Netflix and Kill

In the still of a lonely Tuesday afternoon nap, Samantha felt a strange pressure under the covers next to her. A small sudden movement.

It wasn’t her cat. Bartleby was sitting on the windowsill near the radiator, his glossy black coat looking perfect after his hours of grooming.

In the liminal space between sleeping and waking she felt it again, ghost fingers on her bare hip.

She wore nothing in bed but long black socks that kissed her thighs.

It wasn’t until the third little motion that she realized it was the buzz of her phone.

Four messages. She narrowed her eyes.

It was Mark. Mark was confusing. Mark was a little creepy. Mark was good in bed.

“Hey. 3:05pm”

“What’s up? You doing anything today? 3:07pm”

“Thought we could hang out and watch some movies or something. 3:15pm”

“Well, let me know if you’re up for something. 4:02pm”

The debate began in her head. “Hang out” and “something” was well known boyspeak for coming over to awkwardly chat for a few minutes and then fucking.

Not that the scenario was horrible. Samantha thought about it. Bartleby meowed once. She wasn’t sure if the cat was yelling at her for considering it or just telling her he was hungry.

“Sure, can you bring pizza?”

If you are going to do something, do it right.

“Cool! 7? 🍕🍕”

She smiled at the pizza emoji while rolling her eyes.

“k.”

Then it was out of bed.

“Is this really worth scrubbing my toilet and shaving my pussy, Bart?” She asked her cat, who stretched and flexed his claws.

A steely glare was all she got in reply.

Feed the cat, shower, clean up.

The doorbell rang while she was still in a towel, far too early for Mark to have gotten there. Samantha ran to her door and look out the peephole to see a kid in a ghost costume, holding a smiling woman’s hand.

“Shit, I forgot to buy candy,” she whispered.

The doorbell rang again and filled with guilt, Samantha stood there in silence until the trick-or-treater went away. There was a mix of guilt and annoyance as the bell rang regularly.

Mark arrived 6:55, the eager beaver. She had been looking through the peephole in her door at every bell.

Opening the door she felt good about her choice. He had a pizza, from the good brick oven place nearby. He had a handsome face, a little stubble, salt and pepper hair.

She remembered that he liked to pull her hair and the memory made her cheeks warm as she hugged him and kissed him on the the very edge of his lips and invited him in.

Then it was pizza and laughing about this and that and his hand on her knee as they flipped through silly YouTube videos and the menu of Netflix’s offering.

“Oh I almost forgot it was Halloween! When I saw all the kids dressed up on the street I stopped at a drugstore and got a bag of chocolates,” he said pulling a huge bag of assorted candy bars out of his messenger bag.

“Want to watch something scary?” He said, flipping through the little thumbnails for Saw and Hostel.

She shrugged. Now that he was in her apartment she didn’t want to play the game of “let’s pretend we want to watch movies.” She wanted to fuck. She wanted him to make his move. She felt the itch of need start, but she bit her lip and shrugged at his questions.

The doorbell rang again. Four times quickly, eager kids wanting candy.

“Shh, it’s kids wanting candy. We have to be quiet and hide,” she said, biting her lip and moving closer.

He smiled a crooked smile. He was a smart boy. He reached over her and closed the pizza box. As he straightened, he moved closer to her. Samantha relaxed her shoulders, letting her eyes close, waiting for the kiss.

“Shit!” he said as a crash was followed by the angry howl and hiss of a cat.

Bartleby had jumped on the coffee table, knocking over the bottle of wine and then jumped on and then quickly off Mark’s lap.

Samantha tried to contain a giggle as he cursed and tried to stop the flow of red wine onto his pants.

The mess was cleaned up, except for his jeans.

“Damn,” he said, blotting the stain, a little more angry and annoyed then she thought was warranted.

Samantha stood in front of him and slowly kneeled. She pushed away his hands and opened his belt and his fly,  pulled his jeans and boxers off.

“I can put them in the washing machine, if you don’t mind not having any pants for awhile,” she said sweetly, taking his cock in her hand and squeezing it gently, looking up at him and batting her lashes.

“Yeah, um, okay,” he said, swallowing.

Boys were simple.

His jeans in the wash, Samantha lead him to her bedroom. She pushed him into the mattress and and crawled on top of him, kissing garlic and red wine lips, feeling his cock hardening.

A flash of black and once more Bartleby pounced on Mark, claws on his naked legs, causing him to sit up and shout.

“Fucking cat!” he yelled, hand going to the red streak on his calf.

Samara laughed, but also cooed and tried to smooth Mark.

“I’m sorry, you’re okay, it’s just a scratch. We can clean it off after,” she said, her smile wanton as she pushed him back down.

From the corner of her eye she met Bartleby’s green eyes. He sat on the windowsill, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

“Where were we?” Samantha asked, moving down Mark’s body and talking his half hard dick in her mouth.

He was warm and very quickly hard and smelled slightly of sweat and soap. His cock felt good in her mouth, against her tongue, on the edge of her throat. It felt dirty and a little wrong and it made her thighs squeeze together and her heart race.

They heard the doorbell ring from the other room, but didn’t stop. It felt more dangerous because they had to be quiet. She liked that a lot.

His hand went to her hair. She smiled as she kept sucking. He pulled her towards him, making her take more of him into her mouth, making her cough and gag.

Her eyes watered but she tried to keep up her rhythm.

She swooned when she heard his moans. She took long slow strokes, then she sucked just the head. He let out sharp grunts of pleasure.

Then she got up, taking her shirt off in one swift move. She pulled off her skirt, her panties, until she was just in her knee high socks.

“Can you fuck me now?” she purred.

He nodded dumbly.

She bit her lip and then smiled.

“Condoms in the little box,” she pointed.

There was the briefest look of disappointment on his face, which brought to mind all the reasons she was dubious about Mark. Still, he was a good boy and rolled over to the side of the bed, plucking a little foil square out of the box.

Then he was on top of her, wrestling her down as they kissed, his hard cock against her thigh, the need to have it inside of her, filling her up, was overwhelming.

“Are you going to fuck me hard?” She taunted.

“Yeah,” he said, pushing her down hard.

She tried to get back up, wanting him to push her down again, harder.

“You going to hold me down better than this?” She teased.

His hands found her wrists. His mouth found her neck.

The doorbell rang, their eyes met and she laughed a little. He didn’t

From the other room something crashed and there was another loud meow.

He turned his head to the other room, but she pulled his chin back so that he looked at her. They kissed again. She wanted him to focus.

They wrestled around, his cock slipping against her wetness, but they teased each other and got each other more and more worked up.

From the corner of her eye, Sam saw Bartleby sitting on the windowsill watching them. The moon was visible out the window. Mark had enough teasing and finally pushed his cock into her hard, holding down her wrists tightly and grunting as he fucked her.

The doorbell rang, the cat knocked something else over, the moon was calling from the window. Samantha closed her eyes and tried to concentrate, but Halloween had stuck up on her. She knew it was no use ignoring it.

Kisses made her wet, a hard cock made her wanton, but sometimes only blood could make her come.

She watched him on top of her, the muscles in his shoulders tight, his chest hard, veins in his arms bulging.

She fought against his grim on her wrists. He smiled and laughed, “you’re not going anywhere.”

She smiled back, looking down she saw the blood from the scratch he’d gotten minutes before. Four thin red lines, each ending with a little drop of blood. She felt the hungers mix in her belly and her cunt. She felt strength grow inside of her. As he fucked her harder she took a deep breath and as she released it, she tightened her hands into fists and pushed forward.

In a flash, Mark was on his back, the Samantha on top of him. She had flipped him, but his cock was still inside of her. She looked down at him as she grabbed his wrists and pushed him down.

“Whoa, hot,” he said, a little confused, but game.

She smiled a very different smile down at him. Her eyes were darker. Her lips seemed redder. Her pussy felt like a furnace as she fucked him.

A flash of black appeared to their left. Bartleby jumped onto the bed, purring. In his mouth a long thin bit of silver.

Samantha looked deep into Mark’s eyes. Deeper. The room swirled and darkened and all there was were her eyes.

“You stay still, lover boy,” she whispered and he nodded.

She let go of his wrists, but his arms stayed put. She took the gift from her cat. The kris blade. It had been a long time since she held it’s slender weight. It felt cool and electric.

She stopped fucking him. His cock had become boring. She needed more. Slipping off of him, she turned, moving up his body until she ass was above his face.

“You be a good boy and lick. Lick and lick and don’t you dare stop, no matter what,” she said in the same steady whisper.

“Yes. Please. Let me taste you,” he begged.

She sat down on his face, his eager tongue finding her clit, with her help. She shifted and squirmed over him, pushing her weight down, reveling in his hot wet mouth.

In front of her, she saw his hard cock, still wet with her, throbbing and desperate. She liked to watch it move with his heartbeat.

And then there was the pretty knife. A pale silver curved blade with dark little carvings, all those symbols etched into the metal and her mind.

She laid the blade on his strong abs. She felt him trying to breath, but continuing to lick and lick and that lovely licking was building a fire inside of her.

“Good boy,” she murmured.

The knife in her hand, the handle fitting so perfectly, like his cock fit inside of her cunt.

His arms twitched, his cock was red, the tip of the knife on his solar plexus. The point so sharp even a touch left a little drop of blood.

He was writhing a bit under her, his tongue still going, making circles, tight little circles, getting her closer and closer. She closed her eyes, but she still saw the moon. The stars calling her. A thousand hungry ghosts out on the city streets. The rush of heat was filling her belly, up into her face down between her legs.

Suddenly her hands were in the air, both tight on the knife, then down down in a flash.

The orgasm came like a crash of lightning. She felt it rush through her veins. She felt it hum in every cell of her body. Her hands were on his warm wet chest, sticky with his blood. She ground down on his tongue as he tried desperately to get the last licks his mouth could make.

Her fingers dug into the long deep gash she made. She dug around, making happy cooing sounds, as she pulled the now useless boy apart.

Bartleby purred next to her. He climbed onto the pillow Mark’s now still head laid upon, turned in a circle and sat down.

A few minutes later, she opened the door and heard screams and laughter.

“Wow, lady, you look like a real killer!” a pair of Wonder Women said, pointing to the shroud of bloody sheets she wore like a toga.

“You should see the other guy,” she said with a smile, handing out Mark’s candy to all their greedy pumpkin buckets.

And with that, Samantha’s Halloween night began.

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