A black velvet painting sprung to elegant life
Like a poignant Madonna perverted to night
And I have ridden from the westering light
To expend my lust
Verse from “Dusk and Her Embrace” from the album “Dusk…and Her Embrace” by Cradle of Filth
As the last light of day finally bleeds from the sky, Reign emerges tall and silent from beneath a weeping willow in the Church of St Mary Magdalene graveyard. He tightens his fist around the picture in his hand, feeling the crumpled canvas become wet from the cuts his sharp nails open the skin of his palm. His nose is pinched, his lips thinned, and his eyebrows are drawn together in his irritation. These mausoleum doors should be open. She should have made it so. She should understand what it is to make someone like him wait. Continue reading “I Will Reign”
This is an erotic story written in Geordie by a Geordie. I know, it’s painful to read, but with a Kink of the Week prompt like Accents, Languages, Voices (and after reading a fab short by May Moore), I couldn’t resist penning a stereotypical piece (mostly) in my own tongue. Please don’t ask for translations cos proper English will show this up for the heap of trash that it is. Enjoy 😀
Geordie’s got his dick oot. He’s owwer by the bar, leanin’ back against the brass rail wiv it in his hand. The joint is heavin’ but he gives nee fucks. Standin’ there, pointin’ it at us. Any uvver nite I’d have been ragin’. The fuckin’ cheek ov him, lobbin’ it oot in the middle ov the toon, doin’ a daft monkey face and grabbin’ his bollocks as if he finks the sight ov him jigglin’ his liggies aroond in tha auld leather bag is gunna help him score. Continue reading “Angel of the North”
Mavi isn’t famous. She wanted to be. The driving force behind her relocation from the country to the capital forty-odd years ago was the dream of A-list stardom. She got her foot on the first rung of the celebrity ladder, with a few TV adverts propelling her to Z-list status, but that’s where she stayed. Even so, she sees herself as one of the lucky ones. Nobody ever tried to take advantage of her, and though it should be a given that it shouldn’t ever happen to anyone, she still considers it an achievement.
We’re going out tonight. I’m already dressed and waiting for her. As she pulls a paddle brush through her thick tresses I have to stifle a smile. It’s a novelty to see the spiky little thing being used for its actual purpose for once. Watching the long strokes of her arm taking the bristles from root to end, I notice the flashes of silver. Continue reading “Once and Future Beauty”
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”
I’ve never been to this part of the ocean before. The northernmost reaches of the Atlantic have always seemed so far away to me, even though I was born and raised in the Caribbean Sea. Well, I did swim a mile or so into the ocean a few times when I was a fingerling, slipping out of my native waters near Puerto Rico and clinging to the edge of the Dominican Republic before coming home again once I reached Cuba. But, try as they might, none of the other mers in my pod have ever been able to talk me into venturing further north. I’ve just never been all that adventurous. Continue reading “Heart of the Ocean”
My bones almost leap from my skin when the grandfather clock in the corner of the room declares that midnight has arrived. It’s a dolorous sounding thing at the best of times, but tonight the tolling weighs heavily upon me. It feels like I’m listening to my own death knell. My heart rattles out at least six beats for every pitying chime.
As the last one fades to silence, the door behind me opens. It’s almost as if whoever has come had been loitering in the hall, waiting for this most ominous of moments to make their entrance. The blindfold that had been left on the floor was custom made to my face shape, so even though the room is brightly lit, for me darkness is absolute. I don’t know which of his Controllers the Master has sent. Continue reading “Bastinado”
Lola is being a brat.
Her office is closed today. She wants me to stay home with her and I can’t, so she’s acting up.
First, it was pouting. Those soft lips of hers, tinted pink, puckering into a perfect little rosebud while her chin dimpled, and her Wedgewood blue eyes glittered with tears. She has this way of inclining her head and looking up at me through her dolly lashes. It looks innocent enough, but the way she pulls her arms in and leans forward so I follow the line of her eyes, to her pout, to her cleavage reveals it for what it is.
Manipulative little so-and-so. Every other time I’ve seen her pull that trick I’ve grabbed her and kissed her breathless, so why she thought it would work today is anybody’s guess. Continue reading “Oh, Lola”
Everything they had done in the last six weeks of their riotous lives had led to this moment. Every decision, every act of refusal, of defiance, every lie they’d told and every hardship they’d endured had brought them here. Here, where it would all come crashing down around them. Where they would meet their ruin.
Florian unknotted the leather thong that clung to Zinnia’s elegant throat. The silver key she had stolen from her father dropped into his palm and he tightened his fist around it, partly to protect it, partly in hatred. Continue reading “A Catastrophic Affair”
The woman lying in the bed I just slipped out of looks so peaceful. Full lips slightly parted, dark curls spilling over her forehead. Like most people, when she’s asleep – truly, completely asleep – she’s as still as the grave. She doesn’t stir as I pass through the door and float down the stairs. It doesn’t surprise me that she doesn’t notice, given that I move with absolute silence. That and the fact that she doesn’t believe I’m capable of leaving her side.
I pass through the front door, then the garden gate, ending up standing alone in the deserted street. What does surprise me is that she doesn’t feel me slipping away from her. My eyes flick to the window. Well, sometimes she feels it. Sometimes, instinct rips her from her slumber and she snaps on the light. That drags me, usually kicking and soundlessly screaming, right back to her side. Continue reading “We Are Shadows”
There’s an unnatural beat in my chest. A slow, deep, thud…thud…thud that reverberates behind my breastbone and makes my ribs shake. I feel heavy. My hips move in a languid figure eight making my short skirt fan the tops of my thighs with cool air. Sweat still trickles from the backs of my knees to my ankles, though. It makes my dress cling to the small of my back. The heat that had been belting down on me all day is now rising from the stone beneath my feet. Raising my temperature. Making me sticky and wet. Continue reading “His Dirty Rhythm”