again, the disappointment had settled in my chest as a dull ache. I poured several inches of the clerk's scotch into a flimsy disposable cup, and swallowed it in two gulps. The liquor soothed my throat but smouldered in my belly. In fact, I felt warm all over. I stripped off my blouse and slacks and then helped myself to more of the scotch. Well, at least I could do our traditional midnight toast, even if it would be solitary. I considered calling Christie, but couldn't bring myself to that, not yet. I'd do it later, when I was drunker, and it didn't hurt so much. Something moved in the periphery of my vision. I looked over to the door of the closet, where I'd hung my costume. Knowing my time would be tight, I'd brought it with me. I had planned to change at Christie's. What the hell, I could still dress up. Even if there was no one to see me. This year I was going to be Marie Antoinette. I'd found the dress in a book of theatrical patterns, and spent many Saturdays working on the complicated layers and delicate gathers. It was lavender satin, with fringes of crystal beads and ivory lace trim. I shucked my bra and after a moment's hesitation, my panties, too. With the greatest care, I unzipped the garment bag and slipped the gown off the hanger. The many-layered skirt could almost stand by itself. I stepped into the gown’s embrace, sliding my arms into the flounced, off-the-shoulder sleeves, then reached behind me to lace the bodice tight. Marie would have had a bevy of maids to fasten her buttons and bows, but this pattern, designed for the stage, was more practical. A pair of satin cords criss-crossed the back, from mid-spine to just below the waist, making it easy to create the body-hugging effect the gown required, but also straightforward to disrobe for changes of scene. I had planned to pin up and powder my hair, adding baubles and bows in an imitation of Marie Antoinette's signature pouf. I'd also brought the make-up I needed to hide my freckles and produce a fashionable pallor. At the moment, though, that seemed like too much effort. I took another sip of whisky then turned to the mirror. The costume worked its magic. I was astonished at how regal I looked, and how desirable. The bodice pinched my waist to tiny dimensions, and forced my breasts upwards. The square-cut neckline drew attention to my swelling flesh, barely hiding my nipples. In fact, they were not hidden at all. Though I'd lined the top with muslin as the pattern

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specified, the tight nubs were clearly visible through several layers of fabric. I cradled my breasts and used my thumbs to trace circles around those sensitive buds. With each cycle, the spring of tension in my cunt wound tighter. A light flick of my thumbnail sent electricity down my spine and triggered spasms of pleasure. I worried briefly that the juices trickling out of my cunt would spoil the satin. But after all, what did it matter? There was no one to see me tonight, no one to please but myself. “You certainly do look sexy. Like something right out of de Sade.” “What? Who...?” I whirled around in confusion, my heart slamming against my ribs. The voice had been close, right next to my ear. Yet the room was empty, unchanged. The same rippling walls, the same thread-bare carpet, the same rusty stains on the ceiling. The rumpled bed where I'd had my tantrum. The almost-empty glass on the dresser. Ah, the liquor. I must be more drunk than I thought. I turned back to the mirror, searching my face for signs of intoxication, and yelped as something, someone, pinched my nipples. “Hey! That hurts.” Indignation overwhelmed fear. “It does, at first. But afterwards, it changes, doesn't it? Afterwards, it feels quite delicious.” I stared at my image, mouth hanging stupidly open, as invisible hands caressed my breasts. Strong hands, gentle hands, hands that seemed to know exactly how to make me shiver with delight. “That's what most people don't understand about pain. It's the gateway to the most exquisite pleasure.” The voice was a melodious baritone, rich, deep, almost hypnotic. “You fear the pain, but that's foolish. You must surrender to the pain. Let it move through you. Let it wash away your doubts and your inhibitions. Let it open you to ecstasy.” Firm, unseen lips nibbled at my neck. A warm, wet tongue traced the curve from below my ear to my exposed shoulder, then down to the hollow at my throat. With each touch, extravagant new species of pleasure bloomed in my sex. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back, savouring the delicate caresses and the amazing sensations that they triggered in my cunt. Then suddenly, something sharp pierced the rounded flesh of my shoulder. I screamed, surprise heightening the agony that gripped me, and tore myself away from the grasp of the unseen intruder. My reflection made me gasp in horror and wonder. Droplets of blood oozed from

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several wounds on my shoulder, wounds arranged in the distinctive semi-circular shape of a bite. I felt an arm around my waist, pulling me backwards against the unmistakable bulk of a male body. I struggled against his seemingly supernatural strength. “Let me go!” There were fingers at my back, unlacing and loosening the bodice, working their way into my top. “Is that really what you want?” A hand snaked into the opening I had left in the voluminous skirts—a slight modification I had made to the pattern. After all, what was the point of wearing a sexy costume if it made you inaccessible? Cool fingertips wandered up the inside of my thigh, smearing the damp of my secretions into my bare skin. My clit ached in anticipation. A fresh flow of lubrication made my thighs damper still. “I think that you actually want something else.” He found his way into my folds and began massaging the swollen bud at my centre. I moaned and arched backward, my body taking over while my mind whirled in confusion and disbelief. “Who—what —are you?” He slid two fingers deep into my sopping cunt, making me writhe. “Does it matter?” Now his thumb beat rapidly against my clit, while his fingers stroked my depths. His other hand pumped my breast in the same rhythm. I felt the first shimmers of orgasm, far away like heat lightning on the prairie horizon. “I am who I am, and I know what you want. What you need.” He captured one swollen nipple and squeezed, waking echoes of his previous assault. I yelped and twisted, trying to get away but succeeding only in impaling myself more completely on the hand in my cunt. “Let yourself go, Rebecca,” he murmured close to my ear. Lost in a fog of arousal and terror, I hardly wondered that he should know my name. I couldn't fight him. I realised that I didn't want to. I opened my legs wide and ground myself against his invading fingers. There was nothing in the world except his hand working my cunt. I relaxed and he added another finger, filling me, waking new pleasures that welled up and spilled over, drowning me in sensation. “Good girl,” he whispered. “What a good little slut you are.”

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Chapter Two

I didn't care what he called me. I hovered on the edge of climax, straining for the prize that sparkled there, just beyond my reach. He held me poised on that height for what seemed like forever, as I thrashed and bucked against him. He knew exactly how to touch me, how to stroke and tease, how to make me spark and burn. I was dazed, assaulted by a hundred varieties of pleasure, but it was not enough. He knew. Just as desperation nearly overwhelmed delight, he dug his fingernails into my engorged clit. At the same time, he pinched the tender flesh next to my nipple, much harder than before. The sudden pain cut me free. I flew, and climax engulfed me, tossing me about on gales of ecstasy. Gradually the hurricane died away. The spasms faded. I found myself crumpled on the carpet, buried among the satin layers of my skirts. My thighs were sticky. My clit stung. My nipples felt rigid and sore. Dazed, I tried to remember. I had been drinking. I had imagined things, disembodied voices, invisible hands. I must have passed out. I struggled to stand. My legs were wobbly. Then I saw my shoulder, the scarlet tooth marks that were still there. It was no dream, no drunken hallucination. “Hello?” My voice was a timid squeak. I peered around the room, looking for other evidence of my invisible but definitely substantial visitor. “Are you here? Hello!” Silence. The silence of the grave. I didn't know whether I was relieved or disappointed. Gingerly, I removed the costume and hung it up again. It was somewhat the worse for wear, but I thought it would be acceptable by candlelight. Anyway, what did it matter? Something magical had happened, something dark and seductive and inexplicable. The most thrillingly transgressive Halloween party seemed tame by comparison. I slumped down on the bed, my heart still beating faster than normal. What, exactly, had happened? I remembered the unseen hands, so skilled and confident. I remembered the rich, persuasive voice. I recalled the thrill of being taken, not exactly against my will, but with a strength that had seemed to make escape impossible. All at once I was horny again. I brushed a fingertip over the breast that he had abused. Ghostly pain lurked behind the

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physical pleasure. I pulled my heels up near my butt and spread my thighs. My clit throbbed, inviting my attention, but it was too tender to touch. I stroked my fingertips along the insides of my lower lips, shivering with each slippery traversal. Pretending that it was him. Perhaps I could call him. I'd always read that spirits could be summoned, and he must be a spirit, or something similar. “Hello? Sir?” I listened to the silence. A train whistle wailed faintly in the distance, a lonely sound in the empty night. “Please, I didn't mean to send you away. You can come back, if you want to.” I paused, and was astonished to discover tears in my eyes. “Please, sir. Come back.” There was no answer. I sighed. What did I expect? Perhaps the whole thing was the result of my overactive imagination, and my long months without a boyfriend. But what about the bite, the blood? I laid back wearily against the pillow, forearm over my eyes. It was going to be a long night. “I'm here, Rebecca.” His voice, warm, welcoming, challenging, at the bedside. My eyes flew open. Of course I saw nothing, but when I reached out my hand, it encountered solid flesh, encased, it seemed, in leather. “You came back!” My heartbeat accelerated. New moisture seeped out of my cunt. “You called me. I had to come.” “But...who are you?” “Most of my lovers called me Tony. A few called me 'Master'.” He sighed. “How long ago that was! The Ranch wasn't such a dump, in those days. I could make this room a chamber of delights. Or a heart-stopping dungeon.” “You used to come here?” “They would meet me here at the motel. The frustrated housewife. The waitress stuck in her dreams. The college girl back for the holidays and wondering how she would bear two weeks of hometown hell.” “And you...?” “I knew what they wanted. My insight, my power, my discipline. I gave them what they needed.” I couldn't believe that I was having this conversation with an empty chair. But maybe I wouldn't have been brave enough, if I'd had to look into his eyes. “What did you do to them?”

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“I bound them and beat them. Teased and tortured them. Sometimes I'd use candle wax, or clothes pins, or some lewdly cylindrical vegetable that stretched them to the point of pain. I told them what horny sluts they were. Finally, I fucked them and gave them the release that they craved.” “And then? What happened?” “They came, of course. Moaning, wailing, calling my name.” “No, I mean...what finally happened? Why are you in my room?” He gave a short, despairing laugh. “Halloween night, 1962. Someone tipped off the owner of the gun and tackle shop in Cottonwood Falls. He found me here with his wife, and blew my head off. Poor Loretta. I'll never forget her screams. Of course, she was tied to the bed, so she couldn't do anything to stop him.” I swallowed hard. I was so turned on that I forgot to be frightened. “Murdered! And now you're condemned to haunt this room forever?” “So it seems. I really don’t know. I never remember, when I appear, what happened the last time I was here.” “You won't remember me.” The thought was like a knife in my chest. “Most likely not, Rebecca.” I could imagine him smiling, sadly. “How—can you read my mind? Is that how you know my name?” I blushed furiously. If he could hear my thoughts, he'd know all the wild, wicked things I was picturing at the moment. “I read your credit card when you checked in.” He laughed. “I don't seem to possess any powers now that I didn't have when I was alive.” I felt his cool palm briefly caress my cheek. “But I'll bet that I can tell you what you're thinking now.” His hand travelled downward, between my breasts, across my belly. I held my breath, waiting for him to reach my sex. He brushed his palm, ever so lightly, over the tangle of blonde curls there, then his hand was gone. Pleasure fluttered through me, expanding like ripples on a pond. “So, what am I thinking?” My voice caught in my throat. “You have to tell me, my sweet. You have to ask for what you want.” “I can't.” I reached out blindly and managed to grab hold of his arm. “Please...” “Tell me.” He shook off my hand, then gripped my wrist tightly. His voice held a new sternness. “Tell me, or I'll leave.”

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“No, don't go! Please!” He seized my other wrist. “Say it, Rebecca. You can trust me. Tell me what you want from me.” “I...I want...You should...do those things to me, the things you used to do.” “Things?” I could hear him mocking me. I squirmed in his inexorable grip. “You know what I mean.” His silence made it clear that he wouldn't not be satisfied by my vagueness. “I—you—” I struggled, trying to get the words out. “Tie me up, Tony. Tie me to the bed, beat me, use me any way you want. Fuck me so hard that I'll never be free of your memory. Even if you forget about me.” “Can I hang you from that hook in the ceiling?” Something drew my eyes to the far corner, where there was indeed a steel hook embedded in the discoloured plaster. Installed, perhaps, for his past assignations? I wondered what it would feel like, to dangle there, while he did whatever he pleased with my helpless body. Lust raced through me, followed by shame. I swallowed nervously. “Yes.” “Or what if I bend you over the chair back and spank you till your butt is raw? How about screwing you with an ice cold beer bottle? Can I do that?” I nodded, unable to frame the words. “And if I feel like taking you in the ass, forcing my cock into your rear hole and making you scream from the pain and the dirty pleasure—do you want me to do that? The image almost made me faint. I could almost feel the implacable hardness of his cock, pressing against my back door. My cunt twitched, anticipating the roar of sensation when he drove himself into my bowels. “Whatever you want.” “But what do you want, Rebecca?” I was silent. I still couldn’t admit how much I craved this defilement. “Rebecca! It’s not enough to merely consent. You’ve got to ask. To beg me!” The fact that I craved such things was somehow even more humiliating and arousing than the acts themselves. I had absolutely zero past experience with anything kinky. Where did these dark desires come from? Wherever their source, from hell or from my unconscious, I couldn’t deny them. Halloween, as usual, had transformed me.

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“Please,” I whispered, grateful that I didn’t have to look into his eyes. “Take me. Use me. Make me your slut.” There was no reply. But I felt him lean forward, using his weight to press me back into the mattress. Something looped around my wrist, and then my hand was pulled up against the bed post. Craning my neck, I tried to see what was binding me. There was nothing, no rope or cord. Yet I couldn't move my hand more than a fraction of an inch, and when I pulled, I could feel the bonds cutting into my skin. Magic, I thought, abandoning myself to the mystery in the face of my rising excitement. While I was investigating my invisible bonds, Tony had secured my other hand. Kneeling—I thought—at the foot of bed, he used both hands to spread my thighs, wider than was completely comfortable. I felt shamefully, thrillingly exposed. Something soft and diaphanous swept over my swollen sex lips and down the inside of my thigh. The ghostly sensation made me tremble. Next I felt some kind of stretchy fabric being knotted around my ankle. “Nylon stockings. Loretta's stockings.” The adulterous wife. I should have been shocked or disgusted, but instead the notion engendered a guilty delight. “Sometimes she liked to be spread-eagled, like you are now. Other times, I'd have her on her belly, with her knees drawn up and her thighs splayed. I'd tie her hands behind her back. Then I'd fuck her from behind.” I could see it all, though I had no idea what he looked like, or Loretta either. I could smell them, his jism and her musk. I moaned at the thought of him mounting her helpless body and forcing his cock into her depths. “So eager! You've got to be patient. I'll fuck you too, don't worry. But first I want to play a little.” There was a strange whistling sound, somewhere above me. Chills crawled up my spine. “What was that?” “That? Oh, that's my little whip. Just a toy, really.” The air whooshed again, and a line of bright pain stitched up my inner thigh. Caught off guard, I sucked in my breath rather than crying out. The sting of the blow intensified for a moment, then faded. In its wake, my sex grew hot and heavy with blood. I released my gathered breath, just in time for the next stroke. It landed high on my other thigh, a mere inch from my pubis. This time, I screamed. The fire of the lash raged

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through me. My nipples tightened to aching knots of sensation. My clit throbbed as if it would burst. I thought that I couldn't bear any more, and yet, as the fires banked, I found myself waiting eagerly for the next cut of the invisible lash. I felt a cool hand on my brow. “Are you all right? Should I continue?” I nodded my head to the empty air. The whip swirled again, searing the sensitive outer area of my breast. The next stroke struck fire on the ravaged tip of a nipple. Pain exploded like a sunburst, momentarily blinding me. Heat flowed from the point of contact, melting me into a sloppy puddle of desire. I moaned and closed my eyes, concentrating on the paradoxical sensations racing through me. The whip danced over my flesh, leaving its stinging kisses on my thighs, my breasts, my belly. The effects of the individual strokes began to merge. My entire body sizzled, kindled into extraordinary sensitivity by the fierce bite of lash. My cunt contracted each time the leather hit home, overflowing with the proof that this pain truly was what I craved. I was mortified to realise that what I wanted most was to feel the whip slicing across my tender labia, snapping at my clit. It would take only one or two strokes, I knew, to send me spinning into orgasm. “Open your eyes.” Tony paused in his exertions. “Look at yourself.” With some difficulty, I raised my head to examine my splayed form. I caught my breath at the sight before me. My breasts and abdomen were criss-crossed with red streaks, as if I’d been grilled on some devilish barbecue. Some of the traces had formed into raised welts of a darker hue. From what I could see, my lower body was similarly scored. I should have been horrified. Instead, all I could think of was that I wanted more. “You look so beautiful, with my marks decorating your body. My beautiful, wellwhipped slut, all pink and white, ready to do anything for me.” Two lightning whip strokes zipped symmetrically along the outsides of my breasts. I screamed. “That's true, isn't it? You'll do whatever I ask?” Intoxicated with lust, I couldn't speak. It didn't matter; I knew he understood. I wanted his hands, his cock; my cunt was a wet, hungry void dying to be filled. But if he wanted to beat me, I could wait. Every time the leather bit into my flesh, I knew that I was pleasing him. “Such a sweet whore. I won't make you wait any longer.” The whip clattered, tossed into the corner. The bed creaked as he climbed on, straddling me. I sensed his bulk, even as I

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stared out at the empty space. There was rasping sound of a zipper coming down, then pressure against my lips. I stuck out my tongue and swirled it over the smooth bulb of flesh that seemed to be positioned above me. Of course, there was nothing there, nothing to see, at least. The situation was bizarre, but incredibly arousing. “Suck me now. Get me nice and wet.” I opened wide and he thrust his invisible but impressively solid cock down my throat. Lying on my back, I had no control. Fortunately, he was more gentle than he might have been, though I still had to work to keep from choking. I swept my tongue over the silky smooth skin sheathing his erection. I could feel the pulse of his blood in the shaft, even though I knew he had no blood, no heart. It was too strange to grasp. Finally, I forgot the strangeness and simply sucked, savouring the taste and smell and feel of him, as real as any man. I was in some kind of dream state. I could have gone on sucking him forever. Then I felt his fingers, dabbling in my juices, and a fresh pang of desire shook me. I wanted him there, deep inside me, fucking me the way he had promised. Mind reader or not, he knew. One minute his cock head was in my mouth; the next it was positioned at the gateway to my sex. I was stretched wide, open for him, and wet, wetter than I'd ever been. There was no resistance. He simply slipped into my waiting, welcoming cunt, as if he'd always belonged there. He filled me completely, stretched me to limits I'd imagined but never experienced. I clamped down on his hardness, marvelling at how solid and real he was, how he shuddered with pleasure, how he gasped and moaned as he drove his cock into me again and again. I was ready for pain. The lacerations on my clit hurt as he ground his cock against my pubis, but this was nothing, a grace note in the symphony of pleasure he played on my body. He gripped my buttocks roughly, raising my pelvis to meet his thrusts. His fingernails biting into my flesh were just one more exquisite ingredient in the stew of sensation swirling through me. He fucked me, wild, uninhibited, no more games or teasing, finally setting his own lust free. Writhing in bliss under his thrusts, I realised that I could no longer tell the difference between pleasure and pain, that in fact it didn't matter. I’d had a few lovers in the past. This was different. Every sensation seemed to be

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magnified, mirrored and multiplied within my body until it was nearly unbearable. Sharpness, smoothness, slickness, heat, sense piled upon sense, pulling me always higher toward some unimaginable peak of pleasure. Was it Tony’s power? Or simply the intoxication of total surrender? He hammered away at my cunt, grunting with each furious thrust. I felt his cock swell as he became more urgent. Could a ghost come, I wondered? Then, out of nowhere, my own orgasm swept me up and into delirium. I saw fire and blood, smelled gunpowder and iron. My body exploded, vaporized, the violence of my climax in no way diminishing my joy.

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Chapter Three

Sulfur. Just a faint trace, as if someone had been striking old-fashioned wooden matches. I opened my eyes. The stains on the ceiling whirled dizzily for a moment before settling down. I tried to move my arms and discovered that my bonds were gone. I was stiff from immobility. My joints complained as I brought my legs together, sat up, and scanned the dingy, run-down interior. My costume hung limply on the door. The corner was empty, no whip, just a couple of dust bunnies. There were no ropes, no stockings dangling from the bed posts. It was so quiet that I could hear the dripping of the shower faucet. I was alone, or so it seemed. Something in my chest seemed to shatter. Then I realised that the other bed was occupied. He was tall, muscular and utterly gorgeous, with moon-pale skin and luxurious black hair that curled over his high forehead. He wore tight jeans and a leather motorcycle jacket, with a snug T-shirt underneath. I almost drooled over his sculpted cheekbones and decisive chin. His eyes were closed, shaded by thick dark lashes. He didn't seem to be breathing. I reached out to touch his face. “Tony?” My voice was a tentative quaver. There was no response. But it had to be him. As an invisible spirit, he had seethed with energy. Now he was inert, lifeless, definitely dead. Tears welled up in my eyes. He had touched me. I had touched him, surrendered to him, made myself his. We had shared something real, something that would have been magical even if he had been flesh and blood instead of some spectre. I leaned over and brushed my lips over his mouth. His lips were cool, but not stiff. I realised that, with all our carnal connections, we had not kissed. Taking his face in my hands, I kissed him deeply, threading my tongue between his motionless lips, pouring out my warmth and passion. He stirred beneath me. I pulled back. I'd never expected to wake the dead. His eyes

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opened and focused on my face. “Rebecca! You can see me?” “I don't know how or why, but yes, I can.” I sat back and gave him an exaggerated once over. “And I must say, I like what I see.” “Thank you, my little slut.” His smile was warm, rich and full of power. It matched his voice. He reached for me, pulled my body on top of his, and gave me a kiss that felt hot and real and unequivocally right. His reactions were real, too; I could feel his cock stiffening through the denim. I rubbed my naked cunt against him, and sensed him hardening further. “I don't really know how these things work,” he said, finally breaking away from my mouth. “Hauntings and so on. And of course, I don’t really remember much about my other —manifestations. But maybe you can see me because you're the first person who trusted me enough to let me be myself. The first person who's really touched me, since that Halloween in ‘62.” “Have you ever...has there been anyone else, since—well, you know?” “Since I died?” I flinched a little, and he laughed. “I really don’t know. I have some vague recollections, more images than memories, women writhing underneath me, pale skin marked by the whip. Maybe it’s some kind of test. Maybe there’s someone sent to meet me here, each year, to offer me a chance at redemption. On the other hand, maybe I’m just remembering scenes from my glory days.” He sounded slightly bitter, but then he smiled. He ran his finger along a scarlet welt which stretched from the crest of one breast into the hollow between them. I shivered at his touch. Shades of past pain flitted through me, raising answering surges of pleasure. “You know, even back then, when I was alive, the dark secret of so many of the county women—maybe I wasn’t real. I thought that I was in charge, taking what I wanted. But actually, they used me. To satisfy their bodily lusts and their nasty fantasies. When they went back to their nice, normal husbands or boyfriends, I was alone. Even then, I was just a shadow.” “You didn’t have anyone?” He gave an empty laugh. His voice was heavy with irony. “I thought that I wanted freedom. And variety. But what did I know? I was just a kid. I was only twenty six when that bastard shot me.” My heart ached as much as my clit. “It’s not right. You don’t deserve to be punished;

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that murderer does.” “I don’t know. Maybe I’m being punished for being blind, for not seeing what really mattered.” He stroked my hair and gazed at my face, silent, for a dozen breaths. “You. You’re something special, you know. You understand the power of surrender. You offer your spirit as well as your body.” I glowed all over at his praise. “I’m pretty ordinary, really. Just a girl who happens to believe in magic.” “Too bad that I didn’t meet you—before.” Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. What were the chances I’d meet my soul mate in this dump of a place? What were the chances that he’d be dead? Tony flicked playfully at my nipple, making me jump. “I’d love to keep you all for myself. But that would be selfish.” His grin scattered the sombre mood, and rekindled my lust. The growing bulge in his jeans drew me. Amazed at my boldness, I reached down to cup it in my palm. “I always thought that ghosts were supposed to be insubstantial—you know, walking through walls and all that.” My fingers found the bulb of his stiffening cock and squeezed. “But you’re awfully solid.” “You’re a cheeky girl, aren’t you?” Before I realised what was happening, he had flipped me over on the mattress and straddled me. He captured my wrists in his iron grip, holding them above my head. The position forced my breasts up. My nipples jutted provocatively, inches from his face. “Did I tell you to touch me?” The menace in his voice sent a chill up my spine, despite the intimacy of our recent conversation. My instincts told me to trust him, but what did I really know about him? “You know what happens to cheeky girls, don’t you? They get punished.” Like lightning, he clamped his teeth down on one engorged nipple. Agony ripped through me, but then his mouth was on mine, hot and demanding, swallowing my scream. He ground his pelvis against my sheathed clit, generating pre-orgasmic spasms that effectively erased the pain. “Shall I beat you again, then? Maybe a serious spanking will teach you not to take liberties?” His tone remained stern, but his actions didn’t match his words. Transferring both my wrists to one of his hands, he slipped the other into my soaking folds. I arched my back,

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trying to force his questing fingers deeper. “You like that idea, don’t you?” I wriggled and writhed as he played inside me. “Yes, sir.” “Would you rather be spanked? Or finger-fucked?” He punctuated his question with a pinch to my clit that sent me rocketing to the edge of climax. Then to my dismay, he pulled his hand away. Releasing my wrists, he sat back and looked me over. Desperation must have been clearly written on my face. He grinned, but there was a gentleness to his mockery. “You’re not only cheeky, Rebecca, you’re amazingly horny. Aren’t you?” I couldn’t look at him. Somehow I was embarrassed, despite what we’d done together. “Yes. You know I am.” “Well, I’m sure that we can do something about that. Right now, though, I want to know why you were crying.” “Crying?” I cast my mind back. The early evening was a blur. “Oh, you mean, before. Before you showed up.” My tantrum seemed trivial and unreal after the events of the past few hours. “Well, my best friend is throwing her annual Halloween party, and I really wanted to go. Halloween—you know, it’s a special night, and I was terribly disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to celebrate... Now, though, it doesn’t seem to matter. Now that you’re here.” “We could go, if you like. Together.” Tony brushed his palm across my erect nipples and smiled as my body jerked in reaction. “I’d be interested to see what a Halloween party is like in—what year is this?” “2007. But...” “I’d like to meet your friend, too. Especially if she’s as much of a perverted slut as you...” A red haze of jealousy clouded my vision. Then I realised that Tony was kidding. “The party’s in the city, nearly a hundred miles from here. Can you fly, or something?” “No, but my chopper’s out in the parking lot. She’s a bit of a monster. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two to get to KC if we don’t worry too much about the speed limit.” “Your chopper? There’s nothing in the parking lot!” “Hey, you couldn’t see me, either. How do you think I got here from hell?” I really couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. “Come on. The night is still young, as they say. Climb back into that costume and onto

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the back of my bike, and I’ll take you to your Halloween bash.” Was it really possible? My pulse quickened at the thought of walking into Christie’s house with the gorgeous Tony on my arm. What better way to celebrate Halloween than in the company of a genuine ghost? Then I looked down at my whip-raked body. “I can’t wear my costume now. The top’s cut so low, the marks will show...” “So? Are you ashamed?” I blushed and nodded. He leaned over and traced one of the whip marks with his tongue. The wet heat flowed straight to my cunt. “These marks—they should make you proud. They’re a sign of your obedience and your trust. Of your strength.” “But I’m supposed to be Marie Antoinette.” “Hmm. I don’t think they flogged her before they beheaded her... I’ve got it! You can tell people you’re Justine.” “Justine?” “De Sade’s character, in the Misfortunes of Virtue. A sweet young thing who gets whipped and debauched at every turn. It’s perfect. That’s what I thought of when I first saw you in that dress. The marks will only add to the effect.” Of course I’d heard of the Marquis de Sade, but I’d never read anything he wrote. “Nobody will have any idea what I’m talking about. How do you know about this, anyway?” “My personal tastes...” He caressed the tooth marks on my shoulder. I remembered the shock of his invisible attack. “I’ve done a lot of research. Studied the classics. To educate myself, you might say.” He swung himself off the bed, stood up and reached for the ceiling. I watched the muscles flexing under his form fitting clothes. I really wished he’d climb back on top of me. I stretched myself, arching my back and trying to look seductive, but it was obvious that he wasn’t going to be distracted from his new goal. “Come on. Let’s get going.” He pulled me to my feet and landed a sharp slap on my bare butt that made my clit buzz. “Let’s go party!”

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Chapter Four

I slipped my gown off the hanger and stepped back into its embrace. Tony circled behind me and laced the bodice, tighter than before, then slipped his hands around to squeeze my breasts through the satin. A light kiss on the back of the neck sent ecstatic chills down my spine. “You look gorgeous. Beautiful enough to die for.” I wondered at his choice of words. Sure enough, there was a motorcycle parked at the curb right outside the room, a huge machine of gleaming black and chrome. Tony swung one lean leg over the seat and gunned the engine into life. “Hop on. We’re wasting time.” I obeyed, but I was filled with sudden doubt. Tony handed me a helmet. “Here. I don’t think I’ll need this.” “Are you sure you’ll be able to leave the motel? Aren’t ghosts supposed to be tied to the place they’re haunting, the site of their trauma?” “Who knows? It doesn’t hurt to try.” “And what if, when we get to the party, no one can see you but me?” He looked over his shoulder, grinning like the devil he was. “Well, that would be fun, wouldn’t it? I could ravish you in full view of the other guests, and nobody would have any idea what was going on.” He revved the bike, almost deafening me. “Hang on, Rebecca,” he cried. I barely had time to link my arms around his waist before he swooped out of the lot and onto the service road, headed for the highway. There was no barrier. Nothing stopped our race toward the city. Tony did not disappear or evaporate as I had feared he might. He remained as deliciously substantial as ever. I pressed my chest against his jacket, enjoying the twinges of residual pain when the leather rubbed against my stripes. The wind whipped the ends of my hair into snarled tangles and brought tears to my eyes. The moon wavered above us, its light fragmented in my uncertain vision. Everything was a blur. We drove faster than seemed physically possible. Other vehicles were no more

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than streaks of brightness left in our wake. Dizziness swept over me. The moon spun overhead. The engine roared, its vibrations resonating through my body. I could feel its power, in my thighs, in my sex, a constant thrumming that had my cunt weeping all over Tony’s fancy padded seat. The seat stretched me, held me open. I gripped Tony’s body more tightly, riding on the edge of orgasm, while his black steed carried us into the night. I was in some kind of trance state, sight and hearing muddled but touch made unbearably acute. The monster cycle bucked between my legs as its driver raced onward into darkness. He’s fucking me, I thought, fucking me with his bike as he takes me down to hell with him, to stay with him forever. As if he heard my thoughts, Tony turned back to look at me, laughing aloud. His dark eyes sparked with unnatural joy. His sharp teeth flashed. The pitch of the engine rose to a whine. Our impossible speed increased. The wind ripped at my clothes. Ice crystals stung my cheeks. The world collapsed into a star-spattered velvet blackness whirling past, and the incandescent blossoming of a climax deep inside me. The dream blew away like tattered wisps of fog. We were parked on a quiet suburban street across from Christie’s bungalow. I tried to get off the bike, but my legs were jelly. If Tony hadn’t grabbed me, I would have crumpled onto the sidewalk. “How...? Why...?” “Shh.” Tony stopped my questions with a lingering kiss. “It seems that I can read your mind, a little. Enough to pick up your friend’s address, at least.” He ran his fingers through my hair, gently working out the tangles, and straightened my dress, smoothing the satin over my breasts. He didn’t neglect the opportunity to tweak my nipples. Suddenly I was warm all over. My stripes burned anew; I almost expected to see them glowing. Tony nibbled at my ear, then pulled my mouth to his. His tongue claimed me. His touch erased my doubts. “So, are you ready, Justine? Are you recovered?” “I think so.” There was a residual quivering between my thighs. “I’m kind of sticky.” “Don’t worry about that. It’s just the beginning. Come.” He put his arm around my shoulder and propelled me up the stairs to Christie’s door, between the rows of grimacing jack o’ lanterns.

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The house was mostly dark, but eerie greenish light flashed periodically from the windows. The doorway was draped with spider webs. A skeleton hung from a noose on one side of the porch. When we pressed the button, there was an unearthly shriek instead of a bell. Christie takes Halloween nearly as seriously as I do. The door squeaked ominously as it swung open. I wondered how she’d managed that. A voluptuous, raven-haired siren with flesh so pale it seemed translucent stepped forward out of the shadows. “Becca! You finally made it! I was so worried!” Christie’s usual bubbly enthusiasm completely undermined her portrayal of the sepulchral Morticia Adams. She looked me over critically, her eyes lingering on the blood-colored traces on my chest. “What happened to you? Are you okay?” “It’s a long story, but yes, I’m fine. Really sorry to be late, but I got here as soon as I could.” I realised that my friend was staring hungrily at my handsome companion. So obviously she could see him. ”This is Tony. My car broke down out in the boonies, and he was kind enough to give me a lift. Tony, this is my best friend, Christie.” Tony held out his hand. “Glad to meet you. Rebecca has told me that your Halloween parties are legendary.” Christie tried, unsuccessfully, to complete the handshake. Instead of grasping Tony’s outstretched hand, her own hand passed right through his flesh. She tried again, with the same result. Finally, looking puzzled, she let her hand drop to her side. “Come on in and have some witches’ brew. It’s pretty potent—maybe more that I realised.” We followed her down the shadowy hall and into the den where, judging from the music and noise, most of the guests seemed to be congregating. As we entered, Christie’s boyfriend Greg rushed over, resplendent in hounds-tooth suit, handlebar moustache and cigar. “Querida!” he cried, grabbing Christie’s hand and covering it with kisses. “I could hardly endure your absence. Ah, you’ve brought us new guests!” He looked us over, still staying in character. “And who are these charming people?” Tony nudged me in the ribs. “I’m supposed to be Justine. The heroine from a novel by the Marquis de Sade.” “Indeed. Infernally interesting! And your companion?” “James Dean, at your service.” Tony started to initiate another handshake, then

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remembered Christie’s confusion and instead gave a little bow. “Aha, the rebel without a cause. Well, do enjoy yourselves. The punch is over there— it’s intense, believe me—and there’s beer in the kitchen if you prefer something less toxic. Querida, can I refill your glass?” “Not right now, Gomez dear. I’ve got to take Becca off, freshen her up, and find out what nasty deeds she’s been up to.” Before I could stop her, Christie was dragging me off in the direction of the master bedroom. I looked back helplessly at Tony. See you soon, he mouthed. Christie shut the door behind us, sat me down on the bed, and brought me a wet towel. “You’re a wreck. There’s soot on your face, your hair’s a mess, your dress is torn—what happened to Marie Antoinette?” How much could I tell her? Could she ever understand about the whip? But she wasn’t waiting for my response. “And where, oh where, did you find Mr. Dreamboat? He certainly looks like the sexy, dangerous type!” She licked her full lips. “Where is he from? How did you meet him? Does he have anything to do with—all this?” Her gesture encompassed my whole sorry state. “I told you, my car died, out near Emporia. Tony was heading into the city and offered to give me a ride on his motorcycle.” I hated to lie. But I wasn’t ready to tell the truth, not even to my best friend. Especially since I doubted very much that she’d believe it. She looked sceptical, clearly sensing that I was hiding something. Greg saved me by knocking and calling through the door. “Chris? When are you going to start the Tarot readings? The guests are getting restless.” I stood up and smoothed my ruined gown. “Look, I’ll give you all the details later. After the party. Okay?” “Okay, Becca.” She gave me a hug that woke memories of my whipping. “I’m just glad that you’re here. I would have been devastated if you hadn’t been able to come.” “Me, too.” But at the moment, I was actually wishing that I was back at the Rendezvous Ranch, where things weren’t so complicated. “Go ahead, I’ll be out in a minute. I’ve just got to pee.” The urine stung as it coursed over my battered pussy-flesh. And that began to turn me on again. I washed my face and then stared at my reflection for a long time. The stripes across my bosom were quite prominent. What would people think? What was happening to

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me? When I came back to the den, the mood had changed. The lights had been turned off, leaving only candles for illumination. The rock music had been replaced by something electronic, slow and mysterious. Haunting. In the centre of the room, a few couples were swaying to the hypnotic beat. Other couples sprawled on the sofa, making out. Sandalwood incense wafted through the air. The scent made me a bit dizzy. A knot of guests was gathered in the corner, listening as Christie cast the Tarot for a tall, blond guy dressed as a vampire. He must have felt my gaze, because he looked up at me suddenly. He didn’t smile. Someone moaned. On the couch, a pirate had his hand up the very short skirt of a French maid. On the dance floor, a naughty-looking nurse ground her pelvis against a cowboy’s crotch. Glancing back at the fortune telling, I noted that Greg was standing behind Christie, massaging her breasts as she scrutinized the cards. My own nipples tightened, and fresh moisture pooled in my cunt. This was what I loved about Halloween. Magical flesh. Infinite possibilities. I scanned the room. I didn’t see Tony anywhere. “I’m here.” That luscious voice, intimate, challenging, right by my ear. I whirled around. Tony stood by my side, but his body was semi-transparent. I could see the candles burning behind him, through him. I grasped his hand. His flesh was as warm and solid as ever. “Tony! You’re fading!” “I know. Maybe it’s because we’re so far from the motel. Maybe it’s all the other people. Or perhaps because it’s nearly midnight.”

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Chapter Five

“Midnight?” I was dazed. I had forgotten that my apparition had a deadline. “Come outside. We don’t have much time, but I promise you we’ll use it well.” He grabbed my hand and dragged me out into the fenced backyard. The night was still mild. I was assailed by the scents of autumn, wood smoke and rotting apples and the musty nose-tickling odour of the dead leaves that crackled under our feet. The slivered moon had set. Candles flickering through the windows provided the only illumination. My heart began to race. I could sense enchantment in the air. Tony steered me toward the picnic table, set under sparse-leafed boughs of a massive oak. “Down on your stomach,” he ordered, giving me a push to punctuate his command. I lay across the slats, hanging on to the table edges for balance. “Here, use this to protect your face.” He bundled his jacket under my cheek. The leather smelled of cigarettes and gasoline and Tony’s sweat. Tony raised my skirts, bunching them up around my waist. A breeze played across my bare buttocks. Moisture dripped lazily down the inside of my thigh. “I realised while you were off with Christie—despite all those lovely welts on your front, your rear is completely unmarked. An unforgivable oversight.” He swept his hand across my naked backside. I tensed and then relaxed, opening myself to whatever he had to give me. I thought that I knew what to expect. Still his first slap caught me off guard. “Yow!” I jerked away from his hand, but not soon enough to escape a second spank on the opposite cheek. The sting faded to a burn and then to a glow that pulsed deep in my sex, a secret heart of pleasure. Before the echoes died away, he slapped me again, and yet again, turning up the heat, searing me with the intimate kiss of flesh on flesh. Tony paused for a moment to caress my battered bum. Then he began to spank me in earnest, fast and hard, wicked strokes that sent jolt after jolt of perverse pleasure shooting through me. He caught me on the swelling globes of each cheek, on the sides where the skin was thinner, in the sensitive join at the back of my thighs. He hit me again and again until I

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couldn’t distinguish one blow from the next, until my entire ass was inflamed and raw. I twisted and shook under his assault, unable to control my reflexes. I didn’t really want to escape, despite the sizzling pain that followed each blow. The obscene sound of skin slapping skin was loud in my ears. I realised that any one of the party guests might be watching. I didn’t care. I spread my thighs wider, inviting him to spank me there, in my most delicate parts. I was hungry for sensation, desperate for violation. Tony sensed my need. He kneeled between my legs and buried his face in the crevice between my cheeks. His tongue danced along the furrow, flicking at my clit, probing my folds, then circling the tight knot of my anus. I moaned in imminent ecstasy. Of course he noticed. He returned again and again to that private gateway, bathing it in hot saliva, poking and teasing. I arched, opened myself, silently begging him to enter me. Instead, he pulled back, stroked my hair, whispered in my ear. “So, it finally comes to this, my slut. You want me to bugger you, before I return to hell.” I couldn’t answer, but this time he didn’t make me. I felt his presence behind me, then both his hands were in my crotch. One sank itself deep in my cunt, playing there while his thumb swirled around my clit. The other addressed my rear hole, a single finger stroking the wet flesh, spiralling closer to the entrance and finally slipping inside. Even that slight invasion took my breath away. He worked his finger in and out, while his other hand busied itself in my pussy, stroking in time. Before long, he had wriggled another finger into my ass. I clamped down tight, thrilled and alarmed by the filthy sensations he was waking. He pinched my clit gently, and I bucked against him, burying his fingers more deeply. It was almost unbearable, but I wanted more. I needed to feel his cock inside me, in those dark recesses that no one else had ever explored. He read my mind. He pulled his hands away, leaving both my holes empty and aching. Before I could take two breaths, though, the bulbous tip of his cock was pressed against my anus, slipping a bit in the puddled saliva and pussy-juice. Sudden fear lanced through me. He felt huge. I tightened, resisting his entry. “Trust me, Rebecca,” I heard him murmur, or maybe it was just the wind. Then he pushed, and all at once he was inside me, stretching me to impossible limits. The sharp spike

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of pain as he entered dissolved in outrageous, voluptuous sensation as he began to move. He stroked slowly, gently, in and out of my ass, letting me get used to bulk of him. Each thrust stimulated a million nerves, tingling, quivering, vibrating, racing to my extremities, swirling in my sex. Climax was close, but I was not in a hurry. I relaxed, letting him take me wherever he wanted. His cock churning in my ass was everything I had ever desired. Tony could read my mind. Now it seemed I could read his. I saw myself spread before him, my ass cheeks blotchy and raw from his earlier spanking. I watched as his cock drilled into me, disappearing until it was buried to the hilt in my flesh. I saw the ring of muscle at my entrance stretch and flex as he pressed inward, then gape obscenely as he pulled out. I marvelled at how my body shuddered each time he invaded, how I writhed, how I urged him on, squirming without shame as he ravaged my ass. I smelled myself, salt and musk and the darker forbidden scent of my rear passage. I heard myself moan, sweet and throaty, heard myself beg him to fuck me harder. For a strange time, I was outside myself, and saw what a debauched, shameless slut I had become. And I saw that Tony loved it. I wanted him to fuck me forever, but Tony became more urgent. He quickened his thrusts, pistoning his cock deep into my bowels then withdrawing until just the knob was embedded in my flesh. My body shook with each ferocious impaling. It began to hurt. I welcomed the pain along with pleasure, understanding that they were one and the same. Gripping my buttocks, he pulled them wider apart, trying to plunge even deeper. His nails lacerated my raw flesh. His cock slammed into me, fierce, irresistible, full of unearthly power. “Rebecca!” he yelled, his passion erupting white hot in my belly. His ghostly seed shot through me like lightning. My sex convulsed in sympathy. Bathed in bliss, I surrendered completely, allowing him to take me, for a moment, out of the world. Voices brought me to myself, the cries of the guests inside the house. “Happy Halloween!” they called. “Blessed be!” The midnight toast, a tradition at Christie’s parties, a ritual that often included the thrill of a kiss and a quick feel in addition to the fizz of champagne. Midnight? Tony! I opened my eyes, and tried to push myself up from the picnic table. My arm muscles cramped from holding on so tight. I could just make out his form, a thickening of the air between me and the trunk of the old oak. I reached for him. I could still feel his fingers laced with mine. “Don’t go! Stay with

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me, please!” I thought I could see his sad smile. “I can’t.” “Remember me!” “I’ll try.” “Kiss me.” And he did, hot and sweet, full of power and bravado, for an endless moment that spun dizzily around us. Until he was gone, and the night was empty. I sat down on the picnic bench, my skirt crumpled around me. I put my face in my hands, and sobbed. “Meet me,” I thought the wind whispered. “Next year.” I heard the crackling of footsteps shuffling through dead leaves. I looked up. It was the blonde vampire, his cloak swirling about him. He carried two glasses of champagne. “There you are. I was looking for you everywhere.” He held out one flute; I took it automatically. “Happy Halloween,” he said. “And blessed be.” Then he took my chin in his hand and kissed me. For a moment I rebelled. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t Tony, I didn’t want anyone else. But I felt the blood pulsing in the young man’s throat. I tasted champagne on his lips. I smelled his sweat and his lemony after-shave. And I thought I heard Tony’s laugh on the midnight breeze. I decided to return the kiss. Perhaps there was some magic left in the night after all.

About the Author I became addicted to words at an early age. I began reading when I was four. I wrote my first story at five years old and my first poem at seven. Since then, I've written plays, tutorials, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and of course, erotica. I'm the author of four erotic novels and two short story collections. I also edited the ground breaking anthology SACRED EXCHANGE, which explores the spiritual aspects of BDSM relationships, and the massive collection CREAM: THE BEST OF THE EROTIC READERS AND WRITERS ASSOCIATION. My short stories have appeared in more than two dozen print collections edited by erotica luminaries such as M. Christian, Maxim Jakubowski, Mitzi Szereto, Rachel Kramer Bussel, and Alison Tyler. In my socalled spare time, I also review books and films for the Erotica Readers and Writers Association (www.erotica-readers.com) and Erotica Revealed (www.eroticarevealed.com), and feature as a Celebrity Author at Custom Erotica Source (www.customeroticasource.com). My lifelong interests in sex and the written word became serenditipitously entwined nine years ago when I read my first Black Lace book by Portia da Costa. Her work inspired me to take my fantasies out of the closet (and the private email files) and expose them to the world. The rest, as they say, is history (although granted, no more than a minor footnote!) I've always loved traveling; my husband seduced me in a Burmese restaurant by telling me tales of his foreign adventures. Since then I have visited every continent except Australia, although I still have a long travel wish list. Currently I live with him and our two exceptional felines in Southeast Asia, where I pursue an alternative career that is completely unrelated to my creative writing. Email: [email protected] Lisabet loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totalebound.com.

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