A Samhain Reward

From the photograph on the floor, two pair of eyes twinkled at me. A boy and a girl. Long ago sweethearts. And there it was - the best reason of all to live. Love.

"I'm not Evie," I said. "Don't you see what you could have had with her?" But he didn't.

I pulled away, giving up my rights. Paul's penis shriveled like an unsupported tent. He was unconscious, but his heart was still beating. My cunt shivered and the faint smell of pussy wafted to my nostrils. I'd drunk enough to have a chance. I touched myself with warm fingers. First, a quick jab inside to moisten my fingertips, and then I rubbed furious circles over my clitoris. I was so close.

Busting glass and splintered wood came flying through the room. The others had arrived, eager for their Samhain feast. Like carrion birds, they swooped inside and landed on him. In a flash, they were pushing and shoving and feeding on his every limb. Still more jumped on each morsel of tissue and blood and bone that scattered to the floor. In moments, nothing was left of him.

I told myself it wasn't my fault. I had let him live. The others were the ones that took his life. They had no conscience. And now he was dead. But his blood was in me, warm and hot. I just needed to make use of it.

It began in the center of my womb, a rumbling wave of sexual intensity, crashing through my live synapses, ebbing and flowing, until every corpuscle had felt its strength. It was as powerful an orgasm as any I'd felt.

End