When I saw that the prompt for this week’s Wicked Wednesday was ‘Twisted’ the first thing that popped into my head was one of my semi-abandoned works in progress. A while back, I decided to try my hand at writing a book’s worth of horror erotica (or horrotica), but I couldn’t get my story straight in my head so I whacked it on the back burner. It’s been there, simmering away, for some time now.
In recent weeks, though, I’ve turned my attention back to it and it’s been taking up a sizeable chunk of my writing time. This (unedited) excerpt is a wee sample of what I’ve been working on while I’ve been neglecting the blog. It’s priddy nasty, so arm yourself with this (consensual) sexual violence CW before you go in…
Zaimi appeared in front of me. It was the first time I’d seen him in days. The others took one look at him and scurried away like deer fleeing from a wolf, but he didn’t even spare them a glance. His eyes, as black and intense as ever, were fixed on me. As he studied my face, his brow furrowed, his gaze focusing on my cheek. With the backs of his fingers, he stroked the spot where the flying lung had hit me, smearing blood down to the corner of my mouth. I wasn’t even tempted to slip my tongue out for a sneaky taste. Not this time.
“I don’t even need to bother punishing you, do I?” His tone was as intimate as a lover’s, and it made me sick. “You’re doing my job for me.” Continue reading “Chaos [Horror Erotica]”
Curtis had June’s chin clamped between his thumb and forefinger. He tugged a bit, lifting her head so he could stare intently into her glassy eyes. She was fuck-tired, floppy, probably close to the point where he’d safeword on her behalf. But she made the effort to hold her lids open, nod her head and slur a single word.
Curtis hesitated, watching June carefully to ensure she really was still in the game. Certain that she had a little bit of life left in her, Curtis pulled her jaw until she parted her lips. Her tongue automatically snaked out and pressed against her chin, suck-job ready. Curtis hesitated again. Did she have enough energy left? Could she stay with him while he used her mouth the way he’d been using her cunt for the last hour? Continue reading “Sugar Lips”
Image owned by The Barefoot Sub
On the face of it, today was a day that began much like any other. Jessa rose with the sun, smiled down upon the small, round faces of her still sleeping siblings as she slipped on her often-mended dress. She breakfasted with her father, then joined her mother at the door of their clay and stone hut. As always, they waited there for the rest of the village women to join them on their walk to the river to bathe.
As she stood quietly beside her mother, tracing swirling shapes into the dry, dusty ground with her bare toes, Jessa tried hard to convince herself that it was just another spring day. But although her breakfast of eggs and fish was routine, her father’s uneasy silence was not. Although she was used to her mother casting her gaze around the village to note who was on time and who would be late by the colour of smoke puffing through chimney holes, she was not used to her shifting her weight from foot to foot, or chewing her nails to the quick in agitation. Continue reading “A Gift to the Gods”
This little tale was supposed to have been the next instalment in the A to Z Challenge I took part in (and failed) in April. I may have abandoned the challenge, but I love writing supernatural erotica so couldn’t abandon the story.
It had been said that, when Fame came to men in their dreams, she brought beauty, comfort, and warmth. Some reported that she had the face of an angel, the body of a Goddess, others that she was indiscernible, unknowable. They claimed to have felt real love pouring from her heart into theirs, they swore that she’d revealed mysteries and secrets of the world but that, once she was gone, they couldn’t hold onto anything more substantial than the knowledge of her visit.
The only thing they all agreed on was that, for her, they would continue to fight consciousness, would even drug themselves in their desperation to return to and remain in the hazy world she inhabited. For her, men would embrace ruin.
Slipping through the crack of an open window, Fame shook her head in amusement. To them she was everything, but to her, they were little more than food. Continue reading “Supernatural Erotica – Nemesis”
Concealed by shadows in the corner of a spacious room, Magda clutches her robe to her breast. Silence weighs upon her and the rest of the room’s occupants like a heavy blanket, even though more than a dozen robed people have gathered in front of a small dais. Upon it, two men with their heads close together converse in mouthed words and hand gestures. They’re deliberating the fate of a third man, who kneels, head bowed, at the foot of the few short steps leading onto the dais.
Though she knows what the judgement will be, Magda cannot stop her heart from aching. She cannot bring her breathing – or her shivering – under control. Being a part of this preordained event and yet separate from it until her part comes proves to be impossible. She cannot drag her eyes away, does not want to. Every blink is resented for even a heartbeat of not being able to see his profile through the gaps in the curtain of his hair is agony to her. Continue reading “M is for… My Sacrifice”
It wasn’t the moon casting its frosty light across her face that woke Belle from a deep slumber. Nor was it the winter breeze drifting in through the open window and chilling any exposed skin it could find. In fact, it wasn’t anything discernible at all. It was a feeling deep within her soul, a sense of expectancy strong enough to rouse her even though she had been given a potent sleeping potion which had been carefully prepared for her by the old witch in the wood.
Swinging her feet to the floor, Belle wiggled her toes to alleviate the sting from the cold stone. She padded to the window and knelt on the cushioned seat there, pushing the shutters slowly wider to prevent the tell-tale creak from giving her away. If her father discovered that the potion hadn’t been potent enough, she dreaded to think what lengths he’d go to next time. Continue reading “L is for… La Belle et la Bête”
I watch in dismay as Syd slams his fourth empty pint glass on the pub table and wipes his mouth on his sleeve, before throwing his arms in the air. Bastard has won again. Why it surprises me I don’t know, he wins every bloody week. So far I – the Loser – have had to foot the booze bill for a night, I’ve had to buy pizzas on the way home, and walk to the shops for smokes in the pissing down rain.
Up until tonight, all of our weekly forfeits have been light on awkwardness and heavy on the wallet, mostly because I, the reasonable one, have chosen the tasks. But this week Syd asked if he could choose and, naively, I said yes.
Banging his hand on the table and laughing at me as I sink the last dregs of my pint, Syd starts to chant.
“King for a day, king for a day! Sun up to sun down, I’ll be king for a day!”
Fuck. May God strike me down on the way home to save me from tomorrow. Continue reading “K is for… King for a Day”
With a rock for a pillow, Jacob took up rest on the ground, studying the night sky above him. Oh, the stars! How brightly they shone. How magnificent heaven must be for it to illuminate even its borders with such beauty. Jacob didn’t think he would ever tire of gazing up there, searching for the shining streak that revealed the journeying of an angel, even though he knew it would not happen. He had seen it once, long ago, so he was certain that it wasn’t for a man to see such wonder twice in one lifetime.
Though he wanted to remain awake, to hold on to possibility, Jacob’s eyelids bested him. As the world around him grew darker, he became warmer. Then warmer still, as though he were sitting by a fire at the peak of its intensity. The heat thickened the damp night air, making every breath he took feel like breathing underwater.
For a terrifying moment, Jacob thought he would drown. He was blinded, unable to move, prone and vulnerable on the ground with nothing but his cloak to shield him from these unnatural elements. Panic was seizing control of his heart but then something changed. Continue reading “J is for… Jacob’s Ladder”
With a breathless gasp, Natalie sticks out her tongue, trying to slurp as much of Aaron’s jizz off her chin as she can. Some of it drops onto her tits in big blobs, so she takes them in her hands, pushes them to her face and moans as she sucks all of that salty, gelatinous gunk into her mouth. Though she looks like a champagne and cocktails kind of girl, a pint with a dick chaser is more her style.
Watching with greedy eyes, Aaron wills his cock to harden again and curses it when it won’t. He strokes, tugs, even slaps it in frustration but the thing doesn’t as much as twitch. Not that an erection would have been of much use anyway because Natalie has moved onto Sean. Continue reading “I is for… Insatiable”
The first time I came to Dr Grace’s office I was brought here by my husband, Henry, largely against my will. He’d taken my arm as I’d alighted the carriage outside of the fabric store and held it, quite tightly I might add, as he all but marched me to a squat building at the end of the bustling street.
Once inside, he’d explained to the doctor in hushed tones that I’d become somewhat difficult of late, and he blushed when he confessed that, because the idea of beating me offended his principles, he was having trouble bringing me back into line. The two men had whispered and gestured, peering at me over the rims of their spectacles, their foreheads wrinkled into disapproving frowns as they pondered over what should be done with me.
Dr Grace had given me a tight-lipped look and diagnosed me without even crossing the room. My treatment was decided, I was ushered into a room at the back of the office and there my life had changed. Continue reading “H is for… Hysteria”