Flash and Burn: First Five by E.J. Swenson Page B

of his body--the steel rod under
his robe--is rebelling against his discipline and the gods of the
harvest. It is unpleasantly stiff and insistent, thrusting into the
fabric of his robe like a hungry goat. He considers relieving
himself--he is required to be celibate but not to suffer--and lets
his hand creep slowly inside the rough, folded fabric. He touches
himself experimentally, but finds the sensation strangely lacking.
He approaches the sacrifice and lets his robe fall open.
    This is weak and
unseemly , he thinks, cursing himself. He
places the knife against her neck, just as he would do with a
tender lamb, and her eyes pop open. They are wide with fear and the
same vivid green as the choicest pasture in springtime. "Take me!"
she murmurs. He thinks she is a willing sacrifice, that she wants
to die for their people. A wave of defiance flows through his body,
and he shakes he head. No, I can't let her
do that.
    He removes the knife from her neck the same
moment she turns her head towards his cock. Her lips are plump and
rosy, an echo of the pink softness between her legs that he finds
so compelling--and terrifying. He lets himself slip between her
lips, and the sensation is like nothing he has ever experienced
before. The warmth flooding his member fills his body with a fiery
pulse. He is the blazing noonday sun beating down on the
countryside, taking its green, young juices into himself. He spurts
his greed into her mouth, feeding her stolen life. Her eyes widen,
and then she swallows twice.
    His member shrivels and falls from her
reddened lips. He feels weak and drained. Her cheeks are flushed,
and her eyes are bright with hope and wonder. Now he knows why the
monks must be celibate. He retrieves his knife; it is time to drain
the sacrifice and save the fields.

4. Open window
    She leaves her window open when she goes to
bed. She likes it when the summer breeze tousles her hair and
caresses her face. She always sleeps naked. Otherwise she wakes up
sweaty and tangled. Her bedroom is dark and quiet, and she lets her
eyes flutter shut. Her mind drifts to the melodic trills of night
birds and tree frogs. Her boyfriend will be making her a special
dinner tomorrow for her twenty-fifth birthday. She imagines his
strong hands and slightly beaky nose and smiles.
    A low mechanical sound plays
at the edges of her consciousness, like the soft rev of an electric
car, but she isn't alarmed. Her neighborhood is small, safe, and
perfumed by blossoming trees. She dips under the glassy surface of
sleep, dreaming of her boyfriend's hands and how his expert touch
can miraculously heal anything from a damaged engine to a shy,
retiring clitoris. If only he weren't so
worried about damaging me , she
thinks.
    The metallic thud of a
heavy-booted foot kicking through her window screen rips her out of
a groggy half-sleep. The thick, steel-toed boots are attached to a
tall, muscular body, and his head is obscured by a dark-colored
balaclava. This man could really hurt
me , she thinks, and he's on her in seconds.
He uses zip ties to secure her writs to her wrought-iron headboard
and places a strip of duct tape across her mouth. She reminds
herself to breathe through her nose and struggles with futile,
floppy motions of a hooked fish. He tears her sheet away and
watches her squirm. She is acutely aware of her long, curved legs,
the blond wisps at their apex, and her shell-pink nipples. She
arches her back as if to display herself more fully, and marvels at
her depravity.
    The intruder wastes no time, running his
hands all over her as if he's probing for weak spots. He handles
her breasts roughly and pinches her nipples. She snorts with a
mixture of sharp pain and involuntary desire. All too soon, his
hands find her blond wisps. He strokes them gently and then
wrenches her thighs apart, inspecting the responsive pink flesh
that glistens in the moonlight. He pauses a moment and glances at
the wrecked window as if he's deliberating a course of