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.”
I stared at him in silence for almost a full minute before slipping off the table and heading for the door. My fingertips touched the handle, and I was suddenly back on the table. Same spot, same position, as if I’d only imagined moving. Zaimi wrinkled his nose in amusement.
“You know, all you need to do to get rid of that ache in your belly is feed it,” he said.
No matter how empty I felt, his faux friendliness always managed to stir something in me. Mostly that something was irritation, but this time, the tension I could see in his shoulders had stirred up nothing short of terror. I shifted my weight as though I was getting ready to bolt, but didn’t bother getting up. There would be no point, he would just snap me straight back again. It would be wiser to stay right where I was and let him say his piece. Once he tired of the sound of his own voice he’d leave, then I could go about doing nothing, just like every other day.
Zaimi cast his gaze down to my hitched up skirt and twitched his nose again, this time in distaste. “But I guess it wasn’t the belly you were trying to placate this time, was it?”
There was no point lying to him, he’d smell it a mile off. “No, it wasn’t. That guy wanted to fuck me.” I nodded towards the floor, stuttering when I saw a pool of clotting blood but no discarded, gnawed body parts. “I-I wanted him to fuck me, so we fucked.”
I hadn’t expected Zaimi to dislike my honesty, but I could see that he hated it. His expression turned almost spiteful as his hand trailed up my thigh. When his touch reached my swollen clit, I moaned, and so did he. Two long fingers plunged inside of me, moving so slowly I could see the tendons in his forearm shifting with every thrust.
When he spoke again, his voice had thickened. “How can you say he fucked you? Could you even feel his pathetic little dick inside of you?”
“Not really,” I gasped, widening my legs, letting my eyes roll when he slipped in a third finger.
“So how was he ever going to ease that ache in your neglected little cunt?”
“Maybe he’d have done what you’re doing right now,” I half groaned. “Or maybe he’d have gotten to his knees and tongue fucked me until I came in his face.”
“He would not have made you come!” he snapped, wriggling his hand until his pinky slipped into my pussy with his other fingers.
It was hurting like a bitch. So much, I was sure something was going to break or tear. But I wasn’t about to ask him to stop. I hated what he was doing, but couldn’t deny that it felt good. I was getting exactly what I’d decided I wanted the day I’d stood in my neighbour’s front room and begged her to end me. My very first fisting. And it wasn’t trashy Trish who was giving it to me, it was Zaimi. The one I wanted. The one I needed. Zaimi, the one I hated. The one I…
Zaimi rammed his fingers inside of me, slapped my face with an impatient grunt. “Dammit, Hanna, I’ve told you time and again to control your fucking thoughts around me!”
“Sorry, sorry, I know, I’m sorry!”
Though I knew that I could apologise myself to death and he still wouldn’t accept it, I couldn’t stop saying sorry. It made him angrier, and that made him push deeper. I could feel my body trying to stretch to accommodate him, and I could see his jaw getting slacker with each knuckle I took. It felt good for him, too, but then hurting me always did.
“Why must you torment yourself so?” he murmured, and I knew he wasn’t talking to me. He was thinking out loud. When he realised, he shook his head as if to clear it, then held my gaze.
“Why must you torment me so? I put you in a position where you could indulge your whims, Hanna. I put you in a position where you could know all of the black pleasures the world has left to offer. Why do you refuse them?”
Panting fast, I forced my reply through clenched teeth. “They’re empty,” I told him. “Because I have nobody to share them with. Do you want to know what you’ve really given me, Zaimi?”
“What?” he whispered.
“Loneliness. You’ve given me nothing but loneliness.”
I screamed when something in my groin cracked, and then his thumb was in me. His whole hand was in me, and he was twisting it from side to side, ever so slowly. His knuckles were brushing against my g-spot, and through the tears blurring my vision I could see that, with his other hand, he was pumping his cock.
“Loneliness? You don’t know the meaning of the word,” he spat. “You’ve been surrounded by people your entire life. You were granted dozens upon dozens of relationships, and you fucked every single one of them up.”
“I’m not talking about then.” I had to force the words through gritted teeth. “I’m talking about now, I’m alone now.”
“No you’re not. I’ve been by your side since the moment you rose from your grave, Hanna. And all of the people on the other side of that door belong to you, they are yours to do with whatever you choose. But you won’t do what I’ve given you the power to do.”
I couldn’t have done anything even if I’d been inclined to, I was too busy clinging to Zaimi’s elbow, half of me wanting to stop him ruthlessly fucking me with a full fist and most of his forearm, the other half helping him, pulling him further in. He leant forward until his nose was pressed against mine. He was sweating, and that sweat was already dripping down my face.
“You’re supposed to be living, Hanna,” he whispered. “You’re supposed to show me how it’s done.”
“Oh please!” I sobbed, snapping my hips, feeling more and more bones crack in my pelvis. “Please, please, please…”
Zaimi crouched between my thighs, and then his mouth was on my clit and he was sucking. His fist was still thumping away inside me, and the flicking of his tongue turned the excruciating pain into terrible pleasure. I couldn’t tell which of us was louder when I came, but I didn’t have time to wonder. Zaimi had thrown me to the floor and was coming himself, right in my face.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was blood. My blood. It was smeared up his arm, right to the elbow, and it was now in my face, and in my hair. I felt weak, broken and useless, but Zaimi wasn’t looking at me like I was a ruined thing. He was smiling at me, and that was when I started to cry.
“You’re monstrous,” I whispered, unable to get up and walk away.
Zaimi tucked my matted hair behind my ear and nodded. “I know. I can’t be anything other than what I am.”
“You’ll be the death of me.”
“Death?” His half laugh was so quiet, I almost missed it. “No, I won’t be your death, Hanna. I’m your salvation.”