She didn’t do it for money. She did it for blood.

They always said she had a mouth on her.  Back when it happened, just a few years before, when she was in the bar and somebody took her home, when she didn’t feel well, all that rum in her, maybe too much, she kept saying no, no more, that’s enough, stop, I don’t feel well, but he kept on with it, kept touching her, rubbing, prodding, urging, fingers craving, hands pushing, mouth angered and progressively abusive, forcing, pinning down, she didn’t want it, he said she did, it was he said, he said, she couldn’t say anything, she was muted by his lust.

But was that a long time ago? It seemed a century, but it also seemed like yesterday, like just last night.

She started practicing soon after. Started going here, there, all over. One then another then another and then yet another. It was easy at first, she was a natural. But she knew she needed to get better, she needed to get herself in the best shape, her mouth, that is. The mouth was the thing, the suck of the mouth. She always had a mouth, they said. Well now they were going to get the fullness of it.

She kept practicing. She got better at it. Like the one who fisted her hair and yanked her off, who screamed at her that she was hurting him, that he didn’t like to be bitten, just sucked. And then her face, that mouth of hers, blood on her lips, her tongue. His blood. That was it, he said, you’re a fucking crazy bitch.

Well, she was a crazy bitch. She wanted to get crazier. She kept practicing, kept up with the suck.

Another one and another. More, so many more. She invited them over, told them she was lonely, told them she just needed some company, needed them to be there. They had liquor in them, they would come, they would come for sure. They came, they kept coming, she kept practicing, they kept telling her to stop, she was sucking too hard, fuck, just stop, it hurts, oh fuck! But it was fine because there were more, word must have gotten around, some of them heard about her, she had a reputation, they kept coming, some of them curious, some of them not believing the hype. “Man that girl can suck cock!” Yeah, yeah. Girls suck cock all the time, why was she any different. She was different. But no one mentioned the blood. She kept having them over, they kept coming.

And some of them were repeats. Some of them liked it. It hurt like hell, they said to their dudes who asked how it went, but somehow it was hot.

She was getting better. She was making progress with the suck.

*

Was it years ago? Yes, years. She should have pressed charges. She let it go, just wanted him gone, he left but he was still here, still right here. Where was he now?

She put out an ad. It was short, sweet, attractive. Just like her.

SWF, 25, loves to suck.

Days passed but the nights were filled with more, just not HIM. It was good, she kept herself in shape, that mouth of hers. But she was growing bored, she wanted more than this, wanted more of that blood. The ones who came over limited her, stopped her before she went too far with it, before things got out of hand, so to speak. A few did go farther, not realizing that she not only bit blood but sucked it too. They just thought she was a blood biter. So. She succeeded. She liked the taste of cum, her cunt fucking loved it, but cum was easy. Blood was hard to get. She finally started sucking it out of them too, she was getting stronger. And cum mixed with blood made the cum taste even better. They grinned and laughed and moaned as they watched, not minding seeing their blood on her mouth as she looked up at them, her eyes wanting to see him, not any of them.

She got a response, it came suddenly. She clicked the mouse. She responded. One came over, it wasn’t him. Another, then another. She would do this. She would do this until he came. She would do it.

Two months, nothing, but everything. Her mouth was ultra. The freaks started showing up, wanting it, she gave it, she took it. A few of them passed out, she sucked too much out of them. They never came back once they revived and left. Others, and more of them, her mouth was ready, so fucking ready for HIM. Where the fuck was he?

Well, here he was. It took another month for him to show.

The door opening to him, her smile telling him all had been forgiven, him stepping inside, she closing the door, locking it. Feeling how ready her mouth was. It was on fire.

“You saw the ad.”

He nodded, he never had been one to say much. He just fucked, came, and left. But not tonight. Tonight would be different.

“Drink?” He liked it before shit started. She got him some whiskey, but not too much, just a taste. “Fuck,” he said, that remembered grin of his making her sick of him already, “that’s it?” And her nodding, her sweetly given smile, that forgiven-you smile of hers, that mouth. He threw back the sip and kissed her. Yes, a good one, he was good at that, but she knew he knew he was good at a lot of things. That tongue of his, thrusting, poking, licking inside her dutiful mouth. And she accepting it, for now.

Sure, she got excited, she was human wasn’t she, her pussy got wet as fuck, of course it did, she was a girl who liked it, a girl who liked everything about it, and more. She wanted it, sure she did, she wanted it, even from him, even now, even after all these years.

She had just been 19, then.

But now it was different, now she was more mature, she had passed through a dark tunnel, one he had created, and now she was on the other side, she was practiced, eager and ready, yes, for him.

He seemed stronger, rougher, but that was fine, she liked that too, she felt her cunt get tighter, wetter, it was only natural. She could handle it, just wait. Just let him fist her hair, spank her ass, ram his cock in her cunt, all that again, all of it, and when he pulled out he fishhooked her mouth, that fucking mouth of hers, she was ready for what he wanted to give her. She felt her throbbing swollen cunt where he had been, her juices running down her legs, inside her thighs, sure she was excited, but she had his thick cock in front of her now, and his fists were tight with her hair in them. It all came back, it was similar to before, and here he was again, that cock, that same cock, right in front of her, jutting up and ready for that mouth of hers. Well, then. Give it to me, fucker.

She licked the head, teasing him like she was supposed to do, grabbing his ball sac and lapping, licking, tasting…not yet sucking. She wanted him, yes, of course she wanted him, but he wasn’t just a cock, he was HIM, and she had him right here. She opened her mouth, he was bigger than most, she opened wide, took him, felt his hands fisting her down on it, forcing it deeper, she tasted herself, tasted her own excitement but that was nothing, she knew what she wanted, and she was going to get all of it.

She sucked him easily at first, felt him get incrementally bigger. And then she started.

“FUCK!” he shouted. She felt those fists tighten, but he didn’t pull her off. She bit harder, sucked harder. Her mouth, that mouth of hers was ready, it was at the apex. She was going to make him her ultimate trophy. Harder, she turned it up, got her mouth in higher gear, her tongue engaged under him, her teeth gripping tighter. Soon, his blood, and that ignited her. “FUCKING BITCH!” She felt his hands, yes he was trying to get her off him but she sucked harder, she thought of her mother’s vacuum, when she put the palm of her hand on the end of the hose, such a strong suck that was, it was a powerful machine. That mouth of hers was just like it now, all that practice paid off.

“FUCKING STOP!” She scratched his ass, sucked him harder, and yes his blood, not from her biting, it was coming out of him now, it just made her suck harder, her mouth craved it, she sucked it out, sucked it straight out of his dick, and what a dick he was, such a motherfucking dick, he deserved this, she was just a teenager then, what did she know, she thought he loved her then, no he never said it but his face seemed to, that fucking face of his, that fucking cock of his in her vacuum-suck of a mouth, his blood oozing into it, his fists fighting at her head, sure he was strong but the pain she gave him weakened him, and she kept swallowing as it came out, came into her, the taste of it making her suck faster, harder, the intensity of his hands subsiding. She was sucking blood out of his cock, out of his body. She wanted to suck blood out of his fucking evil soul. Well, she did, in the end. He fell to his knees, his hands fell to his sides, his cock still hard in her mouth, that mouth of hers still sucking as he fell on his back, her teeth biting into him like pincers so she didn’t let it slip out. She sucked and sucked and swallowed and swallowed, breathing through her nose, hungry for more, hungry for his fucking death. She kept sucking kept swallowing, looked over his pubic hair, saw that his eyes were closed, saw his hairy gut moving up and down, kept sucking swallowing, her stomach full of his blood. She felt dizzy, felt full, but kept it up, kept sucking the fucking life out of him until his pig gut stopped moving. She felt his cock go limp in her mouth. She looked at his gut again. It was most definitely still. He was certainly dead. A person has to have some blood in them to stay alive. She sucked more out of him than he needed inside him. He was her involuntary blood donor, and now he was dead.

She released his cock and looked at it. It looked like a dead one-eyed animal that had been attacked by some vicious beast. Her bite marks looked lovely.

It was over.

She had waited for this for what, four months? Five? It felt like a century.

So much cock, so much cum. But never enough blood.

By Jeff Callico

She placed the polish brush against her nail for the 4th coat. The black color was beginning to get thick but she kept painting her fingers obsessively. The nails were naturally long and slightly curved, she was often complimented on them. The door shook again, raging on the other side. The hinges rained loose plaster flakes onto the faded white and black bathroom tile while she just sat on the sink in her garters.

“Leila! Open the fucking door baby!'”

You beast, she thought and smiled, finishing another coat. Break it down great ape. Break it down for me. She knew he would. Blowing on the fresh lacquer, she looked up coyly at the shivering door, her nipples hardening, making her cunt tighten slightly.

You look like Ava Gardner, Cosi told her when she was twelve. Leila was filthy, but when she smiled she did look like Ava. That’s where the lace garters and corsets came from. Probably why she started her burlesque career at fourteen. Why her and Cosi left Minnesota and squatted on the Sunset Strip. Those hinges won’t hold.

“Remember,” Cosi said. “We will make it. You’re Ava and I’m Bettie.” The knife had gone into the handsome man, and they stood over him in surprise then.

“What have we done Cosi?”

“We survived Leila, take everything out of his pockets.”

“The knife!” Cosi licked the blood off the blade. “We’re keeping it”

That was 6 years ago, no one noticed murders in Los Angeles, not murders by burlesque dancers mistaken for old Hollywood pin-ups. Cosi and Leila, their act was raunchier the more they killed, and the more killing they did the richer they got. They bought, furs and silks, outfitted themselves in lovely see through costumes that showed curvy young womanhood. Cosi and Leila worshipped each other on stage as they delicately ripped the fabric of their show gowns. Men went wild for a tantalizing moment alone with them. Strippers were obscene and tasteless, yet somehow so much tamer compared to the performance the carnal duo proposed. When they took the stage, there wasn’t a soft dick in the house.

“What if we bring blood into the act?” Cosi asked.

“You mean like pour it all over each other?”

“Paige would’ve done something like that.”

“Not Ava though.”

“Sweetheart,” Cosi would cuddle up next to Leila’s breast and coo. “You’re not Ava, you’re her bastard, satanic, blood thirsty child.”

Leila had pushed her away. “Am not”, she huffed, arms crossed, suddenly confused as to what it was they were really doing every night at the cabaret, and then in the alleys afterwards.

She developed a taste for cheap sex, Leila had. She liked men to make her an offer of money before she let them take her body. Then, right as they were about to cum, she’d knife their belly, a deep stick through the soft middle flesh that made them collapse.  Just the way Cosi had that first night they discovered their predatory nature.  She would feel their insides the way they felt hers, this made her smile, as she often dug her nails in through the wound. Then, as they were dying, she’d ask them, in a cozy, smug tone, “How much am I worth now?” Ha you’re whole life, she thought, every rotten cent you’d ever make and every woman you’d ever dream of fucking.

Cosi thought this was funny, she was more ruthless with her killing. She poured two gin fizzes for her and her man before taking them down a deviant lover’s lane, slipping him a tetrodotoxin, for making “zombies” she said. They’d think they were about to get their dick sucked when the poison started kicking in. Totally paralyzed and yet completely aware of everything, she would dismember their manhood, and show them the scraps. They often didn’t die of blood loss, Cosi said, but suffered massive asphyxiation from the panic she caused, like frightening a rabbit to death. Cosi, was imaginative. And they were a team, obviously, the gruesome twosome of whorish gruesome inclination.  However, Leila left Cosi, when she woke up next to her dead lover.

Luke was nothing special, but Leila did not want him dead. He was a sharp lover and he never asked questions. Cosi was  jealous of anyone standing between her and her crimson companion, but Cosi never killed out of the night scene, never off the safety of sadistic LA. One night Leila went to bed with Luke, in a vicious embrace, ripping the satin tapestries from the walls and causing her to moan as many of her murder victims had during their final moments of ecstasy. It exhausted her to the point of delirium. She woke up in a sticky pool, to Luke’s cut throat and his cock shoved down his
own throat. Ironic, he had once said, she was the only one who could really swallow his whole dick, turns out he was the other one.

Trapped in the bathroom Leila was ready for the brute to come at her, maybe tear her to pieces, she figured after what Cosi and she had done that was the least she deserved. He didn’t know any of that, however, no he didn’t know anything. He was just the thug she’d been letting beat the shit out of her to keep Cosi at bay, and maybe get a little of what she thought she deserved. Now the big gorilla was working his way through the door and she was gonna let him kill her this time. In this instance the door caved and the burly barbarian barreled into the bathroom, blood hungry from snorting lines of blow off her tits all fucking night. She was ready for this. Though, the next thing Leila knew she was on his back with her nylons double wrapped around his throat. Killer instinct taking hold. He suffocated within seconds and she was on top of yet another body. Her shoulders released and she let a breath out softly. Then, a coquettish voice jumped at her from the ripped hinges.

“How much are you worth now?”

By Emily Smith-Miller

“When you walk about, and you’ve got one in, do you get a little thrill?”

I look at him, handsome, cheeky, wife at home so not really of concern to him or me.

“No, you don’t feel it.  Certainly not if you’ve put it in right.”

“Oh.”  He seems a little disappointed.  I decide to flirt a little, what the hell.

“Would be pretty cool if it did.”

He squints up at me from the desk by the window, the one with the half decent view.  The one we all want, but this new guy, a month in the door, somehow has.

“We’ll see.”

The month passes and he’s there with a grin, noticing spots poxing my chin as if a gremlin’s sprayed me with a tiny AK47 from the chocolate bar I’m lifting to my mouth.

“I’ve been looking in the shops.”

“And?”

“That shit’s expensive!”

I nod, grumpy and wishing it wasn’t so obvious that the curse was upon me once again.  Fucking moon, fucking menstruation.  Fucking men.

“Your point?”

He smiles, sly, eyes glinting with mischief.

“I think I can help you out with that…”

I snort.

“What, sponsor a sanitary pad?  Treat me to a tampon?  Piss off.”

He leans closer, and despite myself I want to pull his perfect earlobe into my mouth and never let it go.

“Better.  I can get you something so you never have to pay for protection again.  Period.”

He sniggers at his little joke, and I’m intrigued.

“I’m not fiddling about with one of them moon cups, I’m clumsy, I’d spill it, trust me.”

“No, trust me.  I can sort this out.  My brother’s good with this kinda thing.”

“What kinda thing?”

He taps his nose, and I notice his nails are clean but just slightly too long.

“You’ll see…”

I thought his brother worked in the quarantine section of the zoo.  Maybe he did, maybe he was just an inventor on the side.  I never thought to ask.  Not till later.  I wasn’t thinking about the cons when he brought me the pro.

“Stick this baby in?  Sliiiide it in like it was your favourite…” he looked at me and I blushed “…toy.  And you’ll never need another of them fiddly paper bullets.”

“Really?  How?”

He folded my fingers round the small metal sheath lying heavy in my hand.

“It’s kinda like a washing machine.  You just need to know it works, not how it does it.”

“Eh?”

Again with the nose tap, and I’m hypnotised by the creamy crescent of nail like a child’s tooth on his fingertip.

“Trust me.”

“Don’t I need to take it out and replace it?  Wash it or something?”

“Nah.  Just let it do its thing while you do yours.  But you’re gonna have to let it settle in.  And no sex.”

“No sex?!”

He smiles and I can hear him breathe, feel its heat on my skin.

“You won’t want to with this.”

I raise an eyebrow.  He opens his mouth and I pre-empt him, “I know, I know, ‘trust me’”.

In the ladies, I look it over like I wanted to at my desk but couldn’t.  Similar to a blunt steel syringe, quite like an applicator tampon, but there’s no string dangling like a dead rat’s tail, and it has an unusual weight to it.

I can feel the surge of the crimson flood, and I hate the pads, the tampons, the care I have to take in getting the angle right for insertion, the fear of a leak, the pain when I yank the string for removal and catch a pube too.  Fuck it.

I stick it in, as far as it will go, push the plunger and feel a warmth spread through me as if I’m drunk and vibing it up, as high as the speed setting will go.  Ohhh, it’s good.  I walk out the cubicle as if half asleep, wash my hands with plenty of soap, stick the empty steel in the bin under plenty of paper, then wink at myself in the mirror.  Looking good, kid, and feeling fine.  Pretty damn fine.

I don’t question it, would you if you were always coming, and never going?  Would you?  Course not.

Not till I have cause to months later.

It’s after the office party, well after.  The pretty girls are done photocopying their bottoms, the boss has gone home with a hard-on to his long suffering wife, and me and a few of the guys are off to the pub for a follow up.

Then I’m in the beer garden, lighting a fag, still in that good good mood of great, effortless continuous sex.  And he gets me from behind.

Nobody knows I’m here.

They’ll think I’m in the ladies, or on the dance floor, or at the bar.  His hand splits my lip on my teeth with the strength of sick silence, his other one tugs my skirt up and his zip down.  Since the silver syringe, I’ve done away with knickers, never wear them.  Never need to.  I wish I had that flimsy barrier now.  I struggle and squirm, hating him, terrified, that BASTARD, and he prods me with his thing, stabs it in-

and shrieks with pain.  Tries to pull away.  Now he’s the one twisting and squirming, battling to be free.  There’s a horrible, hideous tearing sound and he falls to the ground with a squealing scream.  It reminds me of the pigs my daddy used to butcher on the farm, before mum left and I chose to go.

I clamp my hand to my groin and feel wet warmth there, where I haven’t for months.  Then as I whimper, and he groans far away on the floor, flopping in the pooling blood, I feel it pulling away.

What?

What the fuck?

What the fuck was it and where the fuck’s it going?

Someone throws the door open and light falls over my attacker.  He’s twitching with shock now, pale, anonymous; I’ve never seen him before in my life.  But I’m sure he used to have a penis.

There’s just a horrible meaty mess amongst the hair now, and the bouncers rush to help him, taking care not to stand in the wet red surrounding him, ignoring me in the shadows by the wall.

I stick my fingers in, glad I kept my nails short.  They feel the stub of him, feel the warm strength of my vaginal vault, then… holy shit.

No way.

I pull my fingers out, quick, hold them up to my face.

The bouncers are calling for an ambulance now, looking about for his penis.

I step into the light, and all I see are my fingertips.

And the teeny, tiny bite marks my pet made, nibbling me within.

Before it knew it was just me, just mummy.

And carried on with its welcome feast.

By Gill Hoffs