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”
I awaken to the sounds of creaking and dripping and the groaning of tired wood. It’s so dark tonight I can barely see past the end of my nose. Not that it matters. I know exactly where I am. I don’t need to see the ocean beneath me to feel the waves. Along with the sun and the breeze, they’re my only constant.
Something I’m not certain of is where in the ocean I am. Thick banks of fog and cloud obscure the stars so I can’t get my bearings by looking up. And my other means of discovering my position doesn’t seem to be available to me. The men I travel with chop and change with each voyage, but their clamour is always the same. Chests of gold, the chests of women, and the distance between them and their desires. Continue reading “G is for… Ghost Ship”
This story is another continuation of my Demonised story. While the original part two, Waking the Fallen (which is also a song title, funnily enough) follows events down into Hell, this piece stays in the belly of the mountain with the Archangel Michael.
Even if my existence was as fleeting as a man’s, I would gladly spend every moment of it just like this. In a cave, deep in the heart of a mountain. Leaning against a wall of rock, an ethereal glow radiating from my very being. Watching a roiling mass of darkness fight and flail as light spreads from my feet to engulf it where it lies, helpless on the floor in front of me.
Oh, he is furious! I don’t think I’ve seen such rage since the First Fall.
Though it did not understand why, the cosmos had trembled the day the Creator fell into a silent contemplation regarding the fate of its most precious – most treacherous – creation. Some felt it like the coming of a storm, others like the death of a star. When the decision was finally made, all of Heaven had become still. It had remained that way until the Morningstar struck the Earth, and then one by one, his sympathisers were cast out. Continue reading “F is for… Fallen Angels”
I spied on Twitter that Exhibit A was running a prompt with a prize. Basically, the idea was to take a word from the Scrabble board above (image owned by EA) and produce a blog post using it as a title or a theme. Well, my brain is hurting from all the erotica flexing it’s been doing this week, so I decided to play a game with myself. Instead of choosing one word, I wove all (I think) but the two letter ones alphabetically through this wee story. It ain’t my best work to date, but the challenge was fun.
“Hey, what happened to all the bananas?”
Ron looked at Linda’s reflection in the hall mirror. Tie finally straight, he pushed glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, love, I ate them.”
Linda did not look amused. “All of them?” she said with a disapproving frown.
“I was hungry. I was sat at the kitchen table forever trying to write that cover letter for you and the fruit bowl was just right there.”
Ugh, he was such a chump. Linda sometimes wondered why she’d married him. His job wasn’t worth a dime, he was tight with his time, and the fucker was always snarfing her bananas. Once this new business contract was drawn up, she’d have to re-evaluate. Continue reading “Scrabbling”
Scuttling across the floor behind Mistress, I swallow a whimper. Bare floorboards scuff my knees, the gaps between the planks leave stinging prints on my palms. I stumble a bit, gasping for breath when she yanks on my spotted tie to stop me from face planting.
“Keep up, boy,” she commands in her whip-lash voice.
I choke out a barely intelligible, “Yes, Mistress,” and do my best to pick up the pace.
She tows me from one side of the room to the other. Guiding me around the sofa, weaving me in and out between the coffee table and armchairs. I follow obediently, head held high, arms bent at the elbow, back arched, ass in the air. Presenting myself as per her instructions, performing as perfectly as her Schnauzer did at Crufts. Continue reading “E is for… Eat Me, Drink Me”
This story is the sixth instalment of my Bloodlust Vampire Erotica Series. To check it out from the beginning click here. CW – it’s another sexually violent one, folks.
Laughter. It’s everywhere. Squealing from the mouths of a dozen girls splashing in the river. Bubbling from the throats of the boys sending their thoughts on all those nubile naked bodies around in a circle of whispers. Giggling and guffawing at words like breasts and buttocks.
I’m not laughing, I’m too busy basking in the warmth of midsummer sunlight. That’s everywhere, too. Filtering bright orange through my eyelids, darkening my skin, bleaching strands of yellow into my hair. Though it feels good to be kissed by the sun, there’s something about it that makes me feel uncomfortable. Why should being on the riverbank in broad daylight feel so… unnatural? Continue reading “D is for… Drain the Blood”
“I don’t want to go, and if I don’t want to do something, I do not fucking do it, so they’re gonna have to find some loser to accept the damned award on my behalf because I will not be there to do it myself.”
“But Miss Val–”
“No buts! When I say no, I mean no. You there?! Get Johnny on the phone. You?! Cancel everything in my calendar for the next five days, then book me a flight to Paris because I want escargot and I want it now. And you?! Get me a latte, and do not dare make it skinny.”
From his chaise by the window, Harrison watched Valerie breeze around the room. She barked order after order, stalking from one flunky to the next, grabbing arms, shoving, snarling. Raising an eyebrow in disapproval, he pursed his lips as she hollered at some cowering kid, pointing accusingly from him to the splashes of dirty martini that were seeping into the feathered hem of her robe. Poor kid hadn’t been anywhere near her, she’d done that herself with all her ill-tempered gesticulating. Continue reading “C is for… Celebrity Skin”
Slamming the door behind her, a store security guard ushers me further into the room. I’m making my mouth go Professing my innocence, insisting that she can’t touch me and that she can’t prove anything. All I get in response is a quiet laugh and a ‘yeah-yeah’ or two. She knows I’m fucked just as surely as I do.
Still, she’s going to have to wait until the coppers get here, cos I’m not turning over a thing. I’m telling her nothing, I’m…
I stumble past the chair I was aiming for, propelled by a sharp shove, and my ill-gotten booty slips from inside my jumper to tumble to the floor. Hand on a cluttered desk to steady myself, I give her my most poisonous glare. Continue reading “B is for… Been Caught Stealing”
Hey hey, folks! This post kicks off my first ever attempt at completing the A to Z Challenge. This challenge requires that I publish a blog post every non-Sunday day in April, moving through the alphabet as I go. I picked a theme for this challenge, and that theme is Playlists. Each day I’m choosing a song title from my personal playlist of fave songs and will write a piece of filth based (however loosely) on that title. Today’s post was inspired partially by the song title and partially by the Masturbation Monday prompt. Two birds and all that. As the title may suggest, it has a grim theme (death, funeral) so do be aware of that when going in.
Somewhere in the trees on this cold and gloomy day, a lone bird twitters merrily away to itself. Not far away on the road behind me, a procession similar to the one I arrived here in crawls by. And right here at my side, clinging to me with one hand while weeping into the tissue she has clutched in the other, is my sister.
We’re surrounded by friends and family, all wearing black and the same pained expression. An expression that passes for grief at a glance, but on closer inspection betrays a deep sense of relief. They’re glad he’s gone. If I’m honest with myself, so am I. Continue reading “A is for… Ashes to Ashes”
This story is the second part to Demonised, a devilish tale of angels and demons. Check it out if you haven’t already.
Cocking my head to the right in a tick-like jerk, I consider the chair in front of me. Constructed from bone – femurs for legs, a rib cage back, a seat of jagged skulls – stained by time and blood, and lashed together with intestines in some places, sinews in others.
Looking a little closer, I see that the knucklebone armrests bear the fingernail scrapes of utter boredom, and that the pelvis which cradles my head is scorched black by the heat of my untamed thoughts.
Yes, my throne is now as it has ever been. The only thing different about it is that I’m no longer sitting in it. For the first time in centuries, I’m standing on my own two feet. Scuffing them against the floor, agitating the diaphanous carpet of forsaken souls until their moans rise to a crescendo then settle into a haunting hum. Continue reading “Waking the Fallen”