Best Fantastic Erotica Page 5

“Brendan likes pain,” the man said, as if he had only now realized that some sort of explanation was necessary.

  “I—God, I don’t!”

  “Not even for three months’ rent?”

  That gave him pause. One night of agony, for three months of freedom? God, it was insane. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to stay hard, anyway. “Can we use condoms?” It wasn’t much, but a layer of latex would help a little.

  “No. Flesh to flesh.”

  There wasn’t the worry of disease, since the Marked never seemed to fall ill. Not physically ill, anyway. He didn’t carry condoms, and he doubted these people had any either. So it was pointless to insist.

  Brendan had crept closer, until Zack could feel the hot breath on his cheek. The blue-blue eyes swam in front of his face. Mere inches away, the spark was almost unbearable. Zack felt his own cock harden. His hands tightened into fists, aching to reach out and touch—

  But the touch would sear. The touch would end the desire. Wouldn’t it? The spark was strong between them, and Brendan wanted the pain. Could Zack manage somehow to do this, to satisfy the frustrated longing, to feel another chosen next to him despite the pain?

  “Undress,” Brendan urged, his voice a silken cord, binding him with its heat. “Let me see you.”

  Without conscious decision, Zack began to unbutton his shirt. The Mark pulsed on his shoulder as though it had come alive, hot and needy. As if in a trance, Zack slipped out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor, then knelt to untie his shoes. He nearly let his face touch Brendan’s erection as he lowered himself, but he managed to keep away. Not yet. Let the desire build first—he knew that much about pain and lust, that it would be easier if he let the lust take him first.

  Once barefoot, he stood again to unzip his jeans. The man in the overcoat had slipped away to an easy chair beside the bed, and was sitting, hands steepled before his face, watching quietly, with that same air of consuming the room with his eyes. Zack finished undressing and stood face to face with the other Marked, naked, so close he could feel the heat of the other’s body. Zack felt his face burning. He tried to speak, and found his throat frozen.

  “Come,” Brendan said, in barely more than a whisper, and turned to go back to the bed. Zack followed, with limbs like jelly, relieved to lie down on his back and stare at the ceiling and let the waves of heat wash through him, from his pulsing shoulder to his twitching cock. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then looked at Brendan, forcing a smile.

  Brendan’s answering smile was distant and cold. His eyes were unfocused and completely mad. He lifted his hand and let it waver over Zack’s body, his throat, and then his cock. So close—but not quite touching. Like a magnet, Zack’s cock tried to rise to the other’s hand. Zack heard a liquid chuckle in his ear. Then Brendan’s hand was over his chest again, still, waiting.

  “I’m going to fuck your ass,” Brendan murmured. “What do you think it will feel like, having my cock up your ass?”

  Before Zack could even respond to that, Brendan had lowered his hand, and brushed the tip of a finger, ever-so-lightly, across one of Zack’s nipples.

  Pain. Zack cried out, helpless, his body arching, as if shocked by electric current. Pain—but the spark was also there, streaking through him, melting him inside. He gasped for breath. A brief moment, while the worst of the pain subsided, then Brendan had touched the other nipple, and the electric shock of pain and arousal repeated. The Mark burned like a brand of molten lava. His cock throbbed, and a single drop of fluid leaked from the tip.

  Again and again Brendan touched his nipples. Each touch was gentle and careful, but accompanied by a burn of shocking pain and almost unbearable lust. Zack watched his nipples harden and swell and redden, as though they were being worked on by hot pincers, rather than gentle fingers. Zack thought the pain would eventually blot out the churning aching sweet waves of pleasure, but desire grew along with the pain, relentless and overwhelming.

  Zack found that tears were streaming down his temples. He blinked, staring into Brendan’s face, trying to find a shred of mercy, of sanity there. It must be hurting him too, although perhaps it was less intense coming only through his fingers. But there was no trace of pain on his face, or of compassion, or hope. Just a slight frown of concentration on parted lips, the beginnings of a sheen of sweat, blue eyes lit by a terrible pleasure as he decided where to place his fingers.

  With a desperate groan, Zack tore his gaze away, and turned his head to the opposite side, where the man in the easy chair sat watching. He seemed not to have moved since he sat down.

  “Please,” Zack whispered. His throat felt raw, and would barely form the words. “I can’t. Please.”

  No answer. No hope from this quarter either, just a fractionally wider smile.

  “Your cock doesn’t seem to agree,” was Brendan’s moist murmur into his ear.

  Zack looked down, where indeed the betraying member stood, hot and dark and dripping with need. His cock and balls felt like stone. He was afraid to touch them, afraid they would shatter. And they hurt.

  “I can’t,” he repeated, knowing it was hopeless.

  “Then get up and leave.”

  He couldn’t. It wasn’t the money anymore. It wasn’t fear and it wasn’t intimidation. It was just this: the throbbing heat in his cock, the terrible pleasure that flowed inextricably with the pain, matching its intensity, demanding obedience and release. It was the intoxicating presence of another Marked, the promise of unimagined sensation and terrible joining. He closed his eyes and tried to force his knotted muscles to relax.

  “I can’t,” he said once more, this time in surrender.

  “Then turn over.”

  This instruction he could obey. And it was good to rest his burning nipples on the cool sheets, to press his burning cock into the mattress. For a moment, it was pure sweet pleasure, no pain at all, and he moaned in relief.

  Then Brendan laid two fingers on his left buttock, and the moan abruptly turned to a gasp of pain. Zack’s buttocks clenched, and his hips drove into the mattress in a grotesque parody of fucking. Unlike the brief but shattering touches to his nipples, with their shocking waves of repeated pain, this time Brendan simply let his hand rest on Zack’s buttocks, stroking gently, a mocking counterpoint to the unrelenting pain.

  One hand groped blindly to the side, found Brendan’s ribcage, and gripped. Pain shot through his hand, but not enough to make him let go. It was hot, and it buzzed like an electric current, but it eased the agony from his buttocks a little, as if it had formed a channel for the pain to flow through their two bodies, sharing its harsh jolt. There was a gasp from Brendan, sharp and desperate, then a shuddering moan, as much of desire as pain. There was no pulling away. And Zack found himself crying, almost in relief. It was still bad, but it was just bearable now. Perhaps he could stand it after all.

  But it won’t just be on your butt soon, the cruel voice of reality whispered in his ear. He really did not want to think about that.

  But he’ll feel it on his cock, the same thing you feel in your ass.

  And that was one thing Zack couldn’t comprehend. How was Brendan enjoying this? But Zack didn’t have to understand. All he had to do was try, try to relax his nerve-shocked muscles, to concentrate on the pleasure and ignore the pain....

  No, that was no good. The pain couldn’t be ignored; it was too strong. It couldn’t be dismissed and it couldn’t be fought down. There was only one way to deal with it—the pain had to be felt, and suffered, and surrendered to. Brendan had the right idea—make the pain part of the pleasure, and seek it out.

  Zack forcefully unclenched his teeth and slowed his shallow breathing. He rubbed his aching cock against the mattress and felt its steady throbbing. He moved his hips rhythmically under Brendan’s hand. He let the pain wash through him, felt its circuit flow from point of contact to point of contact, butt to belly to breast to arm to hand. He felt the electric pricks and tingles and bites. And he relaxed h
is mind, and invited the pain in.

  Something changed then. The pain didn’t go away, and it didn’t abate, not one bit. But it was no longer something to be feared and shunned. It was searing and gorgeous and wonderful, and Zack found his body racked with laughing sobs at the joy of it.

  “Yeah,” Brendan breathed into his ear, then he was sliding on top of Zack’s body, spreading Zack’s legs with his knees. Each touch was another sudden jolt of sensation. His body twitched like a fish on a hook. But he was pressing his body up against Brendan’s, hips thrusting into Brendan’s groin, devouring the feeling, no longer either pain or pleasure, but something else entirely, as powerful as the flow of time.

  He cried out when Brendan’s fingers slipped between his buttocks, cool and wet with lubricant, and entered him. Inside him, the sensation was too strong, too invasive, and he was afraid again for a moment. He felt his sphincter tighten. He sobbed and fought himself still.

  Brendan stopped and waited, breathing harshly into Zack’s ear. As before, he was easy and gentle, allowing no pain but the inevitable consequence of their touch. And after a moment, Zack relaxed again, and unclenched his fists, and nodded for Brendan to go on.

  He thought it couldn’t be any more intense than it was when Brendan entered him with his fingers. He was wrong. Brendan’s cock pressing slowly into his ass made the air go to ash in his lungs, and his face throb as if it would explode. And he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. He let out a tortured moan and then, panting like an animal, worked himself up onto his knees, thrusting back desperately. He felt like he’d gone mad. His nerves had overloaded and shorted out and there was nothing left but this: a molten cock, which he had to have inside him even if it caused his guts to liquefy and disintegrate and burst into flame.

  On top of him, Brendan whimpered and growled and tried to hold him still. Sharp teeth bit into Zack’s shoulder and hands gripped his hips. If Zack was an animal, so was Brendan, struggling to control his prey. Then finally, he too lost control, and thrust hard, driving his cock in to the hilt.

  Zack couldn’t tell if he was laughing or sobbing. His body was racked with great tearing breaths that turned to gasps of desire every time Brendan’s cock thrust into him. He dug his fingers into the mattress and braced his wide-spread knees to receive the thrusts at the deepest angle into his body. And he felt the sensation build and ravage him, until finally his cock swelled and burst and released him, from pain and lust and everything.

  He was barely aware of Brendan finishing and rolling off him with a groan. He had completely forgotten the man in the easy chair, until he felt cool, soft fingers on his shoulder, and slowly turned his head to see the man standing beside the bed, tucking a sheaf of bills into the pocket of Zack’s leather jacket.

  “Wonderful,” the man said, smiling. There was a satisfied glow on his face. “I’ll leave your money here. You’ve earned every penny. Feel free to spend the night. Or leave whenever you like. I’m sure you can find your way out.”

  Then the man laid Zack’s jacket across the arm of the easy chair, and quietly left the room.

  Spend the night. Well, maybe, but at least rest a little while. God, Zack couldn’t get up now if the building were on fire. Incredible, that had been, but he never wanted to do it again. He felt like he’d been drained to the brink. A strong wind would blow him away.

  Brendan shifted at his side. He was lying on his back, seeming as spent as Zack. Then he leaned into Zack, left shoulder to left shoulder.

  The two Marks touched.

  Pain exploded in him, bright white searing agony. Shocked, paralyzed, every muscle in his body turned to stone, every nerve ending shattered, Zack opened his throat to scream, tried to pull away, but he couldn’t move, nothing would work. The Mark pulsed and burned, and clung to the other Mark with a death grip.

  It was too much for Zack’s exhausted, tortured body to bear. Still trying to scream, he felt his battered consciousness slip away.

  He returned to consciousness slowly, with many small feints and retreats into sleep. But finally, Zack opened his eyes, to find that it was morning, and the sun was streaming into the room, now just a small, pleasant room with cheerful flowered wallpaper. He took a deep breath and shifted slightly. He ached all over, with the soreness of muscles clenched tightly against pain. He almost expected to find handprints burned into his chest and back. Well, had it been worth three months’ rent to discover this about himself? The memory of Brendan’s cock burning inside him gave him strange chills. Searing, excruciating pain. And his cock was hardening at the thought of it, just as though it had been the pain that made it so good, and not the inevitable spark of desire between one chosen and another. Had his wires gotten crossed somehow, permanently shorted out by the touch of Mark against Mark, so that now pain would always be a part of his pleasure?

  He glanced over at Brendan, still sleeping peacefully on his back. Brendan likes pain, the man had told him, and now, in the light of day, Zack could see the tracery of fine scars on Brendan’s chest, the swollen red nipples made permanently hard and erect by clamps or other tortures. The Marked were sensitive, even to the touch of the Unmarked. The lash of a whip, the slap of a hand, the bite of a clamp—all these things would be exquisitely sharp and intense to one of the Marked. Zack shuddered, feeling the stiff leather of the riding crop strike his chest, just as it had struck Brendan’s. No, he didn’t want to know this. He didn’t want to picture Brendan stretched out on his back, naked, body glowing with a fine sheen of sweat, his eyes bright with lust, wrists and ankles bound to the corners of the bed, while his master stood over him, whip in hand, brow furrowed in concentration as he decided where to place the next stripe....

  And he certainly did not want to picture himself in Brendan’s place.

  He edged away from Brendan slightly, as if the mere closeness of the other’s body could transmit that need for pain. He was Marked. They were Marked. That was the only reason it had worked. Brendan was Marked....

  It suddenly hit him. Brendan’s shoulder was smooth and white and completely bare. No trace of a Mark, or that one had ever been there.

  Impossible. Impossible. Zack knew Brendan was Marked. He hadn’t had to see it, he knew just as all Marked knew each other, instantly and without question. And the pain—Brendan hadn’t whipped him. Hadn’t struck him. His touch had been a shocking parody of gentleness, the horrifying pain the result only of the Mark. It was impossible, just as it was impossible for Zack to be lying here now, staring at Brendan, not realizing that he wasn’t Marked. The Marked always knew each other. Always....

  Zack’s head snapped around to inspect his own shoulder.

  Gone. His own shoulder as clean and white as Brendan’s. He touched the shoulder, digging his fingers into the spot where the Mark had been, staring at it, uncomprehending. It was impossible. But the Mark was gone.

  Zack giggled suddenly, a sharp little giggle with an edge of hysteria. He reached for Brendan, then stopped, braced for the shock he couldn’t help expecting. He’s not Marked, he told himself. I’m not Marked. I can touch him. It won’t hurt. But his mind wasn’t quite ready to believe it, and he couldn’t make himself put his hand on the other man.

  Never mind. He’d find out soon enough. Poor Brendan. He might not be at all happy to find his Mark gone. He had a cozy little situation here, with a rich sugar daddy, and a body with heightened sensitivity to the pain he loved. Would the man still want him, without his Mark? Zack felt strangely reluctant to face Brendan’s reaction. Perhaps they’d blame it on him, although he had no idea why or how such a thing had happened.

  But it had. The Marks were gone. Zack pushed himself out of bed, trying to comprehend it himself. He could go back to school now, go back to his life, never have to patch another shoulder in another shirt. His leather jacket would be safe. He could walk in crowds again. He could get a job. God. He still couldn’t believe it.

  What had it been? he wondered while he dressed. The
sex? Touching the two Marks together? He wasn’t surprised no one had figured it out before, if that was the case. The pain was incredible. It had taken one very warped chosen, one eccentric rich voyeur, and three months’ rent to make it happen this time. But if people knew it could free them from the Mark, they would try it.

  Shelly. God, this could save her life, if it really worked. He’d have to go back to that bar and find her. He couldn’t help her himself, but maybe she could talk another chosen into sleeping with her, and save them both.

  He could be wrong. No one knew why the Mark came, in the middle of the night with no warning. Maybe it left just the same way, with no rhyme or reason, just one very wild coincidence. He could be wrong, but he’d find Shelly anyway and tell her what had happened. She could decide for herself if it was worth the risk.

  He paused at the door of the bedroom, and gazed at the sleeping Brendan. He felt sad, and he wasn’t quite sure why. Worried about what would happen to Brendan? Still feeling the effects of last night’s pain? Maybe a little scared, now that he had his life back, to figure out what to do with it? He should be happy. He should be overjoyed to be Unmarked again, to be free.

  Lying on his stomach, legs spread, pain streaking through him, impaled on a pillar of fire....

  Wanting it. Wanting it again.

  He blinked, then closed the door quietly and left.

  The Harrowing by Corbie Petulengro

  Therese had been kept waiting in the library of the evil sorceress for the better part of an hour, standing rigidly at attention. It was a trick she was not unfamiliar with, and she knew well how to combat it. All of the royal guard were hand-picked for their abilities at discipline, and all knew how to maintain alertness in the face of utter boredom. After all, it was the same as standing guard around His Majesty. Or waiting to go into battle.

  It didn’t look like the palace of an evil sorceress. It looked like the homey, well-furnished manor of any fairly wealthy merchant, tastefully decorated, portraits of beautiful women hanging on the walls. The only giveaway Therese could see was that lamps hanging from the ceiling had a cool glow under their green glass shades that could not possibly be flame. That, and the books that lined the walls. Materia Occultalis. Summoning and Banishing, A Primer. The Seven Hills of Hell. Castration for Magic, Ritual, and Breeding Control.