As I mentioned more than a month ago, I am reading the Anita Blake series by Laurell K. Hamilton, which starts with Guilty Pleasures. Onto book 4: The Lunatic Cafe! I’m reading about 175 pages a week. Each week, I’ll be bringing you two posts: a review of the book and a related kinky post. This is my kinky story!
Description from Amazon: Vampire hunter and zombie animator Anita Blake is an expert at sniffing out the bad from the good. But in The Lunatic Cafe-now in trade paperback for the first time-she’s about to learn that nothing is ever as it seems, especially in matters of the not-so-human heart.
Dating a werewolf with self-esteem issues is stressing Anita out. Especially when something-or someone-starts taking out the city’s shapeshifters.
The Lunatic Cafe – Part 2 (Ch 22-end)
It happens a lot throughout the stories, but werewolves (at least in the Anita Blake world) are turned on by blood and fear. I can definitely relate to that. Fear is a huge turn-on for me. And obviously, blood-play is a kink, just not one of my kinks. Do you have a kink that is more on the taboo side of things? Enjoy this little story about fear being a turn-on.
Work starts at 5:30am. It’s too early, but I have to be there to open the gym by 6:00am. And you better believe that if I opened at 6:02, someone would complain to my boss. So I am always early, and I am always unlocking the doors on time. I don’t mind the early mornings, but you know what I do mind? Walking the streets of Boston before the sun rises.
It shouldn’t matter, but it does. I shouldn’t be scared, but I am. And it’s different at this hour of the morning. If I go out late at night, there are always people around. Students sneaking into bars before they turn 21, or maybe just after they’ve reached that milestone. People in their late 20s going out on blind dates. People in their 30s sick of work and needing a drink at the end of the day. I don’t know all of their reasons, but I do know that they are out and about, that they make noise, and they provide witnesses for the woman walking alone on the dark streets. I don’t want to bank on it protecting me, but it definitely does make me feel more comfortable.
But at 5:15, before the sun rises, there aren’t any college students wandering the streets. No one is going home after a long day at work. When I get on the train in five minutes, it will be me and a few other sleepy people heading off to work for the day. There might even be a few night-shift people heading home. But no one is peppy, loud, chatty. That part is nice. And with a train operator, I feel reasonably comfortable that no one is going to grab me and take me off to rape me.
But before I get to the train, I have to walk five minutes down the road. I cross the street, go down a set of dark stairs, down an alley, and out to the end of the block where the train station sits. On this particular morning, as I cross the street right near the top of the stairs, there’s a car. It’s just sitting there with its headlights on, illuminating the street. There are no interior lights on. I can’t see anything inside.
There are a hundred good reasons they could be pulled over. Maybe they dropped something, or maybe they had to send a text message. I am wary and watchful as I near the car. Just as I am level with the passenger side door, it swings open.
My heart pounds hard in my chest. I don’t look. I don’t think. I just run. Down the stairs, through the alley, never looking behind me, never slowing down. Praying that a train will pull up to the station at just the right moment.
J R Vincente 