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 took the stairs two at a time, heading straight for Laura’s room. I could hear her complaining her ass off downstairs, even though she was at the front of the house and I was right at the back. Yeah, the piece of wood she was holding against the wall was fucking heavy, and that’s why I was taking my time. I enjoyed pissing her off, it was my favourite thing.
“On the bookcase in a unicorn bucket,” I sniggered as I walked through the door. Continue reading “Spank You, Baby!”
Hands behind my head, I sang along with the song playing quietly on my iPod, plaiting my waist length hair into a thick black rope. It was awkward and time consuming, but this was the way it had to be and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Jagged Little Pill. I’d always loved this album. It had been released in the mid-nineties, around the time I was charging head first into adulthood and what my mother had cringingly called my sexual awakening. It was also the time I discovered boys, and what wondrous, horrendous creatures they could be. I’d been abused, deceived, used, and fooled. But that was then. My now was very different, despite its similarities to my past. Continue reading “The Instrument and the Ornament”
My laugh died on my lips and I froze, one hand on the lapel of the dinner jacket that covered the broad chest of the guy I’d been flirting with for the last twenty minutes. He glanced over my shoulder, whistled quietly, then after patting my hand for a brief second, he walked away.
I didn’t dare turn around. It had been painfully obvious in the saccharine tone of Astrid’s voice that I’d angered her, and I couldn’t bear to let her see my face. Not because I didn’t want her to see my shame. I felt none of that, nor did I feel contrite.
Continue reading “Candy, Caned”