Hank was finding it difficult to keep his balance as he thrust his hips between Silvana’s long, parted legs. She moaned in delight as each drop of sweat splashed onto her taut belly. Normally, such erotic groans, coupled with the warm tug of her deliciously wet sex and the steady bounce of her perfect, soft breasts would have been enough to send him over the edge, but he was so busy trying to keep himself from falling onto his side that he ended up grinding away like a porn star, which, in this case, was not a bad thing.
Maybe there was an advantage to losing a leg.
It had been six months since his motorcycle had tipped over on that tight curve as he exited the highway to his house. Unlike the Gretchen Wilson song that they had played several times at the pig roast that night, he was not one Bud Wiser when he hopped on his Harley. By the time he and the bike had stopped their skid (with a bone rending crash against a tree that stopped him from going over a cliff), his left leg was nothing more than a few strips of flesh and a stump of exposed, splintered bone.
Every aspect of his life from that moment on had been pure hell, with one exception.
Silvana.
She’d been his nurse right from the moment he’d been brought unconscious into the ER. When he needed pain meds, she was there. When he woke up crying or freaking out, she was at his side, holding his hand.
Now here he was, two days out of the hospital with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, his comforter and healer, Silvana. Amazing how he had managed to step up in his class of women exactly when taking any physical step up was a journey that usually led back to square one.
“Oh God, I’m gonna come,” Silvana squealed. She grabbed his ass and pulled him deeper inside, shaking with the wildest orgasm Hank had ever seen, heard or felt. It was like riding Space Mountain and Splash Mountain at the same time! And Jesus, did he love her mountains.
Before he could take a breath, she had managed to switch positions. Her breasts swayed across his face, her dark nipples brushing across his lips. “Now it’s your turn,” she whispered.
Between her full, tan breasts dangled a long white key held around her neck by a thin gold chain. If she moved down any closer the key was bound to smack into his nose or worse yet, poke one of his eyes.
Silvana shifted her weight and he winced.
“I’m sorry baby, did I hurt you?”
“It’s okay,” he stammered. Pain and pleasure were now conjoined twins and he didn’t know whether to come or scream. It only took seconds for the former while he did his best to hold back the latter. She remained straddled across his hips while he grew limp inside her.
“Wow,” she huffed, out of breath.
“That’s putting it mildly.”
Hank’s eyes roved up and down her flawless body, covered in a delicious sheen of sweat. “Pinch me, I must be dreaming,” he said.
To his surprise, she reached down and tweaked the flesh of the stump that was once his leg. He recoiled in pain.
“Hey, that fucking hurt!”
“Can you forgive me?” she cooed. She massaged her breasts together, smothering the strange white key between her cleavage. As much as he hated to admit it, because the woman had just intentionally hurt him, he was helplessly hypnotized.
When the key reemerged, he said, “That’s an interesting necklace. Where’d you get it?”
Tracing her finger across its ivory edges, she said, “Someplace very special. It’s a real working key, you know.”
It was about two times the size of a normal house key with a considerably sharp point.
“Must open a pretty big door.”
“The biggest,” she replied with a husky giggle.
It suddenly dawned on Hank that even though they had spent a ton of time together during his recovery in the hospital, he really didn’t know much about her. In the hospital, she was a competent, caring nurse. In her apartment, she was a barely contained erotic hurricane. And now she was giggling over this strange key like a little child who knew a secret that no adult could ever understand.
“You know, you’re not my first,” she said, inching up to rest on his stomach. At least she was further away from his wounded leg.
“I kind of got that feeling.”
Again with the giggling. “Not that. My first, you know…” She tilted her head to look down at the spot where his leg should be.
“You mean amputee?” he said, a cold prickle of doubt inching up his spine.
“I guess you could say it’s like a fetish of mine. You’d think they’d be grateful, but they never are. I mean, look at me!”
She removed the necklace and held the key in her hand.
A bilious swarm of dread made Hank’s flesh grow cold. He tried to move out from under Silvana but was as weak and defenseless as a baby.
“When they brought you in that night, no one told you that your leg came in thirty minutes later, or what was left of it.”
“What are you saying? They could have reattached my leg?”
She shook her head. “But I saved it. The thing about a leg is there’s so much bone to work with.”
She brought the alabaster key to her cherry lips and kissed it.
“It helped me make the key to your heart, baby.”
“No, no, no!” Hank struggled to move out from under her.
“And now that I have the key, I’m going to lock you up nice and tight.”
Silvana raised the key above her head and plunged it into his chest, expertly finding the gap between his ribs and puncturing his heart. It beat wildly for a moment and the world spun.
“Silvana,” he whispered.
His heart slowed, and the pain that had been his constant companion ebbed into the ether.
Her face slipped out of focus. The sound of her labored breathing grew distant, fading as he hurtled into the unknown.
Hank felt the blood grow still in his body and his life seep into the musky sheets.
“Now you’re mine forever,” she whispered, and twisted the key.
~ Hunter Shea
© Copyright 2012 Hunter Shea. All Rights Reserved.
Pen of the Damned 