Welcome to FROST HARROW, my new modern (1990s) gothic horror series! If you’d like to support this and my other work, go to www.CushingHorrors.com and become my patron! You may also enjoy the Scribe Award-Winning MANOS: THE HANDS OF FATE – In print, for kindle, and for all e-book formats. And check out my retro-horror-comedy classic CANOE COPS VS. THE MUMMY as well as my other books. NOTE: In case you didn’t notice before, this story contains Adult Content. You are warned! Now… On with the show!
TWENTY-SIX – MORGAN
Morgan Frost tossed back her red hair and admired her hunk-du-jour.
He was tall and well-built. He said his name was Barry. She’d found him at the health club in the hotel.
She’d taken a room at the Radisson, her usual one. Morgan liked her Sunday afternoon treats.
He’d followed her upstairs without a moment’s hesitation. Morgan liked that in a man.
Barry told her he was a tennis pro or something, in town for a demonstration. As if she cared. The demonstration she wanted had nothing to do with tennis, though it did feature fuzzy balls.
Morgan rose from the bed and stripped off her red and black teddy. Her generous breasts bounced gently as she did so. She lay back on the bed and spread her legs.
“Well?” she said. “What are you waiting for? Dig in. Lunch is free.”
Barry sat on the corner of the bed and struggled, first with his socks and then his underpants.
Morgan frowned at him. “Are you sure you’re up to this, stud?”
Barry nodded. “I just haven’t been sleeping well lately. I just need a little rest.”
“Well,” Morgan purred, “you’re not going to get any with me.”
She pulled him to her and kissed him.
“Me first,” she whispered.
He kissed his way down her body, lingering on her breasts and nipples. She enjoyed the sensation for a few minutes, then took hold of his hair and pushed him toward her crotch.
Fifteen minutes later she’d gasped out three orgasms and was working on a fourth when Barry suddenly ceased his ministrations.
“Shit!” she said, more than a little annoyed. “Why did you stop?”
“My turn now,” he said, getting to his knees. His voice sounded deeper than it had before. A strange fire burned in his brown eyes.
But it hadn’t been his eyes that caught Morgan’s attention. Barry possessed one of the largest cocks Morgan Frost had ever seen. She smiled.
“Turn over, bitch,” he said.
“Unh uh,” she replied, playfully shaking her head. “No glove, no love.” She reached for one of the condoms she’d placed on the night stand to the right side of the bed.
His hand intercepted hers, pressed her fingers into the wood. She could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. The musky scent of his cologne assaulted her nostrils.
“Not the way we do it here, whore,” he said. With his other hand he tried to force her onto her tummy.
Morgan resisted, but he weighed a lot more than she did. Slowly, inexorably, he pushed her face into the mattress. She clamped her legs together tightly; he began to force them apart with his knees. She tried to scream, but the mattress muffled her cries. She groped with her left hand, trying unsuccessfully to scratch his face. He still held her right hand pinned to the night stand.
“Why resist, cunt?” he said. “Just lay back and enjoy it.” As he spoke, hot spit dripped on her back. His drool felt like burning wax.
Morgan relaxed.
Barry smiled. “Ah. That’s better. Now we can have some real fun.”
Morgan’s left hand found the base of the lamp on the other nightstand. She grasped it firmly and spun quickly. Before Barry could react, she smashed the lamp against the side of his head.
He toppled from the bed, his senses reeling. She kicked him in the balls and then hit him with the other lamp just for good measure.
Then she grabbed her clothes and ran from the room without looking back.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Read my FREE Frost Harrow Halloween stories:
“The Weeping Ghost” (2012), “A Trace of Violet” (2013), “Lunchroom Zombies” (2014), “Omens & Visitations” (2015), “Fata Morgana” (2016), “At the Appointed Hour” (2017), and “Devil’s Lake” (2018).
