I shouldn’t be in here. Not much of the place is off limits to us, but his place…well, it goes without saying that we’re just not allowed in. My mother once said curiosity would kill me, but her prophecy will only come true today if he catches me. My luck has held so far. It got me here despite everything going on out there. Really, if I have to die I would have it be his way. Quick and final. I don’t want to still be once I’m gone.
He doesn’t have as much in the way of belongings. I’d expected a leader like him would have everything that could still be used. I mean, he does have the dart board and the pool table, the TV, DVD and the generators to use them. And the bar. He has that, too.
But it’s all out there where other people can see that he has it. Symbols scattered around this battered old factory to show the man has status. Power. Look at me, they say, the world is fucked beyond comprehension and I can still rack up and shoot pool if I want to. I’m owning this shit. Continue reading “I Love Lucille”
Okay, sugar, park your ass on the sofa. Yeah, right there on the throw. The pink of your skirt looks good against that baby blue, right? And damn, I love the way those white knee socks pop against the black leather down there. That blonde hair of yours is gonna pop against the black, too. Lean back a little, lemme see. Fluff your pigtails a bit. Yeah, just as I thought. Pop!
Now sit forward, right on the edge of the seat, and part your legs. Wider. A bit more. Good, good! Now keep your feet where they are – fuck, those Mary Jane’s are hot – and pull your knees together. Nice!
Elbows on your knees. Shoulders back, hands on your chin. Ohh, cute. Now that’s cute. Isn’t she cute, Tommy? She’s got some striking eyes on her, amarite? Damn, I could look into those peepers all day long. You make my heart throb, do you know that? Come on, flutter your lashes for me. Lick your lips. Gimme your best pout. Fuck, you’re making something else throb now, too. Continue reading “Pretty in Pink”
It’s May’s birthday. Her gal-pals arranged a humdinger of a night in the local strip joint for her. Though May and I are a relatively new thing, they still asked me if I was okay with it. I said yes, of course. Dictating what my partners can and can’t do has never been my style. If I’m honest, I kinda wish I’d been invited along, but it was an all-woman affair so me and my dick stayed home. Continue reading “#StoryIn12 – Drunk as(s) Fuck”
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”