Happy Halloween folks.....
This week's tease is from The Eclipse of the Blood Moon...
An anthology I'm in with four fabulous other authors...
In my Story, Atone for the Moon, meet Lucy and Nick...
She can't get him out of her head...
“Our time, Lucy, get ready.”
The voice echoed around the room, jolting her out of her showery bliss. Annoyed, she switched the water off and, grabbing a towel, went into her bedroom. Her costume mocked her, as she dried and pulled on underwear. What had possessed her to go to the bloody dance as a moonbeam she'd never know. But there were the long iridescent dress and white stockings, hung up by the door, taunting her
“Blood moon, moonbeam, are you ready?”
"What the? Gah, now I'm talking out loud to my mind." Lucy muttered the words as she put her contact lenses in and switched on her hair straighteners. Whoever said curly hair was good didn't have to deal with her hair on a daily basis. It corkscrewed and spiraled out of control at the first hint of dampness. Straightening it was the only way she could keep it even half tidy, moonbeam or otherwise. Whilst the tongs heated up she rummaged in the drawer to find the make up she needed and sat in front of the mirror to put her mascara on. She really had to stop these stupid chats with herself, or the men in white coats would be along for her. She leaned closer to the mirror to see what she was doing, and screamed.
Behind her was the reflection of a man. But oh my, what a man. Tall, taut, and toned body, long dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and—Oh, that smile.
“Ssh, it's me.” His low and soothing voice sent shivers of passion from her boobs to her clit.
The voice echoed around the room, jolting her out of her showery bliss. Annoyed, she switched the water off and, grabbing a towel, went into her bedroom. Her costume mocked her, as she dried and pulled on underwear. What had possessed her to go to the bloody dance as a moonbeam she'd never know. But there were the long iridescent dress and white stockings, hung up by the door, taunting her
“Blood moon, moonbeam, are you ready?”
"What the? Gah, now I'm talking out loud to my mind." Lucy muttered the words as she put her contact lenses in and switched on her hair straighteners. Whoever said curly hair was good didn't have to deal with her hair on a daily basis. It corkscrewed and spiraled out of control at the first hint of dampness. Straightening it was the only way she could keep it even half tidy, moonbeam or otherwise. Whilst the tongs heated up she rummaged in the drawer to find the make up she needed and sat in front of the mirror to put her mascara on. She really had to stop these stupid chats with herself, or the men in white coats would be along for her. She leaned closer to the mirror to see what she was doing, and screamed.
Behind her was the reflection of a man. But oh my, what a man. Tall, taut, and toned body, long dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and—Oh, that smile.
“Ssh, it's me.” His low and soothing voice sent shivers of passion from her boobs to her clit.
Shit, hallucinations now, as if talking to myself isn't enough.
His breath feathered across her neck as he leaned towards her.
“No, love, talking to me.”
"Hell, I'm losing the plot and talking back to my mind. Definitely the funny farm." Her scar throbbed, as if in sympathy. Lucy rubbed it absently. If only she could remember how she got it.
His—its, whatever, the laugh was the last straw. Lucy grabbed hold of her straighteners, wrenching the plug from the socket, and turned around, before throwing them at ... nothing!
The heated wands landed on the carpet with a sizzle, and the smell of burning wool drifted up to her.
"Fuck, now look what you've made me do," Lucy said, and rolled her eyes. What was wrong with her? She was telling herself off.
“Sorry.”
"Ah shut up, all of me." She picked the appliance up carefully and put it back onto the ceramic tile she used as a base. Then she checked that the carpet was no more than slightly singed and not in the process of setting the house on fire. She sprinkled some water over it to be sure and heard the spit and crackle die down. With a sigh she returned to putting her makeup on.
Satisfied, and with no apparitions peering over her shoulder, she picked up the hair straighteners, and groaned. They were cold. The light glowed steadily to say they were working, but there was no heat in them at all.
That's all I need, curly hair. The kids will have a field day when they see me.
A gentle breeze caressed her neck.
“I like it curly.”
"Well I don't," she said. "And whoever, whatever is bugging me, bloody well stop. I have a dance to attend, more's the pity." She waited for something, anything, but nothing happened. With a shrug, she stood up and picked up the dress.
A long appreciative wolf whistle echoed around the room. In spite of herself she grinned. It was that or check into the Priory Clinic, and a teacher's wages weren't that good.
Ha, at least I like me.
“Oh good.” That deep velvet voice ran through her, giving her goose bumps. “So do I, love, so do I. Now let’s go to the dance, eh?”
His breath feathered across her neck as he leaned towards her.
“No, love, talking to me.”
"Hell, I'm losing the plot and talking back to my mind. Definitely the funny farm." Her scar throbbed, as if in sympathy. Lucy rubbed it absently. If only she could remember how she got it.
His—its, whatever, the laugh was the last straw. Lucy grabbed hold of her straighteners, wrenching the plug from the socket, and turned around, before throwing them at ... nothing!
The heated wands landed on the carpet with a sizzle, and the smell of burning wool drifted up to her.
"Fuck, now look what you've made me do," Lucy said, and rolled her eyes. What was wrong with her? She was telling herself off.
“Sorry.”
"Ah shut up, all of me." She picked the appliance up carefully and put it back onto the ceramic tile she used as a base. Then she checked that the carpet was no more than slightly singed and not in the process of setting the house on fire. She sprinkled some water over it to be sure and heard the spit and crackle die down. With a sigh she returned to putting her makeup on.
Satisfied, and with no apparitions peering over her shoulder, she picked up the hair straighteners, and groaned. They were cold. The light glowed steadily to say they were working, but there was no heat in them at all.
That's all I need, curly hair. The kids will have a field day when they see me.
A gentle breeze caressed her neck.
“I like it curly.”
"Well I don't," she said. "And whoever, whatever is bugging me, bloody well stop. I have a dance to attend, more's the pity." She waited for something, anything, but nothing happened. With a shrug, she stood up and picked up the dress.
A long appreciative wolf whistle echoed around the room. In spite of herself she grinned. It was that or check into the Priory Clinic, and a teacher's wages weren't that good.
Ha, at least I like me.
“Oh good.” That deep velvet voice ran through her, giving her goose bumps. “So do I, love, so do I. Now let’s go to the dance, eh?”
Okay, she'd always believed in things that went bump in the
dark, supernatural happenings, and the tooth fairy, but this was a bit
more than that.
"Who the hell is invading my thoughts? And why?"
No one answered, although she could have sworn there was someone in the room with her. On the occasions she'd felt that strange prickling sensation before, she'd let it flow over and out of her. This time it seemed different. This time, somehow she knew it was important.
She felt a sharp pain on the left cheek of her bum as if something had bitten her. Lucy checked she had shut the window, and found it locked. Definitely not a midge bite then. Pulling her thong to one side, she twisted to look over her shoulder. Definitely a bite. A neat, red mark right showed on the fullest part of the globe.
"What is it with me and scars?" she asked herself, and picked up a small hand mirror angling it to see her bum better. "What the?" It looked like teeth marks. She looked closer. Definitely teeth marks. How on earth had they got there?
"Oy!" She jumped as a slap over the bite made her arse sting. She could see it redden, see the finger prints, but not see how they got there.
Enough was enough. Lucy closed her eyes and concentrated. Look what's going on, whoever you are? Tell me, and let me go to this darned dance already, will you? It's bad enough I have to patrol the bloody corridors for copulating couples and sneaky fag smokers, without a sore arse and a throbbing c... She stopped, aghast at where her language was heading. What was it she told her pupils? Swearing shows a lack of imagination and vocabulary? Well no one could level the first accusation at her. She had imagination aplenty, and it was working overtime!
“Tut tut. Love, you won't let me use the c word, and here you are almost needing me to slap your c word for you? Is that what you're wanting? For me to spank your sweet pussy and see it as red as those gorgeous lips? I'm more than happy to. But be very, very, careful what you ask of us.”
"Us? Who the hell are ‘us’?" There was no answer. "Typical," she said, annoyed. "Won't answer anything sensible. Well, sod you then." Lucy had heard of phantom pregnancies, drug-induced hallucinations, and hypochondriacs, but this was something more ...
"Who the hell is invading my thoughts? And why?"
No one answered, although she could have sworn there was someone in the room with her. On the occasions she'd felt that strange prickling sensation before, she'd let it flow over and out of her. This time it seemed different. This time, somehow she knew it was important.
She felt a sharp pain on the left cheek of her bum as if something had bitten her. Lucy checked she had shut the window, and found it locked. Definitely not a midge bite then. Pulling her thong to one side, she twisted to look over her shoulder. Definitely a bite. A neat, red mark right showed on the fullest part of the globe.
"What is it with me and scars?" she asked herself, and picked up a small hand mirror angling it to see her bum better. "What the?" It looked like teeth marks. She looked closer. Definitely teeth marks. How on earth had they got there?
"Oy!" She jumped as a slap over the bite made her arse sting. She could see it redden, see the finger prints, but not see how they got there.
Enough was enough. Lucy closed her eyes and concentrated. Look what's going on, whoever you are? Tell me, and let me go to this darned dance already, will you? It's bad enough I have to patrol the bloody corridors for copulating couples and sneaky fag smokers, without a sore arse and a throbbing c... She stopped, aghast at where her language was heading. What was it she told her pupils? Swearing shows a lack of imagination and vocabulary? Well no one could level the first accusation at her. She had imagination aplenty, and it was working overtime!
“Tut tut. Love, you won't let me use the c word, and here you are almost needing me to slap your c word for you? Is that what you're wanting? For me to spank your sweet pussy and see it as red as those gorgeous lips? I'm more than happy to. But be very, very, careful what you ask of us.”
"Us? Who the hell are ‘us’?" There was no answer. "Typical," she said, annoyed. "Won't answer anything sensible. Well, sod you then." Lucy had heard of phantom pregnancies, drug-induced hallucinations, and hypochondriacs, but this was something more ...
something that she wasn't really sure she wanted the answer to,
because it was becoming clear that she wasn't going to like it.
The next thing confirmed it. Her scars, both of them, throbbed together. Overkill surely?
“You asked for this, sweet Lucy.” Before she knew what had happened, she lay sideways, horizontal and lying over her padded stool. Something smooth—a hand maybe—held her down. Her pussy clenched, and the scent of her arousal filled her as three sharp taps were delivered in swift succession to her butt. She arched involuntarily into the touch and heard a low, dark, chuckle, reminiscent of something hovering at the corner of her mind, just out of reach.
“More, Lucy? You need my touch elsewhere, I'll be bound. Wait, sweet love, wait for everything. Remember what you were told.” Lucy realized she had turned over, the top of her glistening mound showing over the lacy edge of her undies.
Hell, who am I on display to here? No one? Just an empty room. Hells bells, this is so silly. I need to get ready. She struggled to rise. Again she was held firmly, as an unseen hand pulled down her thong—or so she supposed. She certainly wasn't doing it, and the most erotic kiss of all swept her clit and sucked. How she was sure it was a mouth on her she had no idea, for still she saw nothing or no one.
Her pussy clenched, and her juices spilled as the unseen one took his—or her—fill. Her nipples chafed against the lace of her bra, and she moaned softly, as her climax built.
“Oh no, love, no coming, not now. You need to wait. Remember the expression, and your sins will come back ... and bite you on the bum? Well I have, and I did. Now we need to atone. Remember your name, Lucy? Well, Lucy love, let's release your devil, eh?”
Once more she was turning over and over until she felt dizzy. The room went dark, and she screamed at the pain that filled her. It was harsh, heavy, like shards of glass digging into her arse, and it tore into her soul.
"No more, no more, for God's sake, Nick."
Nick? Where the hell did that come from?
“So you do remember me?”
Do I?
Catch all the other midweek teases on...
The next thing confirmed it. Her scars, both of them, throbbed together. Overkill surely?
“You asked for this, sweet Lucy.” Before she knew what had happened, she lay sideways, horizontal and lying over her padded stool. Something smooth—a hand maybe—held her down. Her pussy clenched, and the scent of her arousal filled her as three sharp taps were delivered in swift succession to her butt. She arched involuntarily into the touch and heard a low, dark, chuckle, reminiscent of something hovering at the corner of her mind, just out of reach.
“More, Lucy? You need my touch elsewhere, I'll be bound. Wait, sweet love, wait for everything. Remember what you were told.” Lucy realized she had turned over, the top of her glistening mound showing over the lacy edge of her undies.
Hell, who am I on display to here? No one? Just an empty room. Hells bells, this is so silly. I need to get ready. She struggled to rise. Again she was held firmly, as an unseen hand pulled down her thong—or so she supposed. She certainly wasn't doing it, and the most erotic kiss of all swept her clit and sucked. How she was sure it was a mouth on her she had no idea, for still she saw nothing or no one.
Her pussy clenched, and her juices spilled as the unseen one took his—or her—fill. Her nipples chafed against the lace of her bra, and she moaned softly, as her climax built.
“Oh no, love, no coming, not now. You need to wait. Remember the expression, and your sins will come back ... and bite you on the bum? Well I have, and I did. Now we need to atone. Remember your name, Lucy? Well, Lucy love, let's release your devil, eh?”
Once more she was turning over and over until she felt dizzy. The room went dark, and she screamed at the pain that filled her. It was harsh, heavy, like shards of glass digging into her arse, and it tore into her soul.
"No more, no more, for God's sake, Nick."
Nick? Where the hell did that come from?
“So you do remember me?”
Do I?
Catch all the other midweek teases on...
.jpg)
