Handcuffed and Horny. . .  No, make that very Horny, with a capital H.  Essentially, that pretty much summed up Bob's position at the moment.  Here he was, handcuffed to some woman's bed, a woman he didn't have a name of, his cock stiff and ready to explode.  He hadn't felt this horny since. . . well, that's another story all in itself.  Bob smiled to himself as he gently twisted his wrists within his constraints.

"How the hell did I get myself into this?" he wondered and smiled again as he remembered.
 
 

Earlier that evening, he had been in his local hangout, The Playground, wondering what sort of honey he was going to be going home with tonight when someone nudged his elbow at the bar.  Thinking it was just some other guy jockeying for space, he moved down a bit to give whomever it was room at the bar.  That's when he heard her voice.  "Hey cowboy," she purred.  "How big is that horse you're riding in on?"

Being slightly taken aback, Bob turned to face the woman standing next to him. What he saw was nothing but pure beauty and he knew that he had to have her tonight.

"And if you say more than I can handle, I'm out of here."  She said with a mischievous wink.

"Pretty bold," Bob said.  "Not many women would go up to a stranger and ask him the size of his dick."

She shrugged and brushed a stray lock from her face.  "I believe in knowing what I'm getting into, or what's getting into me.  Pure honesty with no bullshit.  But, if you can't handle that. . ."

"Woah, whoa. . . slow down."  Bob said, placing a hand on her arm as she started to turn away.  "I didn't say that.  I like a woman that's up-front and honest.  That's a rare thing nowadays."

She turned back and looked at him with a smile.  "Well?" she asked.

"Well, what?"  Bob asked, taking in the last of his drink.

"How big is that horse of yours?"  She smiled as she watched him closely for signs of inconvenience.

Not being one to be intimidated, he looked her straight in the eye and said,  "Seven and a half inches, give or take a half inch or so.  Does it really matter?"

"To me it does."  She said as she looked off into the distance, as if trying to remember something.  After a few seconds, she turned to him and took his hand. "I believe you have just what I need.  Let's get out of here."  And they did.

The ride back to her place was short and done in silence.  All Bob could think of was getting this woman out of those clothes and doing her all night long.  They came to a small apartment complex on the far side of town where she maneuvered her car into her stall and cut the engine.  Soon after, they were in her apartment, which was small but had that cozy feeling about it.  Bob looked around as his date locked the door behind them.

"How about a drink?"  She asked him, as she went into the tiny cubicle of a kitchen.

"Sure.  Got a beer?"  Bob called out from the sofa in the main living quarters.

"Coming right up."  She said, as she came into the living room carrying an opened beer can in her hand.  "This is all I have, hope you drink it."

"If it's beer, I drink it."  He said with a chuckle.  She settled into the seat next to him and watched as Bob drank his beer, her hand was absently stroking the front of his jeans, getting a rise out of him.  A few seconds later, her hand unzipped his jeans and entered it, stroking him boldly now.  Her fingers, still cold from their recent encounter with the icy can of beer, did nothing to stem the flow of hot blood to that particular part of his anatomy.  Quite the opposite.  Her grip was strong and steady, moving on him with an expertise he wouldn't have dared question, even if  he had been inclined to.  His own grip on his beer can tightened in reflex as his eyes drifted downward to watch as she manipulated him.

"Enjoy your beer."  She said with a wink, "and let me enjoy you for a while."
 

Not being one to complain, Bob sat back as she lowered her head over his now stiff member and proceeded to work her magic on him.

Her mouth and tongue were works of art on him, now teasing and caressing, now descending on him voraciously, taking all of him at once.

 She worked on him slowly—maddeningly—her mouth playing his cock like a flute while her fingers while her fingers performed a counterpoint percussion with his balls.  She paused, her eyes locking with his, the head of his cock still in the silken darkness of her mouth, her tongue flicking against him to the time of some song he could not hear.  She held him that way—for a second or two, for a minute?  Bob didn't know and didn't care.  Time had lost all meaning to him in the midst of her
virtuoso performance.  And then she was engulfing him again, moving on him, around him with a fast, steady rhythm.  She was no novice at this and Bob lay back and closed his eyes for a while.  It took him a while before he realized that she had stopped for some reason.  When he opened his eyes, he saw her actually measuring his blood-engorged cock with a ruler.  Seeing his expression, she looked up at him and smiled that devilish smile of hers.

"Call it a fetish of mine."  She said to him.  "You don't know how many men exaggerate about their size, and was sent home because of it.  Not you, though. . .  Seven and a half inches.  Now I know you have what I need, let's go to the bedroom."

And now, here he was, handcuffed and horny as hell.  He had suggested the handcuffs, and she was more than willing to oblige.  Then she rubbed some sort of liquid on his prick which kept him as hard as a rock while she left to prepare herself for him, or so she said.  He waited in eager anticipation for her return.

"Hmmm. . .  The poison should be kicking in right about now."  Bob heard her say, as his breathing started to become more labored, his heart threatening to explode in his chest.  "You have no idea how long I've waited for someone with your dimensions to come along.  Now my collection of cocks is just about to be completed.  You don't know how many men are intimidated by my looks, and how lonely it becomes.  Well, dildos and vibrators don't quite do it for me, and men always say that there's nothing like the real thing, right?  I just happen to agree."

The last thing Bob saw before his life ran out of him was the glimmer of a knife in her hand as she advanced toward him.  The last thing he heard was, "I wonder where I can find a twelve incher."
 

 
 

About the Authors:

Sydnie MacElroy, who lives in Nebraska, and Jeff Uribe, who lives in Hawaii, met nearly 3 years ago online and have collaborated on several short stories.  They have published a short story on Anotherealm called "Changing Partners" which became a finalist for a Sapphire Award (for Science Fiction Romance).  They recently met in real life a few weeks ago and have plans to continue collaborating on short stories.  This is their first foray into the Erotic Horror genre. You can reach them at  Jeff Uribe.

About the Artist:

Sean Simmans is the Cover Illustrator of DEAD END STREET PUBLICATIONS LLC and the Creator of THE BELIEVABLE TRUTH @ Scowlzine and VIBE Nation (UK). In addition he illustrates for UMM Magazine (Canada) and is staff illustrator for Blood Moon zine.