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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2013. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your
consideration.
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Halloween Entertainment
by Averti (no address provided)
***
A strange little story about cutting and blood as an
aphrodisiac. (MF, voy, v)
***
She unhooked her skirt and dropped it to the floor,
then sat on the edge of the table and looked at me.
She wore no panties. She had removed her pubic hair,
for the first time I could remember. The smooth,
almost shiny new expanse of bare flesh looked slightly
startled, like some cave dweller suddenly brought into
the light.
She reached behind her and took out a small knife. The
indirect lamplight gleamed on the curved blade and
darkly figured wooden handle. "Do you know this
knife?" she asked, turning it in her fingers.
"Yes. I made that knife."
"Indeed you did."
"How did you come by it? The owner was a witch..."
She smiled coldly, "A witch who was murdered. But not
with this knife."
I returned her fixed gaze. "I know that."
"I KNOW you know it. You were there, the next day,
right? You walked in her dried blood, you picked
through her stuff..."
All this was true, but beside the point. "Where did
YOU get the knife?"
"Bought it off a fence who bought it off the Sausalito
cop who kiped it from the crime scene..."
**
She trailed the point of the knife idly down one thigh
and back up the other. The knife left a very, very
thin scratch quite clear on her smooth tan skin.
I felt like I was in the wrong story. "What do you
want?" I was compelled to ask.
"I want things to be like they were. I want you to
look at me. watch me, the way you used to. I want you
to crawl over here on your knees and jerk off onto my
toes. I want you to be glued to the wall, drilling
into me with your eyes, as I turn myself inside out
for you. I want you to sit in the corner and cry while
I masturbate for you--AT you--until my pussy is one
raw glowing mess!"
**
I wished I still smoked. I needed a cigarette to
fiddle with, so my hands and their obvious shaking
wouldn't give me away. I had loved, if that's the
right approximate word, this woman for a generation. I
knew she was totally self-centered and totally
ruthless and absolutely no more to be trusted than the
senior lioness in a circus act.
I stood against the wall, near the door, like a dummy,
watching her, trying very hard not to stare, staring
very hard. She manipulated the little knife in the air
with one skillful hand while beginning to feel and
tease between her legs with the other. I wondered if
it really were possible to dislocate one's eyes just
from avid staring...
I hated myself for knowing every inch and millimeter
of that pussy. I could paint a picture of it, sculpt a
replica of it, if I could knit I could knit a pussy
afghan of it. I knew it when it was young, when it was
dry, when it was wet, when it was swollen with lust,
pried apart by the hands of other women, stuffed full
of dildos, vibrators, vegetables... everything except
how it felt to fuck.
"There's some kind of definitive orgasm inside me,"
she said wildly. "If I can't tease it out I'll DRAG it
out."
She took the small knife and made a neat four-inch
incision in the perfect skin of her lower belly, just
above the start of the white, hairless pubic area.
Dark, rich-looking blood welled and then began to
trickle down toward the meeting of her thighs.
"That's why I shaved," she said. "Much easier to see.
Much neater."
"All the best surgeons do it that way" I murmured,
dreamily watching the blood ooze downward.
She took a fresh grasp on the knife and made another
incision parallel to and below the first, and then yet
another. They were not dangerously deep, I could tell;
no possibility of suddenly seeing escaping lower
intestines. I leaned against the wall, next to the
door, and just kept watching.
Her facial expression hadn't changed one iota since
she began cutting. Still the same beautiful mask, full
mouth, dark eyes, a general expression of knowing
something that nobody else knows.
She dabbled her free hand in her crotch, which by now
was thoroughly soaked in blood, then raised the hand
to her face and licked delicately at it like a cat.
"Mmmm, I like getting REALLY in touch with myself,"
she smiled. Rather ghastly with her own blood on her
lips. "A woman should be free to choose the time and
place to bleed..."
I was pretty sure that those superficial slashes would
begin to clot over before long. I watched as she slid
backwards into the center of the table, leaving a dark
brownish-red smear as she went. She opened her legs
and showed me her naked, gleaming vulva. Looked quite
striking, actually, but, to me, less erotic than
exploitative.
She held the little knife delicately and made several
minor cuts along the edges of her labia majora, saying
"Blood goes to blood" and then groaning, not in pain
but in lust. The knife clattered as she threw it
carelessly onto the floor.
Then she began to use both hands between her legs,
shifting and moaning and drawing hissing breaths as I
had seen her do a thousand times before, as though the
blood were just some new kinky love lube you could buy
in an overpriced plastic squeeze bottle.
I watched for a minute more. Out of context, this
would have been transfixing. Cheap as it felt, for me,
it was more like watching a former friend get very
drunk and wrap her car around a median pole. I lowered
my eyes, and then turned toward the door.
"Wait!! Where..." she hissed, in a strangled voice
that I knew so well. Again. Not pain, but lust for
self. Lust for control. Even over mere me, the one-
time easiest to control of them all.
"Thanks for the show, babe. But I haven't paid for the
E-ticket and it looks like the big ride is almost
under way."
"YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME NOW!!" masturbating faster, like
somebody trying to get their stalled car on the
railroad tracks started by sheer will power.
"I'm not. I left you eleven months ago. You weren't
paying attention. Anyway," I opened the door, "You're
the one with the imagination. Just imagine I'm still
here -- sitting in the corner, watching and drooling -
- the imaginary me always cooperated better,
anyway..."
I closed the door and made for the elevator. I had
never felt so good about leaving a room containing a
naked, bloody, sex-crazed woman. I was pretty sure
she'd be all over herself with towels and antiseptic
and bandages in a minute.
As the elevator doors closed I heard this long, eerie
howl, the capstone to an hour of blood and horror.
Other people must have heard it too; but I was the
only one who knew that it was not a werewolf or a
vampire and any such common wretch. Only I knew that
it was the enraged, frustrated cry of a first-rate
witch having a second-rate orgasm.
Well, happy Halloween, little friends... and if you
should find yourself gazing lustfully at the knife...
well, one can always make more blood, they say...
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
any way, shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any
of the scenarios in this story should seriously
consider seeking professional help.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 78