Jack-O-Lantern: The Headless Horseman Read online

  Jack-O-Lantern: The Headless Horseman

  Marteeka Karland

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2006 Marteeka Karland

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file copying or sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Changeling Press LLC. Willful violation of this policy will result in suspension of account privileges and will lead to prosecution.

  WARNING: Illegal files may contain viruses.

  ISBN (10) 1-59596-554-8

  ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-554-7

  Formats Available:

  HTML, Adobe PDF,

  MobiPocket, Microsoft Reader

  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  PO Box 1046

  Martinsburg, WV 25402-1046

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Katriena Knights

  Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

  This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  The Headless Horseman

  Isabelle Crane knew she shouldn’t have had that last Flying Broomstick. The drink always knocked her on her ass, but they were sooooo good. As a result, she’d stayed far longer than she’d intended. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if it hadn’t been this night.

  Halloween.

  Her family didn’t exactly have a great track record with Halloween. OK, so she wasn’t that closely related to the famous Ichobod Crane, but he was her great-great-great-great-great-uncle’s first cousin. Twice removed. Or something like that. Anyway, she had the same last name. And she was related. Sort of.

  Whatever.

  So Halloween scared her. She was the superstitious type. It had to be a bad omen that she had to walk home, alone, in the dark, on Halloween night when she hadn’t planned on it. This would never have happened if it hadn’t been for him. The Headless Horseman had come to life right before her very eyes and hadn’t at all had the effect on her he should have.

  She’d seen him standing in the corner of the living room at the party. When she’d inquired of her best friend, who was throwing the party, as to his identity, Betsy had merely shrugged, not even looking in his direction. “Beats me. I don’t know half the people here. I invited ten people, who must have each brought ten people, and it just snowballed from there.”

  Figured.

  Whoever the man was -- and the broad shoulders and tall, muscular frame combined with the arrogant way he held himself left no doubt he was all male -- he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen. Well, the sexiest man without a head. He was dressed in black with a flowing cape. He even had a silver-handled sword belted to his side and those incredibly sexy knee high boots.

  The strangest thing about the whole event was that Isabelle could have sworn he was staring at her the entire time. Yeah, it was hard to tell since the man had no head, but it was just something about his body language. Like he was sizing her up, trying to decide if she was going to be his next victim. He gave her the heebie jeebies.

  And made her hot.

  In all her thirty-five years, she had never seen a man to match him. It was the way he held himself. Pure, unadulterated, sinfully sexy man. All night, he’d stood there, never making a move toward her or anyone else. Nor did anyone approach him. It was as if Isabelle was the only person to actually see him.

  Anyway, it had creeped her out enough that she’d had an extra drink… or two… and as a result had stayed a couple three hours longer than she’d intended. Which left her where she was now. Walking home. Alone. In the dark. Thinking about mister tall, dark, and headless.

  The crescent moon in the star-filled sky didn’t shed much light but seemed to make the shadows more pronounced. Isabelle pulled her coat closer around her, which did nothing to ward off the chill. Not that it was particularly cold. She had a sudden case of the chills.

  Her headless horseman might be creepy, but he also made her nipples hard and her pussy cream.

  This wasn’t getting her home. Picking up her pace, she continued on with renewed purpose. It was almost midnight. She should have taken a cab. Now, on this dark road surrounded on either side by forests, there was little hope of flagging down anyone. She hadn’t seen a single car since she’d started walking.

  Then she heard it.

  Off in the distance. Behind her.

  A galloping horse?

  No way. She had to be hallucinating.

  No. There it was again. And a whinny.

  Isabelle turned around slowly, like an actor in some B movie. Silhouetted by ambient light, a lone figure on horseback raised his hand in the air and pointed at her. He held in the other hand a giant pumpkin carved into a terrifying jack-o-lantern. The horse reared and neighed once, and galloped toward her.

  The Headless Horseman.

  Isabelle’s heart lurched and she froze for a second before her brain kicked her in the ass and screamed, Run, you idiot!

  She raced down the uneven paved road, struggling to keep her balance. She thought briefly about plunging into the woods, but she didn’t particularly want to get lost. Still, she might have to risk it if this wasn’t some alcohol-induced illusion.

  Harder and harder she ran, looking over her shoulder every now and then to confirm what she already knew. The Headless Horseman was gaining on her. Terror seized her for a mind-numbing moment, and she screamed as she plunged into the forest. Branches and foliage slapped her face and arms in her mad dash.

  Just when she thought she’d lost him, a strong arm snaked around her waist, hauling her up onto the horse in front of him face down, her belly resting across the V of his thighs. She screamed and squealed, kicking and hitting his leg with her fists. Isabelle tried to slide off the horse, but firm hands held her in place.

  When she continued to struggle, one hand came down sharply on her behind. She was so startled she stopped screaming. She was even more startled when the same hand came back to her buttocks and massaged it, as if to take away the sting.

  Now this was something that didn’t happen every day.

  After a few moments, he stopped his horse and pulled her upright. Settling her in front of him, her back to him, he wrapped an arm around her waist. He patted her leg, as if asking permission the only way he could, before continuing deeper into the forest. When she nodded, he nudged the great black stallion into a brisk trot.

  Isabelle knew she was supposed to be scared, and she supposed she was, but some perverse corner of her brain took over and she didn’t care. She could feel his erection pressing into her ass and knew exactly what he had in mind. To be honest, she could use a little bump and grind herself. No, it probably wasn’t the smartest -- or safest -- thing she’d ever done, but hell. One too many Flying Broomsticks will do that to a girl.

  Just because she could, she wiggled her ass into his crotch, tempting him. He flexed his pelvis, pressing his cock into her. She squealed when his hands came around to cup her breasts, gently at first, then in a vigorous massage. With each bounce of the horse, her ass pressed harder against him.

  He pinched her nipples through her shirt and her pussy contracted in response. For the life of her, she couldn’t even try to make him stop, didn’t want to make him stop. It felt good, and she hadn’t been with a man in quite a long time. Her body demanded his attention. Besides, if he meant to rape her or kill her, he coul
d have done so already. They’d been secluded enough he could have done anything he wanted when he’d first captured her. Instead, he’d managed to drive her fear away and replace it with a burning lust for the carnal.

  She wanted to fuck. Pure and simple.

  Isabelle hadn’t paid particular attention to their surroundings until they stopped. He reined the horse in at a little cottage in the middle of the forest. A single, dim light burned inside the tiny house. Other than that, nothing illuminated the way this deep in the woods.

  He dismounted, dragging Isabelle with him and scooping her up in his arms. In four quick strides, he shouldered his way inside the cottage and slammed the door shut with a booted foot.

  He continued through the house to a small bed in the corner, barely big enough for the two of them, and set her gently on the neatly-made coverlet. He stood, crossing his hands over his chest as if to say, What am I to do with you?

  Still buzzing a little, Isabelle smiled wickedly at him and sat up. In one swift movement, she whipped her shirt over her head, revealing her lace-covered breasts. He moved forward slightly, dropping his arms as if he wanted to reach out to her, but he held himself back. His hands clenched and unclenched as she removed her bra and the rest of her clothes.

  She knew she was doing a foolish thing, but she couldn’t help herself. This man that called to something animalistic inside her. She wanted him, and she meant to have him.

  Isabelle reached for him, but he stopped her when she would have undone his shirt. Instead, he moved her hands to his belt and she fumbled with the buckle until it finally came undone. Sliding his pants down his hips, she knelt in front of him. His cock stood proudly at her lips, just begging for her to take it in her mouth.

  She pushed back the soft silk of his foreskin without a second’s hesitation, baring the head of his cock. He was so thick, she couldn’t take more than that in her mouth. She tried again, covering her teeth with her lips lest she scrape the sensitive head inadvertently.

  Isabella accustomed herself to the size and feel of him. It took some doing, but she was finally able to get about half of his shaft inside her mouth. When she realized she’d get no more, she pulled back and licked a path down his length to his balls. There, she took one in her mouth and swirled her tongue around the sensitive sac.

  His hands fisted in her hair -- her sign she was pleasing him. His cock twitched when she released his ball with a soft pop. Another good sign. When he urged her back to his cock, she again took as much of him as she could, sucking and licking the head, sticking her tongue in the tiny opening at the tip.

  It was useless to think she’d get more than half of him inside her mouth -- he was just too damned big to go any farther -- so she brought a hand to his shaft and pumped in the same rhythm as her mouth. His hands tightened in her hair again when she flicked the underside of his cock. It was empowering to know she had done this to him.

  Pulling her up, first by her hair, then with strong hands under her arms, he urged her onto the bed. In the dim light, it was difficult to make out much of his form, but she felt the bed dip as he added his weight to it. He parted her legs, and she could feel his hands trembling as he plunged two fingers into her weeping cunt.

  “Oh, yes!” Her cry broke the silence like a knife through butter. The sounds of her pleasure filled the room. She wondered vaguely if he could hear her, but ceased to care when he slipped a finger into her ass. His thumb rubbed her clit insistently, and the combined sensations were almost overwhelming.

  She wanted to come. Badly. Though the sensations were very pleasurable, try as she might, she simply couldn’t find her orgasm. “Please,” she urged, “fuck me. I need to come.”

  Pulling his hands from her body, the horseman rolled her to her side, lay behind her, and slid his cock into her with one smooth stroke. Isabelle screamed in pleasure. His cock was big and it burned, but damn, it felt good! Never in her life could she remember being so completely and utterly filled by a man.

  He didn’t move inside her at first, giving them both time to adjust to the position and the sensations. After a few moments, he shifted his hips slightly and started to thrust.

  Isabelle raised her leg and hooked it over his hip, trying to give him better access. Again, he shifted his hips before surging into her. His thrusts became deeper, faster, harder with each stroke until Isabelle felt his balls slapping her with each surge. He gripped her upper thigh for leverage and she was sure she’d have bruises in the morning, but the pain only added to the sensations churning within her.

  Still she couldn’t come.

  Reaching down, she began to manipulate her clit, but he brushed her hand away only to replace it with his own. He flicked and pinched the little nub of flesh and immediately the familiar sensations began to course through her. Only this was much more than anything she’d ever experienced.

  It took only moments for him to push her past the point of no return, and orgasm washed over her. At first, it centered around her clit, but when the pulsing began to grow, it surged through her entire body. She sucked in a breath and her body stiffened before she bore down, pushing through the orgasm and allowing it to overtake her. She screamed when the tingling spasms gushed through her torso to her limbs, and her body thrashed in ecstasy. Only the horseman’s strong hands kept her from bucking off his cock.

  Once she calmed, he rolled her over to her stomach -- never breaking contact -- and continued to thrust into her. She tried to meet him with thrusts of her own, but his weight prevented it. She could only lie there and let him do with her as he would.

  He was heavy, but pleasantly so, as if she were covered in a protective blanket. His hands slipped under her to pinch her nipples as he fucked her.

  It wasn’t long before his thrusts became erratic. He lay his full weight atop her and pounded into her like a madman. Isabelle ground her cunt into the bed as he fucked her. When he stiffened and thrashed about above her as his seed pumped into her, she reached her own peak a second time.

  He rolled them over to their sides once more, his cock still firmly imbedded in her cunt. His chest rose and fell as rapidly as hers was, as if he were panting for breath. He pulled her to him snugly so that they touched from top to bottom.

  Isabelle knew she needed to make him take her to the road so she could find her way home, but she simply couldn’t hold her eyes open a second longer. Her last thought before sleep claimed her was to wonder if she’d ever meet a man to match the one holding her so protectively in his arms this moment.

  Just before she drifted off to sleep, she heard a deeply masculine voice echo inside her head.

  I will return to you, Isabelle. I have but this night, yet I find I cannot let you go.

  * * *

  Isabelle awoke to sunlight from her bedroom window shining across her face. She winced and raised a hand to block the unwanted rays. Oh, she wanted to go back to sleep! She knew reality couldn’t possibly be as wonderful as fantasy.

  She rolled onto her back with a silly smile on her face. If Flying Broomsticks gave her these kinds of dreams, she was making a habit of them. She tried to get out of bed only to find she was pleasantly sore.

  Damn!

  What had she done? More importantly, who had she done it with?

  She groaned as she got to her feet and went to her bathroom to wash her face. The cool water felt wonderful against her flushed face and neck. As she turned around to go back to the bedroom, she noticed something sitting on her windowsill.

  Approaching cautiously, she realized it was a tiny jack-o-lantern. A note was folded neatly beside it. Her hands shook as she unfolded it to read its contents.

  My dearest Isabelle, all my love until we meet again.

  It wasn’t signed and she didn’t recognize the script, but the paper looked old, and the loops and fancy whorls of the writing suggested an older time.

  When she heard a horse’s neigh, she looked out the window. In the sunlight outside the forest, her dark lover sat proudl
y atop his steed. With a wave of his hand, as if in salute, he galloped into the trees.

  Throwing on her clothes as rapidly as she could, Isabelle ran to the edge of the forest where she’d seen him. The ground was soft with a recent rain -- surely she’d be able to follow him. But when she reached the spot where she’d seen him -- beside an ancient oak -- there was no sign he’d ever been there. Even her soft footfalls left indentions in the earth, but there was no trace of the great stallion. The only thing left behind was a very large pumpkin. No carving marred its perfect surface. It was alive and healthy, the only pumpkin on a vine that hadn’t been there a few days ago.

  She looked around, hoping she’d see him, even deep within the wood, but he was nowhere to be found. She breathed a sigh of resignation and turned to go back to the house. She had just reached for the door handle when the ghostly echo of a horse’s whinny and joyful male laughter came to her on the breeze.

  But when she turned around, there was no one.

  Marteeka Karland

  Marteeka makes her home in Kentucky with her brat husband and her darling son. (Or is that the other way around?) Family has always and always will be her passion in life. She works as an Emergency Room Technician and has for the past eight years. She has been writing for most of her life, but has only recently realized her potential when she found erotic romance. This genre opened up a whole new world of possibilities for Marteeka and she is thriving on the endless promise of what is to come. Science Fiction has been her favorite topic since she saw her first episode of Star Trek. Now she combines sci-fi with erotic romance and feels she has found her place in the writing world. You can visit her website at http://www.marteekakarland.com.

 

 

  Marteeka Karland, Jack-O-Lantern: The Headless Horseman

  Thanks for reading the books on GrayCity.Net