Beneath

ramada
The Ramada Plaza Hotel of north Columbus, closed in 2015

I’d heard the rumors. Some of the guys on the force think it’s funny to try to scare the female officers. But, I would say, after seventeen years of experience, women police are far more difficult to rattle than male.

We probably have more fears than our male counterparts, but we simply cannot show them.

Dan was trying to bait me, no doubt. Our afternoon assignment was to clear out the squatters in the abandoned Ramada Plaza hotel. The property owners had security, but once a month, they’d ask for a sweep. And we drew the short straw that day.

“Patterson, code 4.”

The hotel was supposed to be on a low-use power setting, operating hallway lights, exit signs and the fire system 24/7. But even this seemed to be faulty, as I exited the 2nd floor and jogged down the steps in the dark, my feet spotlighted by my Maglite.

“Please answer me.”

My ears rang with the bang of the door behind me as I exited the stairwell and jogged over the matted, thick carpet between peeling wallpaper and doors marked with large, gold plated numbers in the one hundreds. My whispered pleas where only met by the squelching of the carpet beneath my shoes.

“Officer Patterson, please respond.”

The crackle from the two way echoed through the first floor hallway. No power on this floor either. I stopped and started to close my eyes. But the silence around me begged for my full attention.

He’d said we should stick together, but I wanted to get in and out and had felt the vile, moldy stench infecting my uniform before we were even inside. No one in their right mind would sleep here, breathing normally was impossible.

I thought we’d be out in fifteen, so I’d decided to split up.

But as I had kicked around crack pipes and used condoms in my twentieth empty room, there was a laugh through the two way, a gasp and a sigh. Then, complete silence.

Half an hour later, I wished I’d listened to his sorry, lazy ass.

“Dan, please. If this is a prank, it’s over. I’m calling for back up.”

I stood at the front of the damp, putrid lobby, praying for his laugh to bark through the speaker at my shoulder.

But the only sound I heard was my own breath. And the pop of electricity as the lobby, too, went black.

Reeling into the daylight felt like being born. The front door swung open so easily, I half expected to find Dan standing by the cruiser, eating one of those God awful protein bars his vegan wife makes for him.

But the car was empty.

I fought back tears as I sat in the drivers seat. Pressing insubstantial buttons on the laptop screen, stomach acid rising in my throat and my skin itching with some combination of the late summer heat and the layer of mold spores that must be invading every pore. I could not give myself the opportunity to second guess. It had been nearly an hour.

“Better not be fucking with me.”

I cleared my throat and took a deep breath, closing my eyes to the setting sun glaring across the windshield.

“Tango Echo, officer needs assistance at 4900 Sinclair.”

I waited, an odd light grabbing my attention from behind the glass inside. Green and hollow, like a hot air balloon, but as it grows brighter, I’m fascinated by it. I stand and move toward the door, the dispatcher’s voice chirping over the call, asking me to repeat. The sun seems to be setting too fast.

Stopped, halfway to the door, I felt the ground beneath my feet shudder. The vibration was electric in it’s intensity, invading my skin, penetrating my tissues right through to my veins and nerves.

My vision swam, the light changed, became all I could see.

It is twenty three steps to the door.

I know this because I fought my own feet for 22 of them.

I heard the sirens blaring up the highway that zoomed across the back of the hotel. My puppeteer maneuvered my body as though I truly was held up by strings. I couldn’t stop staring at the light. I wanted to be in it. Under it.

I needed to.

When I found him, in the center of the basement, the light pouring from his pores, I understood why.

But by then, it was too late.

 

 

 

Fourteen Years – a drabble, 100 words

Bloody Knife by WhiteEyedFrog
Bloody Knife by WhiteEyedFrog via DeviantArt

It took more force than I’d expected. The blade was sharp, but even with my full strength behind it, I barely got four inches in.

That was enough. As he fought against it, it sliced deeper, and vibrated with each sinewy centimeter. He scratched and clawed at my arms, my neck, but I clung to the wooden handle, slick with the warm, wet life oozing out of him.

The air was thick and acrid, so I held my breath.

There was very little life left within me anyway.

I had died a little every day for the last fourteen years.

Destiny

My feet swung idly beneath the kitchen table as he made my favorite sandwich. His fingers separating the slices of seven grain bread she loved but never eats. He unscrewed the lid and pried off the inner cap of a giant jar of her homemade peanut butter, which she also never eats. The air filled with that unmistakable aroma, which made me sit up and sniff the air. My lecture about how peanuts aren’t really nuts made him chuckle before aiming his gentle, comforting gaze at me.

“Do you know what they are then, miss-know-it-all?”

He always pointed out that I didn’t know it all. But for a six year old, I knew an awful lot. I just couldn’t always remember everything I knew. He told me they are called ‘lay-gooms’ as he drizzled honey from Mr. Montgomery’s farm over both pieces of the bread. Then chuckled again when I asked if they were beans, then.

He continued the preparation, making one for me and one for her, which she wouldn’t eat and I’d have to go bury in the compost later. It didn’t matter how often she refused to eat, he always made a sandwich for her, too. Every few days, she’d surprise us by eating a lot. He said her body knew when it needed something, even if her mind didn’t.

She scrubbed at a spot on the counter that had been there forever. She was up, which was better than not. And she was calm, which was a lot better than not.

She never talked when I was around, but I knew she could, because I’d heard her through the register vent in my room. I slept on top of it some nights, when it was really cold. Or when I was full of wishes.

I heard her the night before. Crying. I heard Papa too. Begging her to let him hold her.

I once asked her why she didn’t act like a real mama, but she hit me. And he told me I was never to speak to her again unless she asked me a question. I didn’t tell him that I’d tried to hold her hand. That was the real reason she smacked me.

Watching her try to get rid of that silly orange spot on the Formica, I started to giggle because her skirt was tucked into her panties. Papa slid my plate in front of me with a glass of milk and three apple slices in the little red apple bowl he said Mama had made for me before I was born. Back when she was normal.

He pressed his finger to my lips and shook his head.

“It’s not nice to laugh at others, little pickle.”

I frowned, looking up into his giant brown eyes. He was gentle to a fault, only raising his voice as a last resort. He was only a bear when he needed to be.

My lips smirked without my intention, but I looked away, realizing he’d have to fix her. Which meant touching her.

I braced myself to hear the worst.

But it didn’t come. He whispered, but all I could here was pickle. As I looked back, his expression made my nose wrinkle. My little heart beat against my lungs.

He sat the plastic plate and cup beside her, same as me, with three apple slices in the little Winnie the Pooh bowl that used to be mine. I remember him feeding me corn out of it once, and her throwing her china plate at the ceiling above our heads, raining tiny, white shards all over me. And into my little bowl.

His face suddenly had a big red line from his forehead, down his cheek where a big piece had fallen and sliced right into his skin. I’d never seen blood before.

You can still see part of the scar, if you look really close.

It was an awful memory, I shook my head to dislodge it and focused on the shiny, red porcelain bowl that held my apples. On the bottom, there was a hand-painted message to me. Her Destiny. She’d had my name picked out for years, crocheted a blanket with flowers on it the week she’d found out she was pregnant.

She’d known. For years, she’d said she’d known.

I looked back up at Papa who sat down across from me and bit into his own sandwich. Biting into mine, I giggled when papa smiled at me with peanut butter in his teeth.

Mama glanced over, abandoned the stain, and carried her plate and cup to the end of the table. Dr Henry calls it ‘ingrained behavior’. I like Dr Henry because he teaches me big words and always sneaks me MaryJane’s from his suit pocket.

“It’s nice to all sit down and eat as a family.”

His eyes didn’t match his tone as he stared at Mama. I imagine he spent most of his life willing her to come back. Pleading with God to let her suddenly wake up normal. Negotiating his soul. If only something, anything could give him back the woman he loved.

They’d bought this giant farmhouse with plans for a brood of ten. From all recollections, she’d been the most amazing woman on earth. And no one had to tell me, I figured out on my own that I was the reason she was now simply a shell of her former self.

I had killed her without taking her life.

Dr Henry came that afternoon. We talked for half an hour about what Mama had been doing during the last week. No outbursts, no hitting, no breaking things. Then he squeezed a candy into my palm, and told me to go look up the word ‘gravity’ in the big purple dictionary.

It was the same, every week. He would come, bribe me from the room with sweets and a task, then he and Papa would tie Mama down so he could examine her and give her medicine.

Papa closed the door behind me.

I tried to occupy myself. Summer was easier because I could run around outside. But it was cold and raining, and I left my doll upstairs in my room. I pulled the huge book from the shelf and opened it on the floor, thumbing through the G’s and underlining the word with my Strawberry Shortcake pencil.

Gravity: a very serious quality or condition : the condition of being grave or serious

I didn’t get to read the rest.

Her screaming and cursing was muffled, but startled me just the same. There was a thud, and grunting. She screamed again and I heard a soft crack, like a thin tree branch breaking under the weight of a man. Papa bellowed words I’ve never heard him use before, choking and coughing.

Dying.

I wasn’t supposed to know how to unlock that door, but I did.

I shouldn’t have been able to reach the knife drawer in the kitchen, but I could.

I couldn’t possibly have been strong enough to defend him, everyone said so for months to follow.

Papa didn’t wake up for hours. I laid there beside him, staring into her eyes, something I’d never been able to do before. My arm and collarbone were broken, but the pain started to feel just hot after a while. I thought maybe it had gone away, but he squeezed me hard enough to bring it back when he woke.

Dr Henry and Mama never did.

Six years, three months and twenty three days after I killed her, I finally finished the job.

That’s the really shitty thing about Destiny.

 

Sucker

You wouldn’t have paid any attention to them. A mouse and her quiet keeper.

She was short and plain. Long denim skirts with pale, button-down blouses. Her sandy hair, braided, then rolled into a bun, and tan ballet flats peaking from beneath the frayed hems of her skirts. If you stepped close, you’d smell the Thieves oil she used in place of hand sanitizer, and perhaps the faint odor of cinnamon and cider vinegar in her hair.

But Claire wasn’t likely to let you come that close.

Her counterpart, the male version of invisible, was much the same in jeans and plain, v-neck tees, except that he wore gray Cowboy boots. Cory’s gleaming smile was inviting, if you noticed him. But you wouldn’t. Until he wanted you to.

Or until she wanted you to.

Selling them Tic Tacs and bottled water, every evening, with the occasional can of dip, I contemplated what they were like in private.

Standing behind a cash register for ten hours a day will turn you into a daydreamer, voyeur, or the best combination of the two. And I found them to be good fantasy fodder, driving away in their shiny yellow SUV that didn’t seem to match up with their rusty pickup truck attire.

Pretty, in the way young church girls are, I sometimes wondered about her bras and panties. Perhaps she didn’t wear any. Maybe she wore the expected white cotton. But my money was on lace and silk. The diamond necklace and earrings she wore eluded to a femininity that was simply kept comfortable beneath the soft, lived in fabric draped loosely over her frame. She hid beneath those clothes, so that only Cory could enjoy her shape.

She stood in front of me late one Sunday evening as he strutted to the cooler to grab four bottles of water. Two more than he usually bought. Her shirt was opened three buttons, and her fingers ran over the teardrop pendant on her necklace, drawing my eye to her collarbone and the scent of her wafted over me through the humid, unconditioned air swirling lazily through the open glass doors.

“This heat is awful. You must be miserable without any AC…”

She’d never spoken to me before, and the lilting gentleness of her voice melted over me like syrup on a snow cone. My surprise must have been evident, because she blushed and brought her fingers up to hide her pert and very rare smile.

I felt Cory watching, but I didn’t want to waste a second glancing at him. Claire was leaning forward, looking at a display of lollipops on the counter, giving me a view of the coral pink bra hidden inside her taupe shirt.

The site of her, blossoming like springtime, was intoxicating. Men can be beautiful to look at too, but women will make your teeth ache. That woman, especially.

Cory strolled to the counter as her fingers lifted to turn the little acrylic lazy Susan packed with 1″ globes of flavored sugar on sticks. His fingers ran up her back and she shivered.

“You wanna sucker, sweetness?”

Her smile twisted into the kind of smirk reserved for private jokes and knowing glances. His hand cupped the back of her neck as he leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

“Watermelon or strawberry?”

She sighed, but her eyes found mine instead of his.

“Cherry. I bet Manda likes cherry.”

I swallowed and wondered if they could hear my heart pumping away inside my chest. I’m not the girl people flirt with. I’m probably more invisible than Cory, to be honest. Plain as a pancake, always wearing a smock or coveralls. Working two jobs to pay off my mom’s house as her brain turns to soup in the nursing home. My dream to actually make something of myself blew away with the smoke of my thirtieth birthday candles. Men didn’t notice me. And women in this town were more likely to become nuns than lesbians. But right then, both of these pretty people were looking at me like I was the lollipop.

“The cherry is good. But the blueberry is my favorite.”

The Tennessee was too thick in my voice, something I shouldn’t have hated but did. My cheeks burned as Cory pulled one cherry and two blueberry from the stand. I glanced up at him and he fixed me with a look that could’ve melted the trays of chocolate bars on the front of the counter.

“You close up in a few, dontcha Manda?”

Blindly scanning the barcode on his waters, I thought I must be hallucinating from the heat and the fact that I’d worked 16 hours straight. They couldn’t actually be flirting with me.

“Yeah, but I can’t lock up until the lot is empty.”

He grinned at me, and I glanced at Claire, whose fingers had abandoned the pendant and were now skimming the lace edge of her pretty bra. His hand around her neck had gone into her hair, and her face was an absolute knot of want and hope, with tiny threads of anxiety wrinkling her brow.

“What if the person in the lot was waiting for you?”

My eyes wouldn’t stay in one place, and neither would my mind. I pulled myself to look at the screen in front of me to find their total, but Cory’s fingers went around my wrist and the contact made me jump.

“Or maybe we could meet up at Jim’s for coffee in twenty?”

He unwrapped the suckers, slowly, one at a time. Lifting the cherry to Claire’s lips where her tongue swirled around it before she took it in her mouth. Then, one of the blue one’s went into his own with a slowness that made my knees week. And as he lifted the last to my own lips, everything south of my navel throbbed and clenched.

Staring at him, pacified by the cloying sweetness that coated my tongue and telling myself that I was foolish to believe that they were actually asking me to meet them, I nodded.

Yes, that’s all I did. Nod.

Cory slid a fifty onto the countertop then under my hand before his fingers traced goose pimples into the surface of my arm, then neck, then cheek. Claire’s hand slid down my other side. I thought my eyes might jump right out of their sockets as she rose on tiptoes, over the counter, and her breath came hot and wet against my ear.

“I hope you really will come.”

I was shaking as they walked away, arms wrapped around each other, whispering until they were on the other side of the building. I popped the candy from my lips and found that, somehow, during all of that, Cory had wrapped a slip of paper around the stick of the sucker.

If you do, I’ll make sure you do.
Over, and over, and over.
423-555-9105

It took me a second, too.

You get used to seeing things happen to other people and when they happen to you, you either deny it, stay safely ashore, basking in mediocrity, or you sprint into the ocean, thinking only about how good the change in temperature feels and never about the sharks in the water.

Especially when they look like waves.

I rushed through a fifteen minute closing routine in five and a half, stripped in the bathroom to shave my legs and pits with a disposable razor and gave myself the world’s fastest whore bath, thanking God I worked at a convenience store that carried decent soap. My short hair looked pretty good, considering the humidity, and my freshly washed face would just have to suffice. Girl’s like me don’t carry makeup in our purses. I don’t even own a purse. Not that I’m butch. You know. Just lazy and cheap. A wallet and chapstick fit conveniently into the pocket of my smock.

But I had a new t-shirt in my car. And when I got to the diner, I snuck into it and sprayed myself down with a bottle of essential oil air freshener my mom made me several years before her brain completely gave way to the Alzheimer’s. It smelled of lemongrass and basil. I was surprised it was any good.

The shirt was blue, with the Blueberry Fall’s logo on the left breast. The irony was cute.

The diner was empty except for Claire and Cory. He stood when I walked in, and her smile was enough to make me say, “Let’s just go to your place”.

But, I didn’t.

We talked and drank coffee for two hours. I thought I’d blown it when Claire laid her head on Cory’s shoulder and whispered that she wanted to go. But as we walked out to the parking lot, her fingers intertwined with mine.

At my car, Cory wrapped his arms around Clair from behind and stared at me as her fingers lifted to my cheek. She wanted to kiss me, but his lips were distracting. He took a step forward, pressing her against me, grabbing the back of my neck.

“You want us both or just her. No wrong answers here.”

I couldn’t bring any words to my lips, so I shifted, and showed him my answer. My right hand fisted in his shirt, I pressed my mouth to his and slipped my tongue to meet his. Claire’s nose rubbed along the curve of my neck as she whispered how good I smelled. But as her fingers slipped beneath my top, Cory pulled back.

“Follow us. We’re a mile east of Bogden on Westmill.”

I watched them climb into their SUV, sagging against the driver’s side door of my Honda and thinking this was too good to be true.

You know what they say about that.

I followed them, drunk on the possibilities, assuming it would be a one time thing, but hoping it might be more. I had a whole new fantasy before I even hit Westmill Road. A whole new life plan.

He had told the truth on that little note. But the price I paid for those orgasms probably wasn’t worth it.

It was like a dream, that first night. A human pretzel, writhing beneath decadent, satin sheets, tasting and touching until we were all too exhausted to move. Even the next morning, as Claire revived me, her fingers bringing both Cory and I around. He pulled her between us, then threw us on our backs, making a meal of both of us and then emptying himself across our skin.

I never noticed the knives and ropes. Perhaps they weren’t there.

Monday was my only day off. But it was a luxury to have the same day off every week. I guess they’d probably watched me long enough to know this. I had nowhere to be. And I didn’t want to leave.

Until she locked me in.

You would have never suspected them. And no one ever did.

I wasn’t the first. I won’t be the last.

Maybe, someday, one of us will escape. For now, I have to settle for my Sunday’s, because that’s the night we met. And so, it’s my night.

He always makes me come on Sunday, and I’m always his breakfast on Monday. But the rest of the week, I’m hers.

And I see plenty of those ropes and knives now.

But she’s always sweet enough to pacify me with one of those disgusting blueberry suckers.

Unlocked

those locks by woelkchen-chan via DeviantArt.com
those locks by woelkchen-chan via DeviantArt.com

A loud click awakened me, and I felt everything change.

A familiar scent filled the air, but I couldn’t place it. The sun warmed my skin.

I blinked, trying to adjust to the light. But it filled me with anxious energy.

“There you are.”
“What? Am I free?”
“I’ve unlocked you.”

My hands shook. Oxygen seemed scarce. His voice…

“Come. No more hiding.”

Stumbling forward, I thought I recognized freedom, almost forgetting the prison at my back.

“You unlocked me?”

I stared at my rescuer, smiling.

But as I looked around, I felt my face fall.

“Freedom isn’t so simple.”

The above piece is for a Chuck Wendig writing prompt at http://terribleminds.com. I’m very excited because it clocks in at exactly 100 words! Those who know me well know just how difficult that was! 😛

Fearless

Fearless by x--Identical--x via DeviantArt.com
Fearless by x–Identical–x via DeviantArt.com

I wish we could swim in a pool of my words,
Warm and comforted by the heart of my creations,
And then you would drown in their meaning.

I wish we could dine on beautiful, expensive china,
Drinking our feelings like wine out of the finest crystal,
And then you would choke on the poison of my spirit.

I wish we could snuggle on the softest blankets,
Revelling in the exquisite grace of our connection,
And then you would suffocate under the weight of your dereliction.

I wish I could sit in your lap, and you could embrace me,
Inhaling the magic you so easily brought out of me,
And then you would choke on the staleness that you’ve left me with.

I wish I could kiss you, just one kiss,
Before slicing you open to bleed at my feet,
Then I could dip my fingers in your wickedness
And rub it into my deliciously, desperate skin.

I hate you.

I love to hate you.

It is a beautiful hate.

Because it makes me fearless.


Hasty’s 31 Days of Horror link up… because I just can’t get enough!

Screams of Eternity

In honor of Hasty’s 31 days of Horror and Halloween.

image

Strangled whimpers wafted through the tiny space, while his heavy breath puffed out into the chilled October air, a visible cloud of evil with each decisive movement. Each winding of his rope, each tie of a knot, each jerk of her body to position it perfectly… painfully, but perfectly.

As he completed the task, he admired his work. The tight bindings had her naked body twisted and secured in such a way that she looked as though something might break at any moment. The shape created by her stretched and twisted limbs was truly satisfying. His sadistic chuckle brought about another muffled whimper, as she couldn’t quite make any other sound.

Sorting through his tool bag, he glanced at her from time to time, soaking in the fear from her eyes. He turned toward her with a knife, a simple switch blade, but sharp and perfect for poking and prodding the other, lovely sounds of despair that he was desperate to enjoy, from his deliciously beautiful, new victim.

Her sweet eyes grew wide when she saw the blade, and her whimpers turned to attempts at muffled screams, strained by the belt around her neck. As he stepped against her, he pulled at her shoulder twisting her frame further to tighten the stranglehold, halting her pleas. Not that she could be understood anyway, through the old work rag he’d stuffed in her mouth while she was unconscious.

It was clear she would be a screamer, and his mind burned with anticipation. Hearing her cries when he captured her, was enough to set his body ablaze, and he almost hated silencing her when he knocked her out so he could strip and gag her without a fight. But the thought of her tormented shouts filling the small confines of his camper as he marked up her flawless body was nearly pure ecstasy.

However, the screams would have to wait until he tired of her aching whimpers. He contemplated cutting her free and letting her run, so he could capture her once again. Watching her run naked through the trees, scraping herself into a bloody mess would be awfully exciting. Chasing her down again and dragging her back to his torture chamber after that… Well, that would be exquisite.

As he pressed the blade against the sensitive skin above her collarbone, her tears began to fall, sliding over her cheeks and spilling onto her heaving chest where they collected into rivers that turned upside down as they dribbled from the points of her perfect nipples to the filthy floor below.

Wasted tears, he smirked. Beautiful wasted tears. And as he drew the blade across the ropes he’d just tied, the hope that sprung to her eyes was precious.  Yes, he would set her free to be captured once again, because the defeat in her expression later would be perfection.

As he sliced through the bondage, she began to fight again, and he loved her for it. Her will and her strength fed something deep within. His ability to overpower her had made him high and he wanted to feel it, again and again.

He almost told her to be still. He almost explained his intentions, but he knew that his silence would be far more frightening than anything else. As her arm was freed, she clawed and struck him, before pulling at the belt around her neck and grabbing the cloth from her pretty mouth. She gasped, deeply to fill her lungs with oxygen, but the stale air inside the camper provided little relief.

She got in a couple good hits and scratches before he slapped her across the face to settle her. She stared, stunned, as he continued to cut loose the ropes that had held her in such exquisite chaos. When he removed the last rope from her ankle, she kicked him and ran, tumbling over herself down the steps beyond the door and screaming wildly.

He laughed, watching her stagger back to her feet and attempt to run through the leaves and fallen branches that surrounded the RV. She tripped several times, and he realized she would not be difficult to track, so he took his time coiling his leftover rope, and donning his backpack of tools.

Setting out after her, he picked up her trail quickly, she had left plenty of evidence of her trajectory. He quickly gained on her and could hear her pained steps and broken breaths. When he realized she’d gone in a circle, he nearly couldn’t stop himself from shouting at her for making it too easy.

But then, just before the clearing that housed his camper, he lost her trail. He searched the tree line to see where she’d re-entered the woods, but found no trace at all. The sun was setting though, and he thought about his night vision camera and his knowledge of his beloved woods. So he relaxed, realizing she just might be easier to track at night.

As he made his way back up the clearing to the rusted and neglected old vehicle, he smiled smugly at himself. This hunt had been incredible. This girl had been even more exciting than the last. This would be a kill he would watch again and again, bringing himself to ecstasy.

And he laughed again as he climbed the steps, planning the hours of blissful torture ahead of him.

When he opened the door, he was startled by her standing there. Oh, she thought she was smart, seeking shelter in the place he shouldn’t have thought to look.

But then, her own smug smile eroded her beautiful face. And he saw it, just before she plunged a massive old kitchen knife deep into his chest.

He stared at it, and the blood that oozed from his shirt. He could taste it, in his mouth and smell the acrid stench of his life essence pouring out of him. Suddenly, the pain was excruciating. He’d never expected this, which made it hurt so much worse.

He looked up and her eyes were wild, there was no longer any fear, just hatred and venom. She pulled the knife out with some force causing the pain to surge, and he lunged for her. She thrust the knife into his abdomen this time, and he felt it tear into his organs and slice down as she held it firmly. He screamed and wretched and gazed, pleadingly at his would be prey turned skilled hunter.

As he fell to the floor, tears searing his eyes, he heard HER laughing. He writhed with the agony he’d wished to inflict on her and felt his life beginning to fade. He looked up at her again and she became quiet.

“You never anticipated that I’d be stronger than you.” Her voice was beautiful, which he hadn’t expected, and he wished he’d given her the chance to plead for her life earlier. Perhaps things would’ve ended differently.

“Who can say?” She whispered, as if reading his mind. As he stared up into the face of this damsel who he had misjudged, he suddenly became aware of the presence of others. Spirits of those who’d gone before her surrounded him as his life gurgled away, drowning in his own blood.

He realized what was about to happen. He clumsily reached out for her ankle, clinging to this little girl who had somehow ended him. “Help me…”

But all he heard in response were the screams of his own tortured soul as his victims enjoyed their just spoils.

Screams that can sometimes still be heard, in that clearing, deep in his beloved woods.

Screams that will last for all of eternity.

Dearest Reggie…

This post is a bit of fan-fic dedicated to the amazing Eric Keys who hasn’t written anything in his series Letters to His Mistress for entirely too long because he’s stalled, bored, and/or has been spending time writing stuff he would actually like to make money on, or something. Bad blogger… 😉
In an effort to inspire him to finish, I’ve written this letter from Edith’s P.O.V. (the mistress, who Reggie calls Eden).
If you haven’t read his series, this piece will make little sense (especially the end) and I encourage you to click over to LTHM to catch up. While you’re over there, leave Mr. Keys a message to let him know what you think. If you don’t feel like it, read on anyway, just don’t say I didn’t warn you. Oh wait…
**WARNING – This is not my typical style of erotica, and includes a bit of horror towards the end. 
(For those of you anxiously awaiting new material from ME in Good Girl and Moonlighting, it is my plan to wrap up both in the following week or two. So… no eye rolling or lectures… please? Feel free to give Mr. Keys a hard time, though…)

Dearest Reggie,

I can’t believe it hasn’t quite been two weeks since I last saw you. It feels like weeks, maybe months.  I won’t go into everything that has happened, because I’m quite sure Abe has kept you well-informed.

To be perfectly honest, I’ve been happy to have had him around, several times.

I know you’ve been very busy, dealing with “things coming to a head”. Abe has even made some excuses about you not contacting me, but I will admit to some insecurity. Imagining you with some, young, lovely lady does turn me on, but I’d prefer to think of you missing me as much as I miss you. I’d prefer to think of you lusting after me, alone. You said, “…one mistress is enough. But sometimes, things happen.” I hope they have not.

I certainly have no right to make demands on that issue. But I assure you, sweetheart, I do not plan to find any young stallion to use. My only wish is to use you.

I can’t stop thinking about you. About our last few days together. God, Reggie, my body has never been so alive. I feel an actual, physical need for you. I’ve been masturbating at the rate of a teenage boy. Sometimes, several times a day, to the point of actually making myself sore.

I’ve already stopped once, just while writing this letter to you. I’m crazed with lust for you. I fantasize about you coming to my office and crawling under my desk to pleasure me with that delicious tongue of yours. I’ve only been wearing skirts and dresses to the office in some twisted hope to make that fantasy come true.

I imagine you making me moan and purr with delight. I picture myself climbing under there with you, straddling your face while I take your beautiful dick into my own mouth. The perfection of our simultaneous pleasure would be heard throughout the floor, but I wouldn’t care. After I coated your face in my musk, I’d push you out from beneath the desk so that I could get your legs into the air and have full access to your manhood.

I’d stroke your length while licking and kissing down your balls until my tongue found that soft spot between your sac and your ass. I’d massage it with my tongue and tease your puckered hole until you were wet with my saliva. I’d push inside, driving you wild, then I’d fuck your ass with my finger and take your cock back into my mouth.

Just before you were about to explode, I’d climb on top of you and fuck you like it was the last day of my life. I’d come all over you while you were coming inside of me. And, just to prove I really had you, I’d kiss and lick you all over until you were hard again.

I just had to masturbate, again. I want you so bad, Reggie. I need you.

The dreams have gotten so intense, lately. I sometimes wake more than once, during the night, on the verge of orgasm. When I told you about them, I had hoped to purge myself of them. But now, the rare nights that they don’t appear, I find that I miss them, in a sense.

One of the dreams, last week, was absolutely terrifying. The demons had us both chained, and were torturing me, while forcing you to watch. Your eyes were wide, but your face was set like stone. They cut open my skin with their claw-like fingers. They moved the burning chains around so they could access fresh flesh. They used their barbed tongues and talons on my breasts and pussy, driving me insane with pain and pleasure.

Several times, when I thought I was about to die, I would see your raging, hard cock, and would be suddenly out of my mind with orgasm. Finally, during one of those orgasms, you broke free of your chains and ripped the demons apart before fucking me, wildly, covered in their vile flesh.

When I woke, my husband was screaming at me to stop, because I was writhing and finger fucking myself, right there, next to him. I didn’t stop. Until I came.

He is sure something is wrong with me, because through all of this masturbating, I can’t have sex with him. I can’t even imagine it, sweetheart, because all I can think of is you. I’ve slept in the spare bedroom since that night. He’s barely spoken to me, other than trying to get me to go to church and speak to our pastor, again.

With everything else that has happened, I simply no longer see the point.

The dreams are horrific, for sure. I do not understand why they make me feel like they do. But it is almost as if they are a surrogate for you. I feel more sated from the orgasms I have from those dreams than any, in between. Almost as satisfied as I would be with you.

But I won’t be satisfied again, until I have you in my arms. Please, sweetheart. Whatever is keeping you from me, I wish you’d sneak away.

I need you, Reggie.

Love,
Your ‘Eden’

lipstick kiss

The Man

I tried something different, a little Horror Erotica, with the help of the wonderful Eric Keys. I intended to write sexy, supernatural gore, but it still ended up being about submission!! If you choose to read it, (PLEASE NOTE: This is not a story for the queasy, it is bloody, violent, and gruesome in parts, especially Mr. Keys’ contribution) I hope you enjoy it and that it doesn’t give you many nightmares!! (Thank you, Sir! It was a pleasure writing with you!!)

(This story was originally reblogged from Eric’s site, which he has since deleted. You may, however, find his current work at bloodglorygrace.wordpress.com.)

Sexy Mel of pushingourlimits wrote the following story. I think it is full of dark, sexy goodness. She honored me by allowing me to write one scene. See if you can guess which one it is.

And without further ado, Mel’s story:

Title:The Man

Word Count: 6,300 (approx.)

Mature content including depictions of sex, violence, blood, gore, other bodily fluids and a bit of philosophy.

I stood waiting on his order, this incredible smelling man sitting at my counter. I’d worked a double the last two days, and was dog tired during this final hour before a much deserved two days off.

But when this fellow strutted in at closing time, I didn’t even flinch. I’m not sure what cologne he was wearing, but it caught my breath before I even saw him, and I wouldn’t have cared if he was ugly as sin. He smelled like heaven rolled in lust and dipped in sex. When I turned to see him, my breath caught again.

His face wasn’t particularly special, but there was something about him, about his eyes. Something dark. Just looking at him made my temperature rise.

“Is there anything sweet, you might suggest, Miss?” Oh Lord, his voice was even better than his smell. Thick and deep, it melted over me just like chocolate.

“I could,” I winked brazenly, “but I don’t get off until you leave, Sir.” I smiled, salaciously, before wishing I’d checked my reflection before he’d sat down.

He smirked and glanced at my eyes, before doing a full once over of my entire body. For a moment, I considered turning for him, so he could get the full effect.

“Well, sweet Charlene, perhaps we could remedy that by closing up, and skipping my order all together?”

I have no idea what the story was with this guy, but he had my number. I hadn’t noticed him look at my nametag, but thought he must’ve while he ogled me. I smoothed my hand over my hair, twisting my ponytail down over my shoulder. Why do women always touch themselves when they are aroused? I couldn’t help it though, it was as if something was controlling me.

I walked, automatically to the front door, spun the sign and flipped the lock wondering what the hell I was getting myself into. But when I turned, he was right behind me. I didn’t jump though, because I knew it. It was the strangest sensation I’d ever had. Accompanied by the feeling that I had to let him get close to me. I thought to myself, I don’t even know this man’s name!

“My name is not important, as I actually go by many.”

Sweet Jesus, this man was reading my mind.

“I am not far from Jesus, precious girl, but you wouldn’t understand much of that if I tried to explain. So instead, why don’t you just agree that you would like to play. You and I could have a little fun this evening.”

My mind was spinning, as he stepped against me, but I didn’t back away. I pressed forward, feeling the incredible heat of him, breathing his intoxicating smell, and staring into his hypnotizing eyes.

“What are you doing to me?” The question left my lips before I even thought it.

“If you agree, I am going to give you immense pleasure… possibly mixed with the vicious pain you secretly desire. Ah yes, open that up to me so I can see what it is you truly want. You like to be beaten, slapped… perhaps cut? Oh, sweet little girl, we will have a ball, you and I.”

“Why should I trust you?” My voice was now shaky with need, as whatever hold he had on me got stronger every moment our bodies touched.

“You probably shouldn’t. But my pleasure comes from your pleasure. I will only hurt you as much as you crave to be hurt. Your arousal makes me stronger, do you feel it?”

“Yes, Sir. …Yes, I feel it?” My eyes closed and his warmth wrapped around me like liquid fire, sliding around hidden peaks and between secret folds. But I suddenly became very frightened at the thought of what kind of creature could do such things.

“Don’t be frightened, just feel it. It’s a taste of the pleasure I could bring you if you agree.”

“But…. But what’s the price. There must be a cost. Are you going to take my soul?” His laugh filled the shop and my ears with the most incredible sound. This couldn’t possibly be the devil. Not the devil I’d ever heard of.

“Oh sweet, little one, no. I am not the devil. I do not want your soul. Only your power.”

“What power do I have?” My breath left my lungs in short pants, as I actually felt his fingers dancing inside of me, even though his arms lay limply by his sides.

“You have the most amazing kind of power.” He dropped his nose to my hair and inhaled deeply. I could only imagine it smelled like coffee and cleaning spray, from working all day. “You smell like electricity and excitement to me, Charlene. You smell like unbridled passion, fury and life.” I suddenly felt his erection and could barely stop myself from collapsing and begging him to let me have it.

“All you have to do is tell me you’re mine. And this raging cock is all yours.”

I took several deep breaths, trying to clear my mind of his magic. I even thought, Please get out of my head.

He did. He stepped back and withdrew completely and I suddenly felt freezing cold and chest crushingly empty. I opened my eyes and stared at him, willing him to return. As a single tear slipped down my cheek, he growled, “Say it.”

I swallowed and whispered, “Please come back?”

It may have only been a few seconds, but that cold made it feel like an eternity before he stepped against me again, and his warmth enveloped me, this time, with his arms. He bent his lips to mine and rumbled, “I cannot kiss you until you say it.”

I exhaled, and he stole my breath. I blinked and the warmth reached my heart. “I’m yours.”

I wasn’t sure I’d said it aloud for a moment, but then suddenly his lips were pressed against mine and his tongue was dancing with mine. The warmth turned to a fire that burned so brightly I lost my mind for a moment or two.

When I returned, he was carrying me into the kitchen, his frame seemed much larger than it had when he was sitting. He sat me on a table, pulled my wrists behind my back and began to untie my apron before speaking to me through my mind.

Is anyone here? Will anyone come tonight?

I didn’t need to answer, because the answers were there as soon as he gave me the questions.

Having him inside my head was strange, but exhilarating. And the way my body felt was incredible.

I’m going to go very quickly at first, I need you to let go completely.

He pulled my t-shirt over my head and hummed at the sight of my pretty, soft breasts cupped in sheer coral fabric. His fingers practically dissolved me out of my jeans, I’m still not sure how he accomplished that, as I wear them quite snug on my curvy ass.

Your body will heal. You must remember that.

Suddenly, he flipped me and secured my wrists with my apron strings to the side of the table. His hands began pinching and rubbing my ass between stinging blows of his palm. I heard his belt buckle and the leather slide from the loops and nearly came from the thought of him strapping me, like my daddy did when I was a girl.

You’re daddy’s good girl, why would you need a strapping? Oh, yes, because of your naughty, slutty thoughts.

The first few blows, he laid on my ass cheeks with the belt folded in half. But then he released it and let it whip through the air, all over my body. The pain was so decadent, I’m not sure I would call it pain at all. After 20 or 30 strikes, he bent and said aloud. “I need blood, your body will heal.”

He pulled a knife from the block on the counter and ran it over my ass. I couldn’t scream, nor did I want to. The searing pain of each shallow slice was quickly negated by his thick, luscious voice in my mind, calming me, telling me I was a good girl, and how amazing my powers were.

After 7 scores, he dropped the knife and began rubbing the blood and licking the wounds. I didn’t panic at all, and instead felt incredible need for him to continue. As my thoughts began to race, his fingers slipped between my cheeks and into my dripping lips. “I want to fuck your amazing pussy, but I need you to cum first. I need your climax to give me full strength.”

It took but mere seconds for the waves of pleasure his vibrating fingers pulsed into me to send me bucking and jolting over the edge. My juices flowed from me, onto his waiting tongue as he lapped them up moaning, and growling with his own deep satisfaction.

I felt that liquid warmth wash over me again, as whatever power I was feeding him strengthened within him. He roared his lust against my ear as he slammed his suddenly free rod ferociously into my quivering cunt.

After only a few thrusts, I came again, with such intensity, I thought I might turn inside out.

He slowed to allow my mind to recover, but then pulled free and flipped me over onto my backside. It didn’t hurt. Questions filled my mind about what he had done, because I saw the blood on his chin and hands, but my ass did not hurt. Not even a tingle.

He smiled a questionably evil grin, “I told you that you would heal. I couldn’t have you bleed away all of that power.”

He released my wrists and spun me on the table as my thoughts spun around the cuts and the blood. “Would you like to see? You want to see the blood too? Taste it. Feel it. Rub it all over your gloriously pale skin?”

“Yes, please, yes!” What had come over me? These were not thoughts or fantasies I’d ever had before. The magic this man infected me with… “Yes.”

He sliced off my bra, and groaned as my heavy tits bounced free. Bringing the knife to the top of my breasts, he heard my thoughts about scars and whispered, “There will be no marks.”

As the blade ran across my flesh, fine red dots began to grow and fill into drops, then flow into pools and rivulets. I groaned, as I felt the searing pain of a fresh wound, but the incredible liquid heat that he was spreading throughout my body quickly turned it into something else. Something incredible. I lifted a hand to touch it and his voice filled my head again.

Rub it onto your nipples so that I may taste them both together.

I slid my fingers through the line of blood, and then circled my tight peaks, moaning and panting at the incredible pleasure alive throughout my whole body.

His lips dropped to my chest and he began licking and sucking, then biting until his cock could not be ignored another moment. “Please let me taste it?” I begged.

He jumped onto the table, straddling my chest and began stroking his huge dick between my breasts. The blood coated it quickly and he rose to fuck my waiting mouth. It tasted like syrup and metal and heat and salt. I sucked and swirled as he rammed his erection into my throat repeatedly. I knew whatever control he had on me was keeping me from gagging, and started to lose pace with my breathing until he reminded me, with his mind, not to slip away.

I felt him trembling and knew he was going to cum, so I began swallowing repetitively against the tip of his glorious cock. As he shot pulse after pulse of searingly hot seed down the back of my throat, he pulled himself free so that he could watch the final ropes hit my tongue.

He tasted as good as he smelled, and as I licked my lips and hummed my delight, he lowered himself to lie on top of me and lick the bloody wound across my chest.

As he did so, I watched it close.

Then I looked into his eyes and saw the lust was unabated. I tried to mentally prepare myself for more.

His expression told me any such preparations would be useless, before his voice filled my mind.

You’re quite good, my little slut. But I understand this might be overwhelming. Do you need a break? Because I’d like to really get at your pain fantasies, now that I am somewhat sated.

My mind was blank. I must have repeated his last sentence in my own mind five times before he said aloud, with annoyance, “You are thinking far too much. Have I given you any reason to feel this… concern that you are overcome with?”

I stared at him, thinking how the pain hadn’t been real pain, how his magic made it different.

Is it true pain that you wish to experience? I will go, and you will understand true pain.

“No!” I shouted, remembering the emptiness and coldness left from him absence earlier. “No, I just don’t fully understand…” My voice fell away as abstentious humor curled his lips.

He dropped to the floor, standing even taller than I had remembered, and took my hand to raise me off the table. “Sweet Charlene, no, you do not fully understand and that is your hesitance, isn’t it. Is it being here, in the place where you are normally in charge? Would you prefer I take you home?”

He wanted to bring me to his home? He had house just like a human?

“Oh, dear girl. You must stop thinking.” He pulled me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me, and breathing in deeply against my hair. This time I felt him draw the power, and I felt the strength build in his embrace. The air around us shifted, and when I opened my eyes, we were on my porch. I pushed against his chest but he didn’t budge, and instead, snaked his hand down to my naked ass. “Now, invite me inside, my sweet southern belle.”

“How did we get here? Why didn’t you let me dress?” The fear was building instead of abating, and it was apparently stealing back the power from him, because he let me go.

Stepping back, I see that he is fully dressed, and then as I take another step, placing my back against the front door, I look down and see that now I am dressed too.

“You need only think about what you wish. If you get past the fear, I can make all your wishes and desires true. You know this, deep inside, but continue to let the fear spin your thoughts.”

I let out a the huge breath I’d been holding and closed my eyes. When I did, I felt the warm energy surround me again, slipping into my clothes, my panties, my chest and my soul. “But this is evil,” I whispered, not opening my eyes.

“The fear is born from not knowing or understanding what it is I am giving to you. Or what you might do with it.”

When I opened my eyes, his expression was grave, but the heat increased, and again, I felt as though his fingers were inside me, circling my clit, pressing into my ass. “An explanation is what you need, little girl. But you still won’t understand. Give into your desire, let me pleasure you for the next two days. Let me help you understand yourself. At the end, you will understand my needs.”

I suddenly felt incredible sadness, that shocked and hurt me. “No, no, child,” he breathed as he stepped against me, filling my mind with images of me with children, a real home, a pleasant life. “Do not think ‘the end’ is THE end, I do not wish to harm you. I wish to bring you over. I wish to make all your dreams come true, but not the dreams you’ve had for your future, the ones you will have once our union is complete.”

The images shifted, and there were still children, but different. There was still a home, but much different. In this future, I was not a simple southern waitress, but a powerful goddess of some kind. It still was something I could not understand. But his presence around and inside me was so exhilarating. I wanted more pleasure. More pain. More blood. And more power. I felt his goals blooming inside of me as I whispered, “Yes, …please come inside.”

Why he required the invitation, I am unsure, but it doesn’t matter as we stepped into my living room and our clothes disappeared. He asked me through our telepathic connection if I had rope, and I answered him the same way, growing more accustomed to the connection. I pictured my scarves, and he immediately pulled me into my bedroom, knowing my home from the knowledge of my mind.

He positioned me at the end of the bed, and stood in front of me. I felt his thoughts as though I were thinking them myself, and I somehow let him see that I wanted his magic inside of me again. He grabbed my elbows tightly and our lips touched. Suddenly I experienced a whirlwind of sensations. As though there were lips and tongues and fingers and cocks all around me, stroking me, kissing me, penetrating me. He let go of me and I opened my eyes to see blue smoke surrounding me in streams.

My arms were thrust out to my sides and my legs yanked apart, as I was lifted onto my back on the bed. The smoke turned solid, and I watched as thick, blue rope like tentacles wound around my entire body. One large one, flicked over my nipples before rising to ram into my mouth. Some smaller with pointed ends flicked at my nipples and clit while another large one inserted itself into my pussy. As if they were one, great monster, they fucked me and teased me, until I squeezed my eyes shut so tightly that they hurt. The ecstasy mixed with fear was far too much and I pleaded for his true presence. When I opened my eyes again, he was lying on top of me, the tentacle monster gone, as if it were never there.

“You must get past the fear, little one. It angers me,” he growled against my lips, but instead of increasing my fear, it only built on my lust. He growled again in my ear, shooting vibrations straight to my clit, and sensing this ability, he roared, that dark, venomous roar from earlier, and I came. Hard. My pussy clenched as my liquid desire filled the room with my scent.

He inhaled a deep breath before rumbling, “Yes! Give me more, sweet girl!” He jumped off of me, halfway across the room in completely inhuman fashion, but his thoughts were in mine, and I knew he was seeking the scarves. When he returned, he quickly bound me, tightly, and somewhat painfully. He grinned at that thought, and dipped to kiss me. “There is much more pain to come, my sweet.”

I quivered at the notion, and his chuckle filled the room with the most amazing sound. After he finished laughing, I saw him holding his belt again and chills spilled over my skin. I was tied, wrists together, and lashed to the headboard. My ankles were each tied to the legs of the bed frame. He was going to strap my front.

He folded the belt in half and immediately started striking me with it. My breasts, my belly, my arms and thighs. Over and over, each blow landing hard enough to leave a mark, some welting immediately. The heat from the hits combined with his electricity smoothing over my skin after each blow went everywhere but the spot that I longed for and feared equally.

Let go of the fear, recognize how much you want it and let go.

I started begging him, in my mind, as I bit my cheek, to do it. Hit my pussy, please. Hit my pussy!

Fourteen strikes, harder each time, landed on my swollen lips and engorged clit. The pain was excruciatingly pleasurable, and, for a moment, I didn’t want him to ever stop, but then I heard him whisper, “I need your blood, again.”

The fingers of his right hand were suddenly holding a three pronged knife, a sai, his voice filled my head again, and I longed for him to say more.

I want to cut you and heal you over and over, I want to feed off of you… You want it, don’t you. You want the blood as much as me.

“Yes!” I screamed, pulling at my restraints, writhing and pleading, in my mind, for him to begin. Devour me!

His lips were on mine, before he suddenly bit, then sucked on my tongue. I tasted the blood, but the wound was healed in seconds, and I felt my climax rising inside of me, with his huge cock pressed against my thigh. When I opened my eyes, he was smiling at me, a purely diabolical look in his nearly gold eyes. Where they always that color? His blood covered teeth flashed at me, and my body sung with need.

“Please, please…” I moaned, desperate for more, for something, for completion.

I felt the knife under my breast, before he whispered, “I’m going deeper this time. You will still heal, but this time, you’ll bleed longer. It will hurt worse, but only for a moment.”

That intoxicating warmth flowed over and into me, I supposed to dampen the pain. I moaned and whimpered at the pleasure, but as the blade slid into my breast slowly, I cried out, thrashing against the pain. I screamed as he pulled the blade free, but the scream rolled me into an earth shattering orgasm.

His magical smoke flowed throughout me, penetrating me, and the added pain and pressure from his lips as he sucked on the bloody wound sent me crashing against my own body. Clenching and squirting, the waves kept hitting me and I wondered if it would ever end.

I nearly forgot what was happening, when my mind was quickly filled with more images. Visions from him, of this future, with him. But suddenly, I was in control of them. He had healed the wound and his lips travelled down, nipping and sucking, until his tongue circled my clit.

As the pleasure surged through me, yet again, I felt the handle of the sai, cold and hard, press inside my throbbing slit. I was telling him to do these things, controlling him through the channel he had used to control me. My power wasn’t simply feeding him, but me as well. I tried not to allow any thoughts to break the spell, I continued instructing him and wondered how far I could take it.

Cut yourself. Let me taste YOUR blood.

I stared down at him, as his eyes rose to meet mine. “Yesssss.” He wanted that, he wanted us to both get stronger. Why?

“We need to be strong to truly unite. Your body will need to be much more tenacious to handle the conception of our offspring.”

He slithered up my body before thrusting his massive cock inside my pulsing rent, drilling into me deeper and deeper until I was surging against the incredible zenith and plummeting over the edge. I screamed in my mind for him to feed me, and he did.

As he sliced his chest and leaned against my lips, he roared again, this time sounding remarkably scary, but it didn’t frighten me in the least. I had told him to do so. I was in complete command, and as I sucked the blood from his wound, I felt it through my whole body. It was incredible.

I lost control, as the combination of him around me, inside me and flowing through me, intoxicated me completely. The taste was indescribable. I felt the wound close under my tongue, and as I looked up at his face, his eyes seemed different. He lowered himself for a moment, so the his lips were just above mine.

“I feel drunk,” I grinned, unsure if he could hear my thoughts.

“I know, it will fade, little one.” He gave me a soft kiss, his softening manhood sliding out of me.

I was sure he had not cum again. “What’s the matter, Sir? Did I do something wrong?” My voice barely squeaked out as I felt him pulling back, pulling away, leaving me empty again. “Please, please don’t leave me,” I whispered.

He began to untie the scarves and I felt him and heard him willing himself not to pull back completely. I heard him telling himself that he needed me, even if that was the scariest fucking thing he’d ever realized. He couldn’t tell I was still in his head, and that was strange. If he created the connection…

Once my right hand was free, I lifted it to his cheek, “Please tell me your name. If you’re going to leave me, I should at least know your name…”

“I told you, I go by many names.” His eyes were so sad, he almost didn’t look like the same man. As he finished untying the other hand, I grabbed his face and willed him to look into my eyes. His elbows dropped to either side of my shoulders and his hands wrapped around my head, just as I wished it. I tried hard to keep myself from thinking thoughts, only commands, because I wasn’t sure when he would start reading my mind again.

“Kiss me then, Man. Fill me back up… please?”

His thoughts went to the visions of my future. …Our future. …Our children’s future. It was surreal. Everything I had imagined, everything that I had changed and created was there, in his fantasy. His eyes widened and he dropped his lips to mine.

I giggled, feeling the intoxication return with his extra-presence. I pulled him into a deep kiss, filling his mouth with my tongue, and feeling his body respond to me in a new way. One he didn’t understand. One he was helpless to fight against. I pushed him back and giggled again.

Sensing his uneasiness, I let the power flow back to him, as slowly and easily as I could. And as I did, his thoughts became very dark.

My giddiness was quickly replaced with a need to bleed for him.

“Sweet Charlene,” he said with a sigh, “I can tell you are beginning to sense the magnitude of these events. There is a problem, though. To speak metaphorically, you are still operating at too low a frequency for your destiny to be realized. We need to ratchet you up.”

“I’m ready, Sir,” I breathed.

“I’m not convinced you understand what needs to happen.”

“The vision, Sir. What price would be too high?”

“I suppose no one is ever ready,” he said.

I heard a loud clacking noise. Noise it too weak a word. Cacophony. Symphony of creaks, groans, scratches of metal on metal. I saw them come at me like tendrils of some horrid squid, the long lengths of razor wire shooting out of the walls, the floor, the ceiling – circling around my limbs, tearing my flesh. I started to scream, but before the sound could escape a length of the wire slammed across my mouth and tongue.

The agony was unbearable as the metallic, cutting tendrils circled over my breasts – ripping into my soft flesh. I saw geysers of blood shoot from my chest, spraying until the air itself seemed dark red. I whimpered as best as I could as the tendrils penetrated my pussy and then my ass.

I felt my very life slipping away, wishing that death would end this horrible pain. And then the sensations seem to grow so intense that my mind could no longer understand the overload of signals. I felt an orgasm convulse through my body. I jerked so hard that I almost ripped myself apart in the net of the razor wire. And the pain returned, followed by greater pleasure, over and over and over.

Soon I sensed a rhythm as pulse of pleasure and pain coursed through me. I felt my body vibrating, pulsating with a new power. And beyond that, I sensed that there were other bodies in me – other parts of myself being woken up by the shock to my system.

The blood continued to course through my body and shoot out into the air in ever more amazing patterns and configurations. I could see glimpses of a million possible futures and a billion possible pasts somehow encoded in the sprays of blood.

Soon I was beyond even that. I was all pleasure and pain and the pulsating rhythm.

And as quickly as it started, it stopped. The razor wire withdrew. The cuts healed. My mind returned to my body. The Man was on top of me, pushing my legs up in the air as he rutted away at me. Our bodies were soaked in my blood.

I instinctively reached my blood covered hand down to play with my throbbing clit.

“Sweet Charlene! Do you want my cum?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I whimpered.

His grunts shook the room as I felt his throbbing member pulse and pulse, over and over as his cum filling my pussy as another orgasm rocked my already exhausted body.

He dismounted and collapsed beside me. His cock still hard, still pulsing as little drops of cum continued to bubble up through his member. I took him in my mouth delighting myself in the taste of my blood and my juices mixed with his cum.

As I sucked him he drifted off to sleep. And as I curled up next to his body and slept, too, the ramifications of what had happened bloomed within me, in my mind, in my dreams.

When I woke, after what seemed like days, I instantly searched my mind before opening my eyes. Had that really happened? I sensed his presence, he was still asleep, and dreaming of the future… the one I’d shown him.

His energy was liquid and content, and I felt it bend to my will. I opened my eyes to the blood covered room and then stared at my flesh. The blood that stained the walls and sheets had absorbed into my skin. There were no marks, scars, or dried droplets. Instead, my skin looked as it never had, glowingly perfect. I wanted to wake him, to show him, but his dreams were so lovely.

I laid my head on The Man’s chest, and watched, as though I were at the movies. I felt his pleasure, at this new world we would create with our offspring.

I didn’t even know his name.

As though by command, his names appeared to me. All of them. In all of their elaborate confusion. Everything revealed itself to me at my desire.

I opened my eyes and wished the blood gone, and it disappeared. Poof. Not a single stain left.

I wished for the Sai, and it lifted from the ground next to the bed into my hand. I felt myself getting stronger still. A strength I realized now The Man had known I would obtain. But I’m sure he did not realize I would control him and our connection.

I pressed the tip of the blade against his chest and told his sleeping mind not too feel pain. As I broke the skin, he was aware that something had happened, his real face even winced, but as the blood oozed from the wound and I sucked the sweet nectar in, his dreams became filled with lust and sadistic violence.

Yes, wake my dark Sir, do those things to me.

As his eyes fluttered open, he realized what I had done, just before the wound drew closed. I felt his fear. I felt his realization.

“How are you doing this, little girl? How could you possibly steal my strength?”

Feeling drunk again, from consuming his essence, I giggled and climbed on top of him.

“Oh, sir, you truly have nothing to fear from me. I need you as you need me. I’m using your strength, but only borrowing it. It’s still yours. It belongs to you. You thought in taking my power, it would make you a king. You believed the future would be yours. But… it is ours. ”

I rose, straddling him, and pulling his blue smoke to surround us. I commanded it wrap in fingerlike tendrils around me – my neck, my breasts, arms, wrists and thighs. He watched as the smoke changed and became solid. The fleshy, vine like strands danced around my pussy, darting in and out, making me wet and pulling at my arms, nipples, throat… I winced at the pain of it. I continued, using my own power to hurt myself, because the pain and pleasure were the keys.

His dark and glorious laugh filled the room. He still did not fully comprehend. “You don’t seem to have the control you believe you do. Perhaps you should return the power to me, sweet Charlene?”

As he finished the statement, all motion stopped. I glared down at him as the blue tendrils released me and lifted into the air, surrounding him like a dozen pointed veins. His face changed, and his fear excited me.

I didn’t lose strength from his fear as he did with mine. I sent my magic to wrap around him and penetrate him, the way he had used the smoke on me. The tendrils stroked and held him, he watched them anxiously, before succumbing to their pleasure.

“I’m in far more control than you, Sir. I understand these powers in a way you do not. I do not wish to become a ruler, but to create the new world. You will not be king, my dark sadist, but perhaps your children or grandchildren will. Can you be trusted to remain at my side? To assist me in teaching them? Or will you always try to take my power to use it for yourself?”

His face was filled with pleasure, pain, confusion and frustration. I closed my eyes and the blue magic disappeared. I lowered myself to lie on his chest. I stopped controlling him, so that he might have a clear head, but lifted my hands to his face and hair. I kissed his lips softly, while he stared at me, bewildered.

“Why are you willing to share? You’re clearly stronger than me, why wouldn’t you just kill me?” His voice was so low, his eyes, so much darker than they’d been, his heart truly full of fear.

“You needed a human for a reason, Sir. Just as that human would always need you. I recognize this. And killing you serves no purpose. Without your presence, I would become that sad, empty girl I was, again. Without my presence, you would always be seeking that power that strengthens you.

“If you promise not to lose site of the future, the end goal, I will submit to you always, my dark Sir. My power will continue to be your strength. That is what I truly want. An infinite lifetime of pleasure, …for both of us.”

As I bent to kiss him, I felt his thoughts and emotions, I felt his fear, but I allowed him to work through it. I felt his desire. He more than wanted me, he was unsure he could live without me.

I rolled off, to his side and laid my ear against his chest. He had a heart, like a real man, but it did not sound quite the same. I concentrated on syncing my own to his. Closing my eyes, I manipulated my own human heartbeat until it fell in pace with his.

I felt him shift, and I opened my eyes, face to face with his fiery golden irises. Wide, and questioning, he slipped his fingers around my face. “Why did you do that?” His voice was quiet and deep, but wavered slightly.

“To see if I could… Because it felt like you needed me, but in a way you still won’t believe.” I stroked his cheek and filled his mind with the visions.

Let go of the future you expected. Promise me. Accept my submission. We can enjoy the fruits of our union for eternity. You chose me for a reason.

He looked at me with a sort of half smile and whispered, “You’re asking me accept your submission. But you’re telling me to submit.”

I laughed, “Our children will never know the difference.”

He rolled me onto my back, covering my body with his and whispered, darkly, “As long as I get to be in control of this,” he held my wrists in one hand above my head, then slid his other between us, between my legs, and held my pussy, thrusting his middle fingers inside me. “And you never subject me to that tentacle shit again,” he let go, spread my legs and drilled into me with his huge erection. “I will submit to your submission.”