Halloween Erotica
"Gypsy Thief" a sex story by A.R.
Cristian watched the girl from the corner of the building, against which he leaned casually in the shade of a lemon tree. She had been slipping among the crowd of people in the noon-time crush at the marketplace, her face partially covered by a long dark veil. He had watched her cross back and forth at least four times, and she had sparked his latent curiosity. His sharp eyes, so like a bird of prey's, lit with amusement as he watched her repeatedly bump customers and slip her small hand into pouches and pockets, and quickly withdrawing it filled with coins. She would apologize, head down, and back away, only to strike again minutes later on the other side of the plaza.
Cristian stretched his lean, tawny body, his nostrils flaring with the overwhelming smell of blood heated by the sun. He was sated, or like any other predator, he would have been tempted to cull the herd in front of him. The night before he had come upon two drunken young men stumbling home in the cobblestone streets of the little village. The young men had been laughing, arms around each other, as their fate descended upon them in the dark. They had tasted of ale and women. Cristian had been haunting this village for the past few days; he liked out-of-the-way villages, on country roads where news of murders and crime were slow to travel to the authorities. Now, Cristian was almost ready to move on. He thought he would be able to feed once more before the townsfolk took notice and the witch hunt began. He liked the feel of this quiet town, away from the fighting that enveloped Europe and with a pace of life that nearly matched his own. The fields were green and peaceful, and a lazy river coursed sluggishly through the center of the buildings with thatched roofs and white walls. There was a war going on, but he had little interest in the affairs of men. That had rapidly faded away after his rebirth. He calculated that he had lived—existed—nearly 150 years since his heart had stopped beating. He had plenty of time to think, to muse over life and death, and he had realized many things about life. One was how slowly the time passed when you were utterly alone in the world. When your life stretched out endlessly before you, instead of hurrying toward certain death, time stood still. It was ironic, like many things in life.
Suddenly, a hubbub arose in front of him. Looking up, Cristian saw the girl. She was being shaken by a large, dark man whose face was an apoplectic shade of purple.
"You dirty Romani heathen!" he screamed. "Get your filthy little paws out of my purse!" As he shook her, coins fell in a shimmering display. The crowd began to dive for the coins, and the press of people descended on the duo. A little boy began hitting at the girl with a stick. The girl screamed, and tore loose, fighting her way through the people in front of her who booed and pushed at her.
"Thief! Beggar! Harlot!" they cried. Cristian laughed at "harlot." Humans could be so quick to judge. She came straight toward where he stood, and he instinctively pressed backward into the shadow of the alley behind him. As she made it through the edge of the crowd, no one followed, the people instead looking for the coins she had left behind. Only the big man bellowed after her. "Stop, thief! Give me my money!" He struggled to make his way through the crowd, but his bulk made him too slow. The girl ran faster, and as she rounded the corner near the lemon tree, she tripped on a loose stone and nearly ran into Cristian. The veil fell from her face as she gasped and looked up at him. Her eyes widened, and adrenaline pumped into her veins instinctively as she sensed more danger. Cristian started, taken aback by her eyes. They were almond-shaped, glowing a clear, liquid green, and they flashed in stark contrast to her olive skin and long, glossy black hair. She was young, and very fair.
She saw a tall, muscled man standing in the shadows, with yellow-brown skin and long hair tied back from his face. His golden eyes looked strange, and there was something wrong about his mouth. The lips were too full, but sensuous. He retreated farther, but she knew it was not because he was startled. It felt like he was holding himself back, and it terrified her. She pushed past him and ran down the alley, not looking back. Her heart skittered like a frightened bird.
Cristian realized he had been holding his breath. If he had had a heart, he imagined it, too, would have stopped. He thought at first it was because she had sparked his blood lust, the fragrant smell of her, the sound of her blood pulsing so close, the adrenaline from her flight pressing the warm liquid to the surface of her delectable skin. That was part of it. To use a human equation, she had been like an unusual hunger pang in his stomach, when he was already full. The other part of it was harder for him to fathom. Her eyes had caused a strange sensation in him, in his chest and his loins. In the past 150 years, he had had many women. Some he had used to sate more than one thirst, others, he had left alive when he was done. But never, in all that time, had he felt an attraction like what he felt now. It was more than sex. It was more than hunger for her blood. It was new, and he was incredibly curious as to what it might be.
Ceija sat in the shade of the cypress trees, her back resting against the roots. Her little band of Aurari, her family, were camped on the banks of the river that flowed through town. They usually kept a healthy distance between themselves and the towns they camped near, mostly because of various illegal activities and problems caused when people decided they didn't want vagrants in the area. The Aurari were nomadic, silversmiths by trade, criminals by reputation. Others grouped them with the rest of the Roma, or gypsies. Ceija shook her head, annoyed. That big bastard wouldn't have caught her if she had been paying more attention. She knew better than that. She had been taught since she was a child how to use her wiles for personal gain, how to slip invisibly among others and emerge richer. She didn't think of it as wrong. It was just how things were, and she loved the excitement of taking from others. She had gotten very good at this game, very quickly. Now, she had ruined her chances of a return trip to the marketplace anytime soon. And she had put others on the alert that gypsies were nearby. The Aurari didn't dress like the townsfolk, and their wild looks never quite blended in. Ceija was sure people would be looking for their camp now.
Her heart fluttered again as she thought of the strange man in the alley. She knew very well her effect on men, and usually when she encountered them she had the upper hand. This time, however, she had no doubt about who held the advantage. This man had had a wild feel to him, an animal feel, and he had caused her palms to become clammy with a sudden cold fear, and something more. Ceija was not afraid of anything. Not the dark, not snakes, nor any fabled creature. This man, though. His eyes…she had watched the pupils widen strangely, almost vertically, as she nearly ran into him. She had seen his lips curl slightly back from sharp white teeth. She shuddered, suddenly chilled in the hot summer day. She was also not used to lust, and the warm wet feeling collided in her body with the fear.
"Greetings, Ceija," a woman's voice from behind startled her. Ceija nearly jumped out of her skin, and the short, round woman walking quietly up to her laughed at her fright. "Whatever is the matter, love? Daydreaming again?"
"Aye, Marya, you scared me nearly to death," gasped Ceija. "I was just thinking, caught up in my head again."
"That's where you always are," chided the woman. "How did you make out in the village today? Your father has been asking for you. He says it's time you started more of a contribution to the family. He's in a raging mood today," she warned, then whispered close to Ceija's ear. "Too much wine."
Ceija sighed. It was an old story, one which all of the members of her father's little band were familiar with. Emilian was a drunk, and a nasty drunk at that.
"I think I'll make myself scarce, then. Tell him I am still working, that I am telling fortunes in the village. Maybe he will forget about me by the time he falls asleep tonight," Marya nodded at her words.
"A good plan, child. He may not awake tomorrow with much memory of today," Marya winked at her. Ceija was thankful for this kindly little woman who had taken her under her wing. Since her mother died, she had not had many friends among the other Aurari. She could sense their jealousy and hate, seething just beneath the surface. They wouldn't dare speak them to her face, because she was Emilian's daughter. But they also didn't have to be kind to her.
Ceija gathered up a few things, her cloak, a long, crooked dagger which she slipped into her boot, and her deck of tarot cards. She still had a few of the coins she'd gathered this afternoon, and her stomach was rumbling. She slipped around the circle of caravans, throwing her veil back over her face and disappearing into the trees.
As soon as she was free of the sounds of the encampment, she emerged from the trees to walk openly on the dusty cart road that led toward town. She wasn't sure if she was brave enough to go to the market, but she might find a little tavern toward the edge of town where she could find something to eat and drink. She anticipated a cold night somewhere, waiting for her father to forget he was looking for her. Maybe by then she would have more spoils to give him, to convince him that she was worth keeping around. Lately, Emilian had spoken of selling her to the richest bidder. He thought she would make someone a good wife.
"Wife," Ceija muttered to herself. "I'll be no man's wife." She took out her dagger, stabbing it toward the woods and twirling it through her fingers. "I'd like to see the man who could stand against me!" She laughed to herself, skipping along in a sunnier mood.
Cristian was watching her from the trees, a few paces beyond where her human eyes could easily spot him. He laughed too as he watched her play with the blade. A feisty little one, no doubt, he thought. He was hungry, as she was, but he was still not sure for what. For now, he would wait and watch until either food or sex decided. Or both, if the impulse so demanded. Cristian wondered at her slim figure, watching the play of sunlight on her glistening hair. He breathed deeply, inhaling a tantalizing wisp of her scent. He smelled the salt of her sweat as it rolled temptingly down her neck under the sheer veil she wore. His fangs ached for the milky neck just below that veil. He could imagine so clearly the soft, warm flesh as he penetrated her slowly. Because he would tease himself, he knew, delaying the moment when the hot blood would course over his lips, filling him, satisfying him to his very center. His hands twitched as he imagined them wrapped in her long, soft hair, maybe penetrating her elsewhere as he drank his fill…he shook his head, surprised at himself, and padded softly after her on the silent feet of a panther.
As Ceija approached the village, the sun was dipping toward the horizon. The warm lights of the little houses called to her, and she felt a longing for a warm bed and a full belly. She was used to the vagrant life, moving from one town to the next, always in a hurry to escape whatever was chasing them that day. Of late, Emilian had seemed to think there was always someone just behind them, someone on their trail. His paranoia meant they drove hard and barely rested many days, and now everyone's nerves were on edge, waiting for his next rage or command that would lead to a quick departure. On nights when Ceija stayed away from the camp, she feared sometimes that when she returned they would be gone without her. The Aurari could move quickly when they needed to, and it might take even a talented tracker like Ceija days to find them on foot.
Though the market was likely closing up for the night, Ceija gave it a wide berth. She didn't want to get caught in a dark alley by the big angry man, or any of the townsfolk that had seen her that day. Out toward the other edge of town, down near the river, she saw a sign for the Singing Pig. Perfect.
Inside the tavern was lit by a few flickering lamps, and smelled of stale beer and roasting meat. Cejia's stomach rolled, and she kept her head down as she surveyed the few customers. There was a man against the wall, swilling his beer and ignoring her. The barkeep was polishing the counter, scowling at her unwelcomingly. A barmaid sat at the end of the bar flirting with two other men. A table of dirty-looking workmen leered at her as she entered the room. Cejia kept to the shadows and gave the table of men a wide berth as she approached the bar. She chose a stool up against the wall. Her father had taught her the best way to have a defensible position—always have one side protected, if possible, and be able to watch the other sides.
"Did you need something?" The bartender didn't approach, grunting his question. He didn't like women in the bar. They always caused trouble. He could tell this little heathen was trouble the instant he saw her.
"I'm hungry. What food do you serve here?" Cejia's throaty voice belied her age. She kept her back straight and one hand on her blade, unsheathed and now just beneath her clothes. She would relax later when she was alone.
"I'll bring you something to eat. Why don't you hurry and eat it, and be on your way. It's late," the bartender scowled back over his shoulder as he entered the kitchen.
Cejia snorted. She grabbed a mug and served herself a beer from the tap while he was gone. "I'll be on my way when I'm ready," she muttered to herself. The beer tasted bitter but quenched her thirst, and she sighed contentedly as her limbs began to relax. The table of men was getting louder and rowdier, and she watched them out of the corner of her eye. They were watching her, too, and if she hadn't had that incident earlier in the day she would have played right into their growing interest. They would all have left with lighter coin purses if she had had her way. Cejia knew better than to press her luck in this town. It was best to wait to use her skills at her gypsy band's next stop. As she imagined the tricks she would have used on all of them, especially the scraggly looking one with the beard full of meat, a large hand clamped down on her shoulder. She froze, catching her breath.
"There you are, you little whore!" The fat man snarled as he whipped her around on the barstool. "I've been looking for you. You owe me money, and if you don't have it I'll take it out of your hide!" Cejia cursed herself silently for dropping her guard, and wrapped her hand more tightly around the handle of her dagger. His breath was rancid with alcohol, and his big hands were inescapable. She resigned herself to the idea of a bloody brawl and possible injury, and as she did so she grew perfectly calm. Her insides became stone, a trick learned long ago in a tumultuous childhood. Her hand was steady as she prepared to slide the blade between the man's ribs. As she steeled herself, the tavern suddenly went pitch black. The barmaid screamed, and the hubbub caused the fat bastard to loose his hold on her shoulder. Cejia had mentally mapped the place out as she walked in, another trick common to con men and soldiers. She hit the floor and scrambled toward the door, slamming her head into a table and tripping over someone as she bee-lined her escape. She felt the warm blood course down her forehead but even better, she felt the cold air from outside as she reached the door and plunged into the night.
Behind her she heard the man bellowing his rage, and she began to laugh as she stumbled around the side of the building. "Fat bastard! Poncey idiot!" She felt hot with exultation as the adrenaline pounded through her body. She didn't bother to think what could have caused her sudden ticket to freedom. She just thanked the stars as she followed the scent of the warm stables behind the tavern. The whuffing of the horses and the smell of hay and manure felt like home. She touched their velvet noses as she looked for an empty stall. They accepted her, going back to chewing hay as she found what she was looking for and curled up in the manger. No one would find her here, in the dark recesses of the stable. She burrowed down into the hay, forgetting for now her empty stomach.
Cejia was just beginning to doze off when the uneasy movement of the horses snapped her awake. Something was not right. It was still blackest night, and the cold had begun to penetrate the warmth of the stables. Her ears strained, but she heard nothing. She stayed motionless. A sharp whinny rang out at the stall farthest from her, and the horse's hooves pounded against the door. The others milled about anxiously. Something was frightening them. Cejia slid her dagger into her palm, pointing it out toward the darkness. Her breath quickened. The door to her stable opened outward, slowly, and she leapt from the manger. "Who's there?" She hissed, stabbing the air. "Who's there?" Her lithe body was poised, ready. Against the light pine, just outside the door, a figure materialized. Its eyes glowed like a cat's in the moonlight.
"I smelled your blood," the voice was low, ancient, compelling. "Aren't you going to thank me for saving your life tonight?"
"You!" Cejia gasped. "I saw you today! What…who…?" She let her question trail off, unsure what she was asking. Her skin broke out in goose bumps.
"Silly girl. Don't worry about what I am. I am here. I am Cristian." Cristian floated forward, his eyes never leaving her face. Transfixed, she stared at his face as it became clearer. The paleness made him look nearly translucent, the glowing eyes completely unsettling. His shirt was unbuttoned nearly to his navel, and the muscles rippled. Her stomach dropped.
"Get back!" She hissed. "Don't come any closer!"
Moon by Nathaniel Milljour
Suddenly she was on her back. He pinned her down at her wrists and ankles, his inexorable strength holding her fast. Her mind spun circles, and as her blood raced again the wound on her forehead re-opened. Cristian groaned and pressed against her tightly. He bent his head, and she felt his mouth surround the wound and suck gently. Terrified, she struggled but she might have been trying to move stone. She knew instinctively that he was not human. He was a phantom, some demon sent to destroy her. She faced her death, and she knew it. As soon as the realization hit her she relaxed. Her calming inner curtain fell over her mind, and her body was the only thing left to respond. As Cejia felt his lips on her head, moving down the side of her face to the tendrils of soft hair on her neck, she felt sudden heat in her center. She gasped, and pressed back against him. In her right hand, forgotten, lay her dagger.
"What is your name, girl?" Cristian paused, astounded at her reaction to him, amazed at the reaction flowing through his own body. He wanted to tear her in pieces, but at the same time the lust exploded in him like a volcano. The warring urges confused him, prevented him from immediately sating his bloodlust. He didn't loosen his grip, but relished the feeling of her soft, warm body beneath him. He could feel her pulse under his fingers, smell the hot musky sex rising from her body like a rich perfume.
"Cejia," she said simply, and as her lips parted he slipped his tongue between them, tasting her, relishing the slide of her damp flesh against his cold hardness. She sucked in her breath, tasting her own blood on his lips. "What do you want with me? Are you here to kill me?"
He didn't answer, loosing her hand to caress the side of her face. She remembered the knife in her hand at that moment, and tightened her fingers around it. He breathed in her ear, sending a shiver through her body. She felt his hard member against her sex, probing through the fabric of her skirt. His mouth moved to her neck, and he slid his teeth along the skin. Cristian felt the pounding of her blood throughout his being, felt the overwhelming thirst, the desire to drain her, to suck the very life out of her. His cock throbbed for her, and the memories of being human came shockingly fast. No woman, even when he had been mortal, had ever excited him this way. He yearned to crawl into her warmth, to strain against her body, and as he thought these thoughts he slid his hand down her inner thigh and probed his fingers into the folds of her. The blood in her mouth and his hand inside her were almost too much.
"Oh," Cejia moaned, and slid herself along the length of his finger. She told herself that she would stab him, soon, but not yet. The heat spread to her face, to her nipples, and the shock of his cold skin sent shivers through her. He shed his shirt, his trousers, and the naked force of him on top of her took her breath away. His hand slid up from her, wet, and he licked his hand clean, closing his eyes, tensing in exultation. With his wet hand he pushed her tunic up over her head, freeing her heaving breasts. The nipples hardened in the night air, and his cold mouth encircled them both, one after the other. He bit into one, too hard, and tasted blood again.
"I can take no more of this," he muttered as his hunger intensified. He ripped her free of her clothes, holding her in his arms like a rabbit in the talon of a bird of prey. He carried her to the manger, and as he laid her there she looked deep into his strange eyes and smiled.
"You will not take me like this," she said, and quick as a flash she slipped the silver blade of her dagger between his ribs.
The staggering pain came to Cristian in a wave. He did not remember what pain was, and he stared aghast at the dagger protruding from his chest. It burned still, and he ripped it out and flung it to the ground. It was silver, pure and finely tooled. He roared, and the stables shook with the sound. The horses responded, shrieking back.
Cejia watched the wound close before her eyes, no blood flowing from what should have been a cut that bled profusely. She closed her eyes, expecting death from this creature. She knew now what he was. She waited for the end to come, hoping that it would be quick.
Instead, she heard a gentle laugh. "You astound me," he said. "If you had placed that blow correctly I would have been undone. What are you, Cejia? Why do you do this to me?" To explain his words he guided her hand to his still-rock-hard member. "I want you still," he whispered. "You have only made it worse." At the touch of it, her body pressed upward to him. He slid his hands beneath her waist, cupping her perfect, soft buttocks, and dipped his mouth to her exposed cleft. His cold tongue between her lips opened them, the flower spreading for him. He had decided. It was not food tonight, but sex. He would have sex.
Cejia pulled him up toward her mouth, hungry for him despite or because of the terror he inspired. She gave herself over to the demands of her body. She held his stone face in her hands, licking his lips and gazing into his amber eyes. "Cristian," she said, trying the name. "Come into me."
He thrust her roughly back onto the hay, sliding his cock up and down the wetness that had spread between her thighs and down her legs. The smell of damp hay wafted up as he stroked. Cejia moaned again, pulling at his hips, begging him to take her now when only moments before she had sought to stop it. Obligingly he slid partway into her, wrapping his hands in her hair as he had imagined. He bent to breathe into her mouth, tasting again her pussy and blood and the sweet scent that was just her.
"You are mine," he said, and thrust all the way into her. She took his full length, feeling the pain and reveling in it. He was large, almost too much, and she turned her head to bite into his arm to stifle the scream. He picked her up, effortlessly, and she hung loose like a rag doll as he fucked her, slamming her body onto his cock. As he thrust and rocked he bit into her shoulder, piercing the skin and then becoming too intent on the taste to stop. He drank from her as he pounded and pounded, one hand on her breast, his mouth moving from shoulder to nipple to lips, both of them moaning and oblivious to the world. She began to scream, low screams in her throaty voice, rocking back and forth on him. He held her by the hair and by her creamy ass, and the pounding brought him closer and closer to the edge. Before he came he threw her to the hay and poised his cock over her mouth, pushing her head to it. She sucked it eagerly, touching his face and rubbing the blood she took from there over his cock as she took it in her mouth. With one hand she touched herself, and the fingers of the other wrapped around the base of him, caressing his balls and shaft.
"Enough!" Cristian cried, and fell on top of her, forcing into her folds and coming into her, into her deep hot depths in unfathomable ecstasy, the ecstasy of a man released from the prison of his monster's being. Into his mouth she breathed his name as her own pulsations ripped through her, hot and painful and damning. Heaven and hell became one for them both, crashing down around them in the heat and the fury of their unnatural union.
Copyright October 2011, A.R.
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.
