A STRETCHING EXERCISE

 

Anthony Beal

 

On all fours, he was dominant.  Isis reached between his beefy thighs to squeeze his dangling fruit.  Then her ostrich feather twirled, nailing him in that sensitive spot just behind the balls.  That always broke him.  His twitching, kicked-puppy whine earned him three riding crop lashes across the asscheeks.

 

Isis massaged baby oil into the wrist-thick phallus jutting from her pelvis, adjusted the straps and buckles fastening it onto her.  Did anything speak more eloquently of a man’s love for his woman than his hips rolling in acceptance of her frenzied rutting and fingernail welts striping his shoulders?  On all fours, he gave Isis his best.  Kneeling at his back, she’d do the same for him.

 

Isis nestled the neoprene dildo against his anal aperture and leaned forward.  He whimpered expertly, a veteran of this game.  Gradually, lovingly, Isis closed the thirteen inches between her body and his. 

 

 

 

 

Cautery

 

Anthony Beal

 

 

Her childhood, she’d spent collecting bruises like purple hearts.

 

“They aren’t bad people, your parents.  They love you,” folks always assured her.  When she was nine, their love broke her arm in three places.  At age twelve, it collapsed a lung.  She’d wished then that they hated her.

 

“Good, God-fearing folk,” neighbors called them.  She knew better.  Abusers feared nothing. 

 

Until tonight.  She and her tire iron had changed that.

 

Wearing her parents’ blood, she struck a match over the gasoline-soaked seniors bound on their bedroom floor.  Later, watching the house burn, she felt thirty-year-old wounds begin to close.

 

 

 

 

Anthony Beal’s works have appeared in several horror and erotica publications, including Yellow Mama, Oysters and Chocolate, Down In The Cellar, Clean Sheets, The Erotic Woman, and Dark Fire, as well as over a dozen anthologies.