Hotter Blood: More Tales of Erotic Horror

so. 'Why don't you eat?'

The bastard.

I'm perfect the way I am.

She brought her hands down, savoring their touch, excited by the sight of all the Joyces caressing their breasts, gently squeezing their nipples, sliding their hands down their ribs (which are just fine, thank you), down the slim smoothness of their bellies, lower until their thumbs pushed into soft, gleaming coils of hair.

If Ken walks in and sees me like this, she thought, he'll never let me make it to the tub.

She hurried over to it. The water was high. She shut off the faucets and listened, wondering if he might already be in the house. She heard only her own quick heartbeat, her own ragged breathing, and quiet plops of water dripping from the spout.

Ken could be just outside the bathroom door.

Gripping the high rim of the tub, she swung a leg over. Hot water engulfed her foot. It was almost too hot. In the mirrors, she watched other Joyces climb into the tub, hold on to both sides, and slowly lower themselves. Then only their heads and the tops of their shoulders were visible.

Joyce slid herself forward. Her rump squeaked once against the porcelain as she leaned back. When she was submerged to the chin, she stopped her slide by raising her knees and pressing her feet flat against the bottom of the tub.

The damned thing was too long. She could never just stretch out in it, feet against the far end to keep her head out of the water. Which meant she could never truly relax. She had to keep her feet planted. Either that or prop herself up by spreading her legs wide enough to brace against the sides of the tub.

A real pain.

But this is one damned cloud with a silver lining, she told herself. The fucking tub's just the right size for fucking. Big Ken would be able to fit right in.

'Gonna do it right in your precious tub,' she muttered. 'How do you like them apples, Harold?'

She waited, savoring the water's heat, caressing herself. The ceiling mirrors reflected candlelight down into the tub. She watched her hands move, her body writhe as she squirmed with pleasure.

She flinched at the sound of a floorboard creaking.

He's here!

In the bedroom?

She scooted backward, sliding herself up until she was sitting. She rested her arms on the sides of the tub. She wanted to look just right when he entered, and the mirrors showed that she did. Water covered her like an iridescent mist from the belly down. Her arms, shoulders, and chest were wet and shiny.

She turned her eyes to the bathroom door.

What's taking him so long? she wondered. And then she heard a faint, muffled footstep.

Definitely a footstep.

What if it isn't Ken?

A shiver crawled up Joyce's body. She felt her skin tighten and tingle with goosebumps.

Anybody might've walked into the house.

But it has to be Ken.

It doesn't have to be.

But if it's a stranger out there, maybe he thinks the house is deserted. Maybe he won't find me. Maybe. .

The door flew open.

Joyce gasped and flinched.

Ken strode into the bathroom as if parading onto the stage at a body-building contest.

He had removed his clothes. He had oiled his skin.

'It's you,' she whispered.

He began to pose. He turned this way and that, moving and pausing and flexing with slow, graceful elegance. His muscles bulged and rippled. Joyce watched, breathless. She had seen him do all this before, but never in the fluttering gold of candlelight.

He looked magnificent and strange. A gorgeous, hairless monster of dancing mounds and slabs.

When he strutted to the rear of the tub, Joyce didn't have to turn her head. She watched him in a mirror, watched him bend and reach down and slip his hands around her breasts. They touched her only for a moment. Then he pranced backward, curling his arms and twisting his torso.

He twirled around. With coy glances over his shoulder, he came to the side of the tub. He raised his arms and flexed, displaying the bands of muscle crisscrossing his back, the hard mounds of his rump. Joyce smiled when he made his buttocks bounce. One side at a time. She reached up and stroked one slick cheek.

He gently swatted her hand away as if offended, strutted away from the tub, then whirled around and sashayed back to her. Hands on hips, he bent his knees. His rigid penis, inches from her face, jerked up and down. He hopped closer. Joyce twisted toward him, rolling onto one hip, clutching the rim of the tub with both hands. Her breasts pushed against the cool porcelain wall. She opened her mouth. He brushed against her lips, teasing her, not entering. Then he pranced backward.

'Quit it,' she gasped. 'Get in here. I want you in me.'

He returned to the tub. Peering down at her, he whispered, 'You look delicious.'

'You look pretty good yourself.'

'You seriously want me in the tub?'

'There's plenty of room.'

'The bed would be more comfortable.'

'But not as exciting.'

He shrugged his massive shoulders. Bending over, he clutched the side of the tub and climbed in. He stood at her feet, glanced down at her, then turned his head slowly, surveying his images in the mirrors.

'Quit admiring yourself and fuck me.'

He sank slowly to his knees, flinching a bit when the hot water met his scrotum. Joyce slipped down into the warmth. As it engulfed her to the neck, her feet met the slippery skin of Ken's thighs.

'You don't want me on top, do you?'

'Of course I do.'

'You want to drown?'

'I want to be crushed.' She lifted a foot out of the water and stroked him. 'I want to feel you on me, that whole gorgeous body pounding me senseless.'

He moaned. He nodded. He muttered, 'Let's lose the water.'

'Hurry. Just hurry.'

He reached down behind his rump. Joyce heard a quick sucking gurgle, then the soft rush of water flowing down the drainpipe.

She spread her legs. Ken crawled forward slowly. His hands glided up her thighs, caressed her hips and belly, moved up the slope to her rib cage. They cupped her breasts. As they squeezed, she lifted a hand out of the water and curled her fingers around his penis.

'In,' she whispered.

His hands slid away and down her sides. Bracing himself above her, he lowered his face into the water. His tongue flicked her right nipple, swirled and pressed. His mouth opened, and she felt his lips around her breast. He sucked. He sucked it deep into his mouth.

'God!' she cried out. She let go of his penis and clutched his back.

He let go. He came up gasping. His dripping face smiled at her, then plunged down again. She felt lips on her other breast. They were like a soft, pliant ring encircling her nipple, making a tight seal. This time, they didn't suck. They blew. Blew like a kid making fart sounds on his arm. Lips and air and water vibrated against her nipple. Bubbles erupted on the surface.

Gasping, she pushed his head away.

'Did it hurt?' he asked.