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”
**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”
**CW: drug use**
A light, blue-tinged, hot-white, streaks through the room. Jagged, like lightning, splitting the air with a crackle, strobing in my eyes, making even the finest of the fine hairs that cover my body stand to attention.
Where the fuck am I, and how did I get here? Shapes flit around the room so fast I can’t get a bead on them. I can’t focus, can’t tell where one mass ends and another begins. I try to think, try to align my thoughts long enough to make sense of something, anything, but the things in the room won’t let me. Continue reading “Black Widow”
She’s bound by chains made of shadow. They’re coiled around her ankles and her wrists. Twisting and intertwining, crossing over and through each other until they reach their respective rings around her collar. Holding her, grounding her, controlling her. Each link insubstantial, incorporeal. Indestructible.
Yet every so often she tries them. Fingers flex and take hold. Puckered skin tightens over knucklebones as her hand becomes a fist. Tendons strain in her forearms, her shoulders shake with effort. All she succeeds in doing is binding herself tighter. With each tug the chains get stronger, the wickedness that forged them feeds off the energy she expends. Continue reading “Demonised”
Kicking my slippers off my tired feet, I peel back the sheets and slip into bed. The cold cotton is almost shocking after the heat of the shower, it makes me shiver so hard the bangles on my wrists jingle against each other. I’ve always been at my happiest during the latter half of the year, but since Linc left I’ve dreaded summer coming to an end. It takes me too long to warm the bed up when I’m sleeping alone, and since March I’ve been doing that more than I care to think about.
Yet thinking about it I am. I need a distraction. Something to occupy my mind until the sandy scratching in the corners of my eyes spreads until the only thing I can do to relieve it is lower my lids. I want to sleep but it’s pointless trying before exhaustion forces it upon me. Continue reading “Hunted”
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”
If you’ve been following my vampire series, you may recognise Joshua’s name. You, like me, may also be wondering just who in the hell Joshua actually is. Well, he revealed himself to me tonight, so here’s the first glimpse at mister elusive himself.
It’s not often that I sleep, but when I do, I dream. I wander through the corridors of my long history, peering through cracks in open doors and through keyholes in closed ones, acknowledging my past triumphs and failures before moving on.
But sometimes I come across that door. It’s always open. And behind it is a memory I find irresistible. It’s such a perfect balance of intent and accident, of worst and best mistake ever made, that I’ve never been able to resist giving my sleeping self over to it… Continue reading “Joshua’s First”