There’s a box sitting right in the centre of my coffee table. Red. Heart-shaped, with my name written on it in black Sharpie. As I stare at it I feel my heart fluttering in my chest as though I’m in the beginning stages of terror. My entire body is shaking so much I wouldn’t be surprised if the air around me vibrated.
It isn’t fear I’m feeling, though. Well, not entirely. Mostly, what I’m feeling is anticipation, because this isn’t just any old box. My eyes are fixed on the black scrawl. My name, written in spiky, inch high capital letters, but no address. It wasn’t delivered by a courier service, it was hand delivered. Deliberately positioned in the centre of the table where I couldn’t fail to see it as soon as I walked through the front door.
She put it there. Continue reading “Heart-Shaped Box”
She was a flame, divine
My pathic call of duty, irrefutable
Her eyes they paralyzed me, froze the flow of time
A glimpse so achingly beautiful
Verse from Achingly Beautiful from the album “Cryptorania” by Cradle of Filth
I’ve seen and done a lot in my short life. More than most people will see and do in a lifetime. But none of the happiness or sadness, joy, pain, or suffering I’ve experienced could have prepared me for this moment.
When I’d received the featherlight touch of her fingers – sheathed in black lace – on my shoulder… choosing me… I’d thought I was ready. But now, here, in the muted light of her candlelit crypt, I understand the enormity of my own arrogance.
I am not ready for Libertina.
But she is ready for me. Continue reading “Achingly Beautiful”
“Just the one, today, love! Scribble your name in the box there for me, would you?”
The delivery guy handed me a little tablet, and a plastic pen dangling on a springy coil. As usual, my signature was hastily done and barely registered by the device, but who gave a fuck about that? I shoved the thing back at him and all but tore the package from his hands, saying thank you despite the fact that the door had already slammed in his face.
I know, that was super rude of me, but I’d been waiting weeks for this thing to arrive. Continue reading “Poseidon”
Drawing my silk gloves over my fingers and to my elbows, I gazed out at the beautiful scene before me. From the balcony, I could see almost half of the estate. The sun was just sinking behind the tall trees, it’s last hurrah making the koi pond glitter as though it was filled with diamonds.
A faint, far-off roar caught my ear and, closer, the discordant squawk of startled macaws. It was feeding time for my beautiful pets. And it was playtime for me. Continue reading “A Taste for the Exotic”
God was six days sober
On the night that she was born
To the glistening star of a bible class
An icon now in religious porn
She was Alice through the glory hole
An ejaculate misconception
Disney-esque, the high priestess
Of greed and deepest dark deception
Verse from “Libertina Grimm” from the album “Thornography” by Cradle of Filth
Cum dripped down the latticed partition, making a network of sticky webs in the tiny crosses that had been carved from the wood. Libertina heard the sharp rip of a zip-fly, an embarrassed laugh, the scrape of curtain rings on a rusted metal pole. Low mumbles, soft laughing, back slapping. Continue reading “The Confessional”
Tommy stared at the sleeping girl on his bed. Her flushed cheeks were stained with the tracks of her tears, and right at the corner of her mouth, there was a blob of thick white gunk. He traced his fingers over her bottom lip, feeling his back sting with the stretch. He’d fucked her hard while she’d cried for him, and she’d clawed the skin off his back while he’d done it.
“Sweet Erato,” he whispered. “What a wicked, wild thing you were tonight.” Continue reading “The Legend of Lyonesse”
I don’t think my heart has ever beat as fast as it is right now. It’s throbbing so hard it hurts. Tuesday will be my thirtieth birthday and, while I’ve pulled some strokes in my time, I’ve never done anything like this before. It could all blow up in my face, and in the worst of ways. I could lose a friend, end up with at least one black eye and some broken bones.
But, despite the risks, I’m doing it anyway. I can’t not, it’s irresistible. Continue reading “Friendly Fingers”
She was watching me. Standing in the corner of the room, crop in hand, her eyes were fixed on me. I tried not to wince when she slapped the leather tip off the bare plaster wall behind her, but I failed. I cringed so hard the weight-lifting bench I was strapped to scraped over the floor, just a little, and her resulting snigger, though soft, seemed so loud to me. Continue reading “The Price of Defiance”
Mascara stung my eyes. Salty, chemical spiked tears tripped over my tongue. I curled my knees to my chest, hearing tape creak as it rubbed against itself and found more places to stick together, ensuring that with each and every wriggle, escape became less likely. All I could do now was make myself small as I could in the hopes that, when we finally stopped, they’d forget I was here. Continue reading “Bound & Gagged”
Lydia Parsons is the love of my life. I adore her. I breathe for her. Every single moment of my life is taken up by thoughts that are dominated by her face and her voice. She asks every day what it is that makes me love her so completely, but it’s impossible to give her a definitive answer.
So I tell her something different every time. One day I told her it was the scent of honey shower gel on her skin. The next I told her it was the way her morning hair made her look like she’d used dynamite as curlers. Last time she asked me? I’d pulled her knickers down, right in the middle of our back garden, and told her I loved her because her ass is a peach and her pussy delivers the cream. Then I’d buried my face in her soft pubic hair and licked that delicious pussy until it came in my mouth. Continue reading “Under the Sea”