Glenda has a new book. It’s one of those books. A… shh… a sex book. She bought it because things aren’t going so well in that department for Arthur and herself. At first, she’d thought it was because they were new at it. You see, neither of them had done it before they were married. Arthur confessed on their wedding night that he’d taken himself in hand on occasion (those occasions were actually uncountable, though he didn’t tell his bride that) but Glenda blushed when she admitted that she had not.
Arthur had wondered at her confession because of course she had not. Why would she, a woman, do such a thing? After an awkward fumbling of buttons and arranging of fabrics in the dark, they’d finally come together. Well, that is somewhat misleading. Arthur came, Glenda did not. Continue reading “Doing It by the Book”
Image used with permission of Little Switch Bitch. To see it in its original home, click here.
As a rule, my stories are all written on the day they’re published. But not this time. This post is what it looks like when I cheat because I lifted this partial chapter from an abandoned project that I started in 2016. When I saw this week’s Masturbation Monday prompt I couldn’t help but think of this scene, so I’ve decided to share it with y’all. It’s a long one, though, so get comfy before going in. Enjoy, folks.
I stared at the golden numbers in front of me, wondering for the thousandth time since I’d arrived at Glenville Royal Hotel just what the hell I was doing.
Every step of the way here, I’d fully intended to head to room sixty-four to spend the night with my boss and apparently on-again lover. I’d scrambled into the lift, telling the guy beside me that I was going to the second floor, only to still be standing there, smiling awkwardly, when he vacated on the fourth. I went all the way up to the top floor, palm sweating around the card with one six nine hand-printed in the corner. Continue reading “An Abandoned Chapter”
Image owned by Adrian Kenney
“Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger!”
Ugh, I should have grabbed a towel to dry my hands instead of my t-shirt, my belly feels all clammy with dirty dishwater. Shit, I’m breaking my fucking neck, now! Chew toys all over the floor again, this sodding dog! Don’t stop, don’t stop, please, no, don’t…
I always get to that damned phone a second after it stops ringing. Charlie can whine all she likes, I’m gonna have the landline taken out altogether, it’s a pain in my arse. There’s no point to it anyway now that everyone and their dog has a mobile. See, mine is buzzing right now and I don’t have to flee all over the house to answer it cos it basically lives in my pocket. It’s something I will never, ever misplace. Continue reading “Just One More”
Image used with permission of Cara Thereon.
Isabelle has come to me ready to play, wearing nothing but a grass green leather harness that frames her perky tits and runs down her belly to disappear somewhere in her crotch. Her black hair is lightly perfumed by the wintersweet tucked into her braids, and her skin is sprinkled with a fine glitter powder that sparkles red and gold beneath the halogen stars in the hall ceiling.
It really pains me to take her coat and bundle her through the spare room door, but I make myself do it. I make myself stuff her hand-written instructions into her palm, and I force myself to close the door and lock it. Then I lean against it for almost five minutes, waging a war with desire. I want to free her, to take her over my knee and blister her ass cheeks with my palm before shoving my fingers into her cunt until she soaks my jeans. Continue reading “Entertain Me”
(This piece is an intro to a new series, there’s no sexiness to be had…yet.)
Maybe it was always my destiny to die young. Maybe I should be grateful that I managed to live to twenty-five instead of lamenting the years I’ve been robbed of. But looking down at my twisted, bloody body, it’s hard to feel anything other than cheated.
I watch the hotel guests hover around my broken form, listen to them insist that they’re shocked and that they’d never have believed this could happen in their own town, not in a million years. Continue reading “Hotel Amour – Part One”
If I had to reveal the person I hated above all others I wouldn’t hesitate to name Amor. I mean, look at her, sitting there with that smug smile on her smug face. She’s staring with intent at a straight-laced man who, without cause or plausible explanation, is about to bump into one hellcat of a woman.
Coffee splashes everywhere, tables are overturned, and the whole café falls into a state of cautious expectation. But, as I could have predicted, the sparks go up and what should have been a bloody showdown turns into a ruddy-cheeked, awkward flirtation. The gloat practically glows from within Amor. The reek of satisfaction that rolls off her sets fire to the bile these mismatched sweethearts have coaxed to my throat. Continue reading “Love & Hate Collide”
**This story is part of my Bloodlust Vampire Series, part one of which you can find here.**
While sitting on an iron bench in the most secluded part of City Gardens, trying to live in the moment instead of mulling over the historical, my eyes are drawn to a small flower. The leaves of the bush it’s growing on are a glossy green so deep they make the scarlet bloom look almost bloody.
Such a pretty rose.
As soon as my mind names the flower a memory swoops in, entirely unbidden, to drag me back into the past. I don’t go far back, though. Just a handful of years to a comment my own sweet Rose made in one of her regular fits of fearlessness. It amuses me so much I laugh out loud. Continue reading “Roses & Lilies”
**CW: this piece contains dub-con and death. Happy Halloween!**
“They say this part of the woods is haunted. That a handful of centuries ago, those accused of witchcraft were brought here after their trials – they were invariably found guilty – for execution by hanging. Though official records weren’t kept in those darker times, it’s estimated that at least a hundred and fifty women died beneath this very tree. While some of them would surely have been guilty of crimes both minor and major, the vast majority of them would have been innocent. Continue reading “The Hanging Tree”
**To see this image in its original post, click here to visit Maria Merian’s site**
In the muted light of his workshop, Piero stuck out his tongue and considered the figure in front of him. He tasted dust on his lips, drew it into his mouth, felt the sandiness of it scuffing against his teeth. With the most loving of touches, he smoothed a rough patch here, reshaped a bit there, added a little more detail with a small metal tool. At last, the final curl had taken shape. He sat back on his heels, sweating, filthy, starving almost to the point of emaciation, to marvel at his newest creation. Continue reading “Broken Idol”
It comes alive at night. I keep praying it won’t, but the moment my body begins to relax as I enter the quiet place that precedes sleep, it comes. Dread steals the power from my limbs, my lungs deflate, and I forget how to refill them.
I can’t run, can’t hide, can’t even scream. I’m motionless, staring at the sickly, pale green glow that creeps across the ceiling, getting ever closer to my bed. All there is for me to do is wait. Wait for it to reach me, for it to take what it wants, for it to shamble back to its rightful place again. Continue reading “It Comes Alive at Night”