We know Halloween has been and gone but we're not quite ready to give up on spooks yet, so today we have no less than TWO thrilling, chilling erotic stories for you!
This first story, Monster Sex
, came runner up in our Thrills & Chills Erotic Writing Story Competition (read the winning entry by Mia Midnight here
is creepy and sexy, and if that's your thing, you'll love it!
Monster Sex by Scandarella
If you asked around, most people would tell you that falling asleep in the bath is a dumb move. It’s dangerous. You could drown, or freeze to death, or wrinkle up so much you turn into a raisin and get washed down the plughole, never to be seen again.
Okay, so that last bit isn’t entirely true. Wrinkling up is a thing, sure, but you aren’t in any danger of being swept away to the sewers. But if you fall asleep in the bath on Halloween
… well, it isn’t what goes down the plughole you need to worry about. It’s what comes up out of it that should be cause for concern…
I’d chosen to avoid all things to do with All Hallows Eve this year, and had switched off all of the lights, plunging my whole house into darkness. The only light within my walls was coming from the two tea light candles I’d placed on the closed toilet seat, just opposite the bath. One was basic patchouli, the other a mixed fragrance called seafoam. An odd combo, I know, but it worked for me.
Relaxation had never been my strong suit, but I was tired and achy, so it didn’t take long for me to sink deeper into the steaming hot water and drift off, cocooned in billions of fluffy white bubbles.
I dreamt my usual rags to riches, shelf stacker to super-starlet dream of red carpets and rose petals, rudely awaking right before the part where I get offered the lead in the next box office shattering romance.
Two things settled on me at once: I was horny as hell, and something was moving against my right leg, just by the ball chain that held the plug. A roiling mass of bubbles started to churn right above where the plug would be, and the water level began to rise.
Backing up the bath a little, I stared in confusion. The gurgling said the bath was draining, but it was still getting deeper. It took me almost half a minute to decide I should really get my ass out of there, but before I could even put enough weight on my arms to lift myself, something began to coil around my ankles.
I could have screamed. I should have, in fact, but the way whatever it was felt against my skin, clingy, sucky, draggy… I liked it.
A flash of fleshy pink just beneath the surface of the water caught my eye, and I told myself it was just my foot. It wasn’t. I knew that for a fact, because I was completely incapable of getting my foot anywhere near my hips.
Suddenly, something wrapped around my waist and pulled me down into the water. My whole upper body was submerged, leaving only my nose and mouth exposed to the air. The coils around my ankles tightened, pulling my legs apart. They didn’t have to pull very hard. I was a willing participant in whatever this was.
Stinging rushed up my legs as something adhered to my skin then pulled away. They felt like a thousand tiny pairs of lips, and I felt them pop away one at a time, sure they’d be leaving little love-bites in their wake. They were getting closer to the tops of my thighs, pushing them further and further apart until I knew I was gaping wide. Bizarrely, I hoped that whatever it was couldn’t see. I didn’t mind it molesting me, but god forbid it looking upon and judging my untamed pubic wilderness.
One soft sucker wrapped around my clit, and my moan was shockingly magnified by the water that filled my ears. That was heaven enough, but then what felt like dozens of tiny pins started to prickle as the sucker twisted.
, I thought helplessly. They weren’t pins, they were teeth. That was a truly sickening thought, but it didn’t stop me from grabbing my breasts, from thrusting my groin forward and wriggling in encouragement.
That first tentative probe around my vagina promised good things. It spoke of gentleness, of care and consideration. So my scream almost deafened me when an almost endless, fat thing plunged into my pussy. I felt my belly bulge against my elbow, and screamed again.
In and out, over and over, surging and splashing water into my mouth, up my nose. I was sure I would be drowned, but the thing must have had the same thought. It lifted me quickly, spinning me in the air a foot above the water before dropping me back down.
I saw it, as I turned. At least I think I did. I saw something huge, soft and squishy looking, but with a peculiarly humanoid shaped torso. It wasn’t human, though. No human had enough arms to wrap around both of my arms, both legs, and both breasts while sliding a great length into my pussy, and now another into my mouth.
I gagged and writhed, praying for that one last thing. Pressure at my ass, then sweet penetration. The tentacles – yes, I knew what they were now – thrust in and out of me faster and faster until both they and my entire body convulsed with pleasure. My belly was filling with something salty, and I guessed that the new pumping pressure inside my vagina and ass were the same thing.
The water heaved once more, then I was on my back again, staring at the ceiling. Everything was still, as though nothing had happened. I might have believed that were true, if not for two things. The ache in my belly, and the little pin prick circle shaped love bite, just to the left of my right nipple.
So, if you should take a lonely bath on Halloween, beware. There’s no guessing what lurks beneath your plughole, waiting for a chance to cum out. There might be a thing in your bath, just waiting for you to doze off. But don’t lose too much sleep over it. You never know, when your thing comes for you, you might just like it.
The 2nd runner up, High Five by Angela Garrigan is clever and sexy, and we love how the author made good use of the word Sh!
Sarah felt a hand stroking her side. She moaned softly into her pillow and started to turn over. The hand insisted she stay put.
“Sh.” The hand continued its journey. Soft, insistent strokes traced the shape of her body. Short fingernails occasionally made their presence felt as they left faint, pink lines on her back. She felt her buttocks tighten slightly and then relax as fingers explored every contour and crevice.
Sarah gasped. The hand teased her from behind before moving to caress her hip.
“Don’t stop, please,”
“Sh.” The hand traced her abdomen, once again the finger nails made their mark. She arched her back slightly as her breasts were stroked and squeezed. She lay still, her eyes closed. Her breathing caught as her nipples reacted to the touch. She squirmed a little as the hand took possession of both nipples at once. The caresses, gentle at first, progressed to more insistent, rougher handling. She moaned softly. She felt her nipples ache for more as the hand relinquished its hold.
“Oh, god, please don’t…” She whispered.
Sarah buried her fingers in the pillow, her breathing was ragged. She could feel her heart beating. She let out a low growl as she felt the fingernails scrape across and down her stomach. She held her breath. The hand paused. She whimpered. It moved to her hip and continued down. She felt the fingers squeeze her thigh as they traced the shape of it. Rising now toward their goal, Sarah responded to their pressure and shifted to part her legs. Once again she tried to turn, but the hand restrained her.
“I want to kiss you.” She pleaded.
“Sh.” The hand cupped her. Sarah stayed where she was. The fingers travelled up and down, teasing her. She ached for more.
Sarah groaned as she felt the fingers explore her, as they grazed her clitoris and dipped into her wetness. She writhed as the passion built in her. She wanted this to go on forever. She wanted to come. Every sinew of her being was focused on that hand. Its probing was relentless and Sarah felt like she was losing her mind.
The hand moved and Sarah gasped as two fingers slipped inside her. She answered the thrusts with her body and groaned when a third finger went in. All motion stopped.
“Oh Jesus, don’t stop, oh god…” She was barely able to utter the words.
“Sh.” The fingers began to move, curling inside of her, urging her on. There was a fourth. Sarah couldn’t speak, her breathing was ragged as she ground herself down onto the hand. The world ceased to exist. There was only Sarah and sensation. Only Sarah and the hand that had now balled into a fist inside her. Again, everything stopped. She had never felt anything like this before. She pushed herself onto it, bucking and riding, panting and sweating. She was being fucked like she’d never been fucked before. Every twist and turn, every thrust made her cry out. The passion bordered on delirium. She felt the orgasm build from deep inside of her. She roared as she erupted. She felt herself tighten around the hand as she screamed her release.
She lay there, breathless, unable to speak, unable to move. Waves of pleasure tore through her body, over and over again. Eventually she felt herself let go of the hand.
She felt it slip gently out and cup her, applying slight pressure at the same time. She closed her eyes and felt herself drift.
Sarah stretched. She couldn’t remember ever having such fantastic sex. Mags must be honing her skills
. She smiled to herself.
“I was out for the count last night, I didn’t hear you come in” She reached for her girlfriend. She wasn’t there.
“Mags? Hon, are you making coffee by any chance?” She called as she got out of bed. There was no answer. Sarah grabbed her dressing gown and headed down stairs.
“Mags? You’re missing out babe, come back to bed.” The house was empty.
As she tied the belt on her robe, she noticed the message light blinking on the ansaphone. She pressed the play button.
“Hi sweetie, I’m sorry, but I won’t be back for Halloween after all. There’s been a hitch in production. I’ll call you later. Love you babe.”
Sarah frowned. How could Mags still be on the other side of the world? What the fuck? Who was in her bed this morning? How was someone in her bed this morning? Was it a dream? No, don’t be stupid, of course it wasn’t.
She walked slowly back to her bedroom. As she sat on the side of the bed, she noticed a book on the bedside table. She peered at the title.
The Ghost of Shoreditch. She turned it over.
From the streets of Shoreditch to the mansions of Mayfair, Emily Hepworth plied her trade as a fingersmith. A notorious thief and womaniser, Hepworth vanished in 1888. The discovery of her skeletal remains, minus the right hand, raised speculation. Did she steal from one person too many? Did the killer cut off her hand before walling her up in a crypt in Hoxton? Was it revenge, greed or a jealous lover? Is she the ghost so many women talk about? This book explores her extraordinary life and mysterious death and answers many of the questions that historians have been pondering for decades.
Sarah felt the blood drain from her face as she opened the book. There was an inscription.