Hotter Blood: More Tales of Erotic Horror

THE BEST Paul Dale Anderson

Both of us?" He gasped. "Both… at the same time?"

She was already unbuttoning her blouse. "I need to be filled," she said, and there was a longing in her voice that seemed irresistible.

She slid out of the blouse and let it drop to the floor. She reached around and unhooked her brassiere. "I feel so empty," she moaned. "I need to be filled. Fill me, please!"

Gordon glanced nervously at the other man. Was it more than homophobia that edged into his consciousness and made him afraid? Was there something else, too?

Something he didn't want to think about?

"My fantasy," she explained, as she stepped out of an ankle-length wool skirt, "is to have two men inside me. One man is never enough."

She slid panty hose down both legs and stood naked, fully exposed.

She spread her legs and opened her sex.

Two slim lingers disappeared inside.

While two fingers of her left hand toyed with a pointy nipple.

"Indulge my fantasies, and I'll indulge yours," she promised, her voice husky, practically dripping with dew.

"Hell, why not?" the other man said, unzipping his fly. "I'm game."

"What about you?" the girl asked Gordon. "Or aren't you man enough?"

That was the trigger. Gordon shot out of his seat and grabbed the girl's hips, throwing her roughly to the floor, falling atop her, mauling her flesh, slapping her face. He hurriedly fumbled with the front of his pants, got them open somehow, and thrust his rage at her center.

The other man pulled him off.

"I don't like sloppy seconds," he spat at Gordon. "Go play with yourself in the corner while I check her oil, pump the tank full of no-lead premium, and recharge her batteries. You can have what's left as soon as I'm finished."

"Both of you," moaned the girl. "One isn't enough."

The man shoved his dipstick at her wide-open mouth. "Suck it," he demanded. "Prime the pump and see how big it gets. You don't need anyone else."

"No!" Gordon protested as the man's engorged muscle disappeared — one inch at a time — into the damp darkness between her luscious lips.

"Why don't you get lost?" the other man suggested. "Can't you see we're busy?"

Something snapped inside Gordon's head, then, and suddenly he had to prove himself. He had to prove he was bigger and better, not just better than the man she had in her mouth at the moment — but better than any of the other men she had ever had.

Better than them all.

He had to prove that Gordon Sommers was the best.

Nothing else mattered.

Homicide Lieutenant Ralph Bergstrom shook his head sadly. He'd seen it happen before, hadn't he? And he knew he'd see it a thousand times again between now and the day he retired.

"Why'd you do it?" he asked Sommers. "Jealousy?"

"Not jealousy." Gordon sobbed. "It was something else."

"What?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

Gordon Sommers said nothing.

"Okay. Start at the beginning. Where'd you meet this broad?"

"Not a broad, Lieutenant. A lady."

"All right. She was a lady. Where'd you meet her?"

"At the track."

"The race track?"

"Yeah. I'd just placed a big bet at the two-dollar window. I turned around and there she was — the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Describe her."

"Every man's fantasy come true — big breasts, nice ass, long blond hair, everything you could want in a woman. And she had this look about her that said she was all primed and raring to go."

"Primed?"

"You know. Ready to fuck. Right there in front of God and everybody."

"She looked like a prostitute?"

"No, no. Far from it. Dressed conservatively in an expensive-looking white blouse and ankle-length skirt. She didn't want money. She'd won odds on the last race and she had a roll of two-dollar bills in her hand big enough to choke a horse. Money was the farthest thing from her mind. What she wanted was sex. Pure, unadulterated S-E-X. You could tell just by looking at her. She radiated this sense of desperate urgency — a kind of combined look and smell — that said she needed a man in the worst way."

"And you were that man?"

"I thought so. She caught me staring at her and licked her lips — you know, slowly and seductively: sliding the tip of her tongue around those luscious lips until I thought I'd cream in my pants."

"So you propositioned her?"

"No, no. She propositioned me! She swiveled her hips over next to me and whispered in my ear. 'I bet you want to fuck me, don't you?' she said, 'I want to fuck you, too.'"

"And that's when you gave her the key to your hotel room?"

"Yeah. I knew I could get another key at the front desk."

"What about the victim?"

"Another guy she met at the track. I don't even know his name. She didn't know his name, either."

"Go on."

"She brought him with her. Said she wanted to fuck both of us at the same time. I thought she was kidding, at first. But she wasn't."

"She wanted to get it on with both of you?"

"Yeah. She said one man wasn't enough."

The cop grimaced. How many times had he heard this same story repeated by perps? A hundred times? A thousand?

When would the nightmare end?

Lieutenant Bergstrom stopped by the bar around the corner from the station. He needed a drink — desperately. Hell, he didn't need just a drink. He needed a whole damned bottle.

"Heard you had another one tonight," Earl Danzig said, sidling up to the stool next to Ralph's and signaling the bartender for a Scotch. "Same MO?"

"The same," Bergstrom confirmed.

"Still no leads?"

"None."

"Christ," Danzig said, taking a sip of his fresh Scotch. "What kind of woman is she? Some sort of siren out of Greek mythology? I still can't believe she's real."

"She's real, all right," Ralph said.

"I don't know. Those guys might have made her up."

"All of them?"

"Maybe some kind of mass psychosis. Isn't that what lawyers say when they cop insanity pleas for perps?"

"Look, Earl, I don't want to talk about it. I came here to have a drink and forget."

"Well, if she's real, I'd sure like to meet her. Sounds like every man's wet dream, doesn't she?"

"Shut up, Earl. Shut your fat face."

"Hey. Don't get sore, Ralph. I know you just got married. But that doesn't mean you can't have wet dreams like the rest of us poor slobs. Does it?"

Bergstrom picked up his drink and moved to the other end of the bar — as far away from Danzig as he could get.

Danzig ordered another Scotch. And followed.

"Just think about it, Ralph," Danzig continued, almost drooling. "Here's this gorgeous blonde, built like a brick outhouse, and everyone says she fucks like a mink — never gets enough, always wants more. Don't tell me you wouldn't take a piece of that if you had a chance."

"Get out of my face, Earl. I'm too tired to think about it."

"You getting old, Ralph? That new wife of yours wearing you out? If you can't handle it, old man, just say the word. I'd be willing to help you out in the sack…"

Ralph's fist flew straight for Earl's face. Earl blocked the blow and countered with a quick kick to Ralph's groin.

"Break it up!" the bartender yelled, rushing from behind the bar with a baseball bat in his hands. "Take it outside if you have a score to settle."

" 'S awright," Ralph gasped. "Fight's… over."

"What the fuck got into you?" Earl demanded. "Can't even take a joke anymore, can you? Jesus Christ, Bergstrom. Maybe you are getting old. You okay?"

"Wind… knocked… out."

"Didn't bust your nuts, did I?"

"Hurts…"

"C'mon. I'll take you to the hospital."

"No… hospital."

"Look, Ralph, I'm sorry. I saw your fist coming at me and I overreacted. Let me give you a ride home, at least. You don't look in any condition to drive, and it's all my fault."

"Forget… it."

"No. If I can't take you to a hospital, then I'm driving you home."

"Won't… let… you…"

Earl laughed. "Think you can stop me?"

Before Ralph could protest again, Earl bent his back and snatched the injured man up in a fireman's carry.

And headed out the door.

"We used to be best friends," Earl said as he drove. "We were partners for four whole years, back when you worked the burglary division. Then you got promoted, transferred to homicide, and now we're like strangers, trying to kill each other in a barroom brawl. What the hell happened, Ralph? What changed you?"

Ralph didn't answer.

"You used to be a real card, you know that? Life of the party. Real skirt chaser, too. Suddenly you turned serious. And now you can't even take a good-natured ribbing."

"Getting old," Ralph mumbled. "Slowing down."

"No, you're not. I just called you old to get your goat, make you react. I shouldn't have done that, Ralph. I'm sorry."

"Forget it."

"I guess I was sore that you got married and didn't ask me to be best man. Hell, you didn't even invite me to the goddamned wedding. Come to think of it, you've never introduced me to that new wife of yours, have you?"

"No."

"Least you could do is tell me her name."

"Helen," Ralph said.

"I hear she's a lot younger than you. That true?"

"No. Actually, she's older."

"Real looker, though. Right?"

"Right."

"So. You gonna introduce us?" Earl pulled into the driveway and parked next to Ralph's back door. "Gonna invite me in for a beer and satisfy my curiosity?"

"Some other time," Ralph said. He opened the passenger door and got out.

And fell flat on his face.

"Jesus Christ! You okay?"

Ralph retched and copious vomit spewed through his clenched teeth.

Earl left the car and walked to where Ralph lay on the lawn.

"Delayed reaction to a kick in the gut," Earl said knowingly. "You won't be able to walk right for a week."

Suddenly the porch light came on and the back door opened. "Ralph?" a woman's voice called from the house. "That you?"

Ralph tried to answer, but bile still clogged his throat and made his body convulse with dry heaves.

"It's all right, Mrs. Bergstrom," Earl said. "I'm Sergeant Danzig. Ralph isn't feeling well. If you hold the door open for us, I'll help get him inside."

Ralph tried to resist, but Earl — two inches taller, fifty pounds heavier, and five years younger — managed to lift him and move his struggling body toward the door. In the eerie glow from a mercury vapor porchlight, Ralph's face looked pale, drained of blood. Spittle clung to the stub of five o'clock shadow that dotted his chin.

Then they were inside the house and moving into the bedroom. Earl heard Mrs. Bergstrom's footsteps two steps behind his own.

"What happened?" she asked.

Earl laid the resisting Ralph down on a king-size water bed. "Nothing serious," he said. "We were practicing hand-to-hand combat and Ralph got hit in the gut by accident. He'll recover in a day or two."

She said something he didn't catch. So he turned around to face her.

And then Earl saw her for the first time.

Oh.

God.

She was gorgeous.

Wearing a black-silk kimono that barely hid her voluptuous body from his prying eyes, she was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen in his entire life. Twin mounds pushed seductively against their silk sheath, and the thin material curved delicately around shapely hips and buttocks like a second skin. Ending — rather abruptly, he noticed — midway down milky-white, smooth-as-silk thighs. Since she was standing directly in front of the room's only lit lamp, the bright light was filtered through her thin kimono from behind, clearly outlining the precise juncture of legs and…

Obviously, she wasn't wearing underwear. Earl thought he could count pubic hairs, if he felt like trying.

He felt like trying, all right. But he didn't dare.

"I'm Helen," she said, subtly shifting her weight so Earl could get a better look. "Like what you see?"

Earl attempted to swallow, but his throat was far too dry. His tongue wouldn't work either, and his voice got lost as his heavy breathing accelerated to a fevered pitch.

He could hear his heart pounding in his head.

"Want to see more?" she asked, fingering the belt at her waist.

He licked his lips.

Is the Pope Polish? he wanted to say.

She slid the kimono from her shoulders and let it drop silently to the floor by her feet. Her nipples stuck straight out like twin spikes aimed at Earl's eyes.

"Helen," Ralph's voice croaked from the bed. "Don't…"

"I want you," she whispered. "I want you to fu —»

"Helen!" Ralph said again, louder. "You promised."

"I can't help it," she sighed. "I need…"

"I know what you did today," Ralph said, his voice strained. "You went out again, didn't you?"

"Yes. I went to the track."

"I know, goddammit. I know where you went. I saw what happened."

"It just… happened," she said. "I got carried away."

"And now," Ralph said, "you want more, don't you? When will it stop?"

"I'm never satisfied," she said. "Can I help it if I'm never satisfied?"

"Fight it, Helen. Fight the urge. You can do it. I know you can."

"I can't."

"Earl, listen to me. You must leave here. Now. Get away. Go home. Go to a bar. I don't care where you go, just get the hell outta here…."

"Earl doesn't want to leave," Helen said, licking her lips. "Do you, Earl?"

Earl shook his head.

"Helen's on fire," she whispered in Earl's ear. "Touch my pussy. Feel how hot I am."

Earl did.

Ralph closed his eyes. He didn't want to watch.

He couldn't help hearing, however.

He'd seen and heard it a thousand times before, but he was still powerless to put a stop to it.

Marrying Helen had been his one and only way of controlling her, of protecting her. Hopefully, of changing her.

But it hadn't helped.

Helen's appetite was voracious. He realized now that nothing he could say or do would ever change her.

Nor change the way he felt about her.

Eyes closed, he groped with his fingers for the handle of his service revolver.

They were doing it on the floor at the foot of the bed. Earl was on top. His breath came in tiny gasps as his buttocks rose and fell, rose and fell.

Ralph could tell that it was time.

"Now, Ralph!" Helen screamed as Earl pumped his seed inside her. "Do it now!"

Ralph didn't want to open his eyes, but he had to. His eyelids snapped open as he leveled the gun.

At this range, he couldn't miss.

Blood and brains splattered the walls.

Half a second later the sound of a shot assaulted Ralph's ears. He closed his eyes and tried — unsuccessfully — to block all further sight and sound from his tortured mind.

But he'd seen it too often before, and his mind — like a video recorder — insisted on replaying the entire scene, complete with all its gory details, in living color.

Helen, her naked body covered by what was left of the corpse, experienced pure ecstasy as multiple orgasms, triggered by Earl's death throes, vibrated her beautiful body like some kind of uncontrollable palsy. Rich red blood flowed from the hole where Earl's head used to be, and Helen's face and hair were thoroughly soaked and matted with slime; bits of bone, and spongy gray stuff that had to be parts of Earl's brains, obscured half her forehead.

Her eyes sparkled. She seemed to be smiling.

This, after all, was what she lived for, wasn't it? Her entire raison d'etre.

Nothing else mattered.

Ralph felt suddenly sick to his stomach, but there was precious little inside him he could still vomit out.

"I love you," she said after a time. "No one else can satisfy me the way you do. You know that, don't you? You're the best, Ralph. The absolute best."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she said.

"You won't go out again tomorrow, will you?" he asked.

"No," she answered. "Not tomorrow."

He wanted to believe her.

"Maybe the next day, though," she said, her voice already sounding emptier.