Picking At Old Wounds

Image used with permission of Marie Rebelle.

**CW: contains verbal abuse and references to self-harm**

I’m so confused. Was I clear about what I want when I booked this appointment? I’m sure I was. I’m certain that I explained the type of woman I need. But now that I’m here, looking at her, I’m not sure I was understood.

She’s on the floor with her back to me in a position I’m used to assuming myself. On her knees with her soft ass cheeks resting just above her ankles. Arms pulled around in front of her, hands no doubt clasped demurely in her lap. Continue reading “Picking At Old Wounds”

Glory Seeker

You can read the first part of this story – Glorious Hole –  here.

It’s been a year. A full year since I put my cock through a hole in a wall of glass and let a woman called Glory hold it in her mouth. Even as I walked away from her with my undrained balls still aching and my cock still solid, I knew I’d see her again. And I knew she wanted to see me too. But when I finally plucked up the courage to go back – a full six months after that momentous visit – I discovered that she’d moved on. Continue reading “Glory Seeker”

Heart-Shaped Box

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”

Achingly Beautiful

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”

Poseidon

“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”

A Taste for the Exotic

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”

The Confessional

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”

The Legend of Lyonesse

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”

Friendly Fingers

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”