Jeff Gelb: Hotter Blood: More Tales of Erotic Horror

"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.

"No. Just… quit it and fuck me… now !"

He struggled, trying to reposition himself. Joyce realized that their differences in size were causing him problems. That and the water. He was still worried about drowning her.

Suddenly, he reared back onto his haunches, dragging her up out of the water by the armpits, lifting her, planting her down on him, impaling her.

A club shoving high up into her.

She cried out and shuddered and clamped herself tight to his chest as spasms quaked through her body.

Spasms also quaked Ken.

He dropped forward, driving her down. Her back splashed, then slammed the bottom of the tub. Her head snapped down and thunked. Lights exploded in her vision as water rained down on her face.

When the exploding lights went away, she realized she was sprawled beneath Ken, her chin resting against the top of his shoulder.

"Christ," she gasped. "You hurt me."

He didn't apologize.

He didn't say a thing.

She realized that he couldn't. His head, next to her own, was facedown in the water. The level was lowering, but slowly. The heat enclosed Joyce's head like a warm hood. Only the front of her face was in the air.

So Ken's face had to be submerged.

He's going to drown!

"Ken!"

He didn't stir.

He wasn't making bubbles. He wasn't breathing.

His chest was mashed tight against Joyce's chest. She felt her raging heartbeat. Whether his was beating, she couldn't tell.

Though she was pinned down by his weight, her arms were free. They'd been around him at the moment of the fall. So she made fists and pounded on his back.

"Ken! Ken, wake up!"

He's not sleeping, you idiot.

"Ken! Get your head up! Ken!"

She kept hammering her fists down against his back. They made meaty thuds. She had no idea whether pounding on him would do any good, but she'd seen it done on doctor shows. Also, in a way, it felt good. Each blow sent quick little tremors through his body. Like rapping a watermelon at the grocery store. The tremors made him vibrate on top of her. They gave Joyce a tingle.

The blows even jostled his penis a little.

It was still buried in her. Still erect.

"I know you're faking," she said. "Now, come on. Dead guys don't have boners."

He didn't move.

"Come on, Ken. This isn't funny. I bumped my damned head. Besides, you scared me. I thought you were dead or something."

He still didn't move.

"All right. You're asking for it." She jabbed the long nail of her forefinger into his back. She felt it pop into his skin. He didn't flinch.