Bloodbath

Image used with permission of Cara Thereon
**This story is a continuation of my vampire series, part one of which you can find here. Bloodbath is a wordy piece and a violently bloody, cruelly stabby one, too, so be sure you wanna read it before diving in…**

“Tell me why we’re here again?”

Eamon’s weary eyes meet mine in the light of the tiny flame that appears a few feet from my face. One deep breath fills my lungs with damp air, the next leaves a tang of sulphur dioxide in the back of my throat. I watch a small orange ball crackle, flare, then settle into a warm glow as smoke coils in front of my old friend’s wizened face.

He doesn’t press for an answer to his question because he doesn’t need one. I made the necessity of venturing into this part of the city distinctly clear on the way here. No, what he wants from me is reassurance. He wants to know that when, if, we walk out of this hellmouth of a place we’ll be in the same condition we’re in now, however doubtful that condition may be. As much as I’d like to offer that reassurance, I can’t, Fuck knows what state we’ll be in after our audience with Aziz. Continue reading “Bloodbath”

I Love My Hutch

Roger is taking a nap. Up there on the big bed. I’m down here, just beyond the foot, snuggled up in my lovely cosy hutch. I can hear him snoring. A quiet snort in, a soft rattle out… in… out… in… out. It soothes me, makes me feel content.

In the quiet of the room, I consider the way my straw bed feels against my body. There’s an itch and a scratch, but it’s so warm and it crinkles when I move. I like to move a lot because every time I shift my legs, I feel my tail twitch. It’s a cute tail if I do say so myself. Roger calls it my fuzzy white pompom. He likes to tug it. When he does it tickles and strokes, and a special part of it wiggles around inside of me. The more I move my legs the more I feel the straw beneath me becoming damp. Continue reading “I Love My Hutch”

We Wouldn’t Dare

This story is the third instalment of my ongoing vampire series. Before you read it, check out Part 1 and Part 2 if you haven’t already. CW: all three stories contain much blood, murder, and other gloriously gory things.

Goddammit, I hate being in this frigging club. Black’s is one of those places that’s too shiny for me. Everywhere you look there’s silver metal, black glass and red crystal. Velvet upholstery that matches the red drapes that match the oval rugs that stand out like beads of blood against gleaming black marble floors. Which is exactly what they’re supposed to look like. It’s as if the card holding members aren’t already fucking ravenous enough in club owner, Bartholomew Black’s opinion. Continue reading “We Wouldn’t Dare”

Bleed All Over Me

This story is the continuation of a previously posted piece. Before you read this instalment, check out A Pain in the Neck if you haven’t already. CW: both stories contain much blood, murder, and other gloriously gory things.

Is there any point in being quiet? As I kick in the door of another addict shack, I tell myself no. Those who should be running know I’m coming. They’d have caught my scent the second I entered the city. And yet, every single one of the five dealers in the place has remained. I smell them. I hear the way their thick, dead blood crawls sluggishly through their veins.

Are they arrogant or stupid? That’s the question I’m asking myself as I step over the husk of what had once been a trendy young man. Judging by the designer logo on his shirt, the lips still plump from fillers, and the expensive shoes on his feet, he’d come from money. Will he be missed? Might his death be the death that finally begins the conversation every fucking person in power is afraid to have? Continue reading “Bleed All Over Me”

What Happened Last Night?

Night sky over a sports field with a cartoonish UFO's spotlight illuminating a wegde of grass

When I wake up I’m cold and alone. I push myself up from my bed of damp grass, rubbing my head, trying to focus my blurred vision. Where the hell am I? I look ahead, behind, side to side. Clapped out, wooden stands. Bent goal posts. How the fuck did I end up in the local football grounds? What happened to me last night?

A series of shivers streak through me, so violent my teeth rattle with them. It isn’t until after they fade that I realise that I’m freezing. I can feel grass tickling my thighs. A worm squirming against the sole of my foot. A more pressing question than how did I get here is why the fuck am I half naked? Continue reading “What Happened Last Night?”

Having Her Cake

I come home in the middle of the night to find Junie standing in front of the fridge. Both of its doors are wide open. Her hands are resting on the top shelf and her head is bowed. Every time we get any semblance of a summer she can be found in the kitchen, cooling herself.

But watching her doesn’t cool me down any. No, it does the opposite. Especially right now when the only light in the room is coming from the fridge. It shines through her chiffon robe, making a silhouette of her gorgeous body. Gaze following her shape, I see side-boob. Two soft rolls. Large, wide hips that I know still bare bruises from my fingers, a fleshy ass that I know is covered in welts from the cane I whacked her with yesterday. Continue reading “Having Her Cake”

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”