Sugar and Spice

Chapter 1-2

After changing out of her costume, she walked to the opening that separated the club from the backstage area. With subtle movements she pulled the velvet drape back and peered at him. With his hair attractively disheveled, she could picture him riding his motorcycle, all in black leather. He looked to be around thirty, deeply tanned, and classically handsome. He had a cleft in his chin and a grin that revealed a set of teeth that glittered and gleamed as brightly as the stars on the Crest toothpaste box. He was a stud in the fullest sense of the word, and she suspected he knew it. She had seen his type before, and they were all as conceited as hell. She would pretend to be uninterested, but if she knew her pretty boys, she would have him in her clutches before she finished her first drink.

Sugar finally pushed the velvet curtain aside and stepped into the swarming club. She was in no hurry, so she took her time walking toward the bar. Several men pawed at her, but she thoughtlessly pushed them away, her eyes glued to the man who had Mr. Beautiful etched on the back of his leather jacket. When she neared the bar, she saw the rest of the motorcycle gang, all dressed up in leather jackets, wild T-shirts, and c***s so big it made her groin ache. She could tell he was the leader. He was the biggest, the baddest, and so cocksure of himself, the easiest.

“Scotch and soda, Charlie,” she called out as she slipped up on the empty barstool beside him.

He cut his eyes around when she sat down. “Well, if it ain’t the cute little she-devil. Quite an act you have there.”

“It pays the rent,” she lied smoothly as she took the frosty drink in her hand.

“And then some, I’ll bet.”

“Look, I’ve done two shows tonight and I’m tired. Mind if we skip the conversation?”

“Whatever you say,” he muttered.

The two of them drifted into a heavy silence, and after a few minutes, his eyes slid toward her again. “Look, I don’t want to bother you, but you seem like a dame with troubles. Maybe I—”

“Save it, mister. You don’t have what I need, so don’t even try.”

“And what do you need? A million dollars? Someone to kill your boyfriend?” His lids lowered seductively as he looked her over. “A man?”

She snickered into her glass, then turned to look at him with a pair of stormy blue, trouble-filled eyes. “Not even close.”

Giving a slight shrug, he looked away. “All right, so have it your way. But remember. If you’ve got troubles, I’ve got a great shoulder for crying.” He paused for a few moments, then slid his eyes toward her once more. “In case I was interested, which I’m not, what time can you break free of this den of iniquity?”

“Not that it’s any business of yours,” she held up her glass that was almost empty, “but as soon as I finish this drink, I’m outta here.”

“Yeah? How about I give you a ride home?”

The ice in her glass crackled as she finally drained it. “I thought you weren’t interested.”

He shrugged, giving her one of his million-dollar smiles. “So I lied.”

“Sorry,” she said with a shake of her head, “I don’t ride on motorcycles.”

“Yeah? What do you do on them?”

“Not a damned thing. They’re for kids and,” she hesitated, then looked him square in the eyes, “boobs like you who have a problem with their manhood.” She moved to get up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I see—”

His hand reached out and roughly grabbed her arm. “I don’t happen to like what you just said. If you want a taste of my manhood, I suggest we take a stroll.” Still squeezing her arm, he leaned toward her and whispered a vulgar proposition in her ear, then showed her his money.

The fish was caught!

She quickly grabbed it, ruffled the bills with her long nails, then stuffed it down the front of her blouse. They stood and went out back. Sugar led him furtively through the dappled darkness, not aware of the others who followed. She quickly found a shadow that lay undisturbed against the back wall of the club and turned. When she saw two other cyclists leering at her, she said, “What’s the matter, can’t you handle this all by yourself?”

“I believe in sharing.”

“All right, gents, let’s get this party started before the storm breaks.”

Sugar and Mr. Beautiful drifted into each other’s arms while the other two men closed in on each side. Music from the club played softly in the air. Shoe leather scraped on cracked cement, clothes rustled in the warm night, and then came a soft moan as Sugar felt her panties being ripped off and a stiff c**k pressing against her p***y. She moaned. Lips and rough hands were everywhere. They moved anxiously along her body, kneading her breasts and sinfully tweaking her n*****s. Small bolts of electricity seared through her while someone played with her clit. She felt herself being forced to the ground to roll around on small rocks and parking lot litter. Her buttocks and p***y were stroked and licked, and a swirling heat began to build, compelling her to move her hips in a loose swing and push. Someone parted her thighs and licked them while flirting with her p***y until her juices burned and dripped. Suddenly a plunge stabbed her so deep, she lost her breath. The hard body that took over was riding her into hell, where the flames of desire leaped and licked. She rode high, but almost as soon as the ride began, he pulled out, and the next rock-hard c**k took over. They took her one by one, riding her hard while they pushed her against the ragged ground.

Her eyes opened, and she gazed up at the full moon, at the lying silver disk that was supposed to symbolize love and romance, all those silly emotions that didn’t exist. It brought to mind the four lives that had been cruelly taken from her when they fell victim to its evil rays. Maybe some poor saps could look at it and think of romance, but it had given her nothing but heartaches.

Suddenly it grabbed her, the moon’s wicked stimulus, and the evil mutation began.

She arched her body when she felt it coming. It did no good to resist it; she was firmly in its grasp. Her eyes angled down at the three who took turns thrusting themselves inside her. In only seconds her teeth lengthened into sharp edges, and her hairline slowly began to lower. Her long white-blonde hair changed to a bristly red hue, and her act on the stage of the Rock Candy Club became a horrifying reality. With growing excitement, the men were clawing at her, their moans filling the darkness. She could feel the blood hunger surge within her and lowered her eyes to the inviting flutter of a pulsing artery, to the succulent flesh only inches from her mouth.

It was the reason she was here.

Suddenly her tongue darted out, licking the place where the rushing blood pulsed rapidly, making an intense ripple beneath his swarthy skin. With her sensitive tongue, she could feel its deep ebb and flow that reminded her of the ocean that moved restlessly against the coastline. Her body was on fire, caught up in the imagined taste of his spicy essence. And then, when her blood lust was at its most intense, she opened her mouth wide and sank her fangs deep into his neck and ripped violently. He jerked in her arms and then quickly grew limp. As his warm blood surged toward her vicious bite, the two other men looked on in horror.

When one turned to run, Spice was on him in a second, her strength incredible as she slammed him to the ground and covered him. He struggled, scratched along the ground for escape, but with a quick yank she grabbed his long hair and pulled his head backward, exposing the throbbing veins in his neck. Just as she was going in for the kill, she let out a bloodcurdling roar and then bared her fangs and ripped and tore at his flesh. As his blood rushed into her mouth, she could smell it, taste it, feel herself getting drunk on it. She reveled in the taste of flesh, the draining of his veins, as it slid down her throat and into her ravenous belly.

The kill at last complete, she quickly pulled away, her mouth dripping with blood. With defensive movements, her eyes darted around, searching for the last man who was backing away from the horrible sight. She advanced toward him, but he began babbling and gurgling as he turned, grabbed his cycle, and headed for the open road. A soft snarl erupted from her throat, and she loped off into the darkness.

With her animalistic instincts guiding her, she scurried into the night, the shadows of trees and bushes her cover. The landscape that passed swiftly by her resembled an artist’s painting of wet, running colors. The wind rushed into her face as the mutation began to reverse itself. With every turn of a corner, every thrash of her beating heart, her red, bristling hair slowly lost its fiery hue and changed to its white-blonde color while it flew wildly in the wind. Her lowered hairline began to move upward, her feral appearance slowly giving way to the delicate, porcelain beauty she had been born with.

As she continued to run through the countryside, her mind went back to the night Cristo had died, to the night that the curse had mysteriously transferred between them. Even now, she could feel the searing cuts of his taloned fingers as they scratched her scalp. It was then, that night, that the big bad moon had taken her captive—and Spice was born.