Soft, white flesh
I long to caress
I smell the life within her
An unnatural fire ignites my veins
Ruby red lips form my name
Seductively and with passion
The sound of her heart throbs in my mind
Deep down I am sickened, but the urge is so strong
Damn me sweet whore
Take me to the depths from whence you came
How I can live with death?
How can I live without?
I hold your lithe form in trembling arms
You writhe like a goddess of love
And invite me to partake
In lust, condemned and damned
In your eyes I see promise
In your curves I feel promise
I am spellbound and moonstruck
I go in for the feast
A cry of both pain and pleasure
Rents the night air
Blood, sweet lifeblood I drink greedily
Draining your beauteous form, darkening my soul
I indulge like a glutton
Until a pale corpse lies before me
Though sated, my spirit shrivels
And I cry undead tears
Through the wracking sobs I hear
The laughing…
The taunting…
The Succubus forever delighting in her game
Copyright © 2001 by Aaron Wilson
20 September, 2008
18 September, 2008
love
Love is fire. But whether it is going to warm your hearth or burn down your house, you can never tell.
Joan Crawford
Joan Crawford
11 September, 2008
04 September, 2008
Knife Play (for SB) mild, some blood
The blindfold wasn't on right, she could see just a bit from under the edge.
The hands that tied them were big, long fingered like a pianist... it gave her ideas that made her blush a little and she heard a soft chuckle as the figure leaned in to brush soft lips against her cheek “Getting anxious, my lovely?”
The gag kept her from responding, though she made a soft sound that hopefully indicated her eagerness... There had been no warning, no preparation for this scene... Just a phone call that told her to be waiting on the bed in the dark. The blindfold had come from behind, tied quickly and with just enough roughness to give her a moments concern before those lips pressed against her own and then the gag was put into place.
“I'm not going to tie you tonight, but I expect you to stay completely still no matter what happens.” the light glinted off of something in those hands, but she couldn't see it because of the blindfold. Her breath caught.
Sulfur scented the air as a match was lit and touched to the candles sitting on the bedside table. Moments later, the overhead light went out and everything was aglow with soft dancing flames. She could see a hand as it came toward her, brushing hair back away and tucking it behind her ear. “You aren't going to be able to scream... but trust me my love, I will know if you need it to stop.”
Out of sight, she could hear the other hand sorting things on the table, then a brief silence.
Something cold touched her belly, causing a flinch. The hand on her hair moved faster than she could've expected, tangling into her locks and tugging “I said. Be still.” there was a note of irritation in the voice, but it didn't quite hide the amusement.
The cold moved across her abdomen slowly, giving her a chance to focus on its sensation, giving her a few moments to identify it. Not ice, there was no trail, no drip. What, then?
An unexpected prick of pain made her gasp as she realized that the tip of a blade had just pierced her just above the navel. Tension shot through her body as the knife moved again, the sharp of the blade just barely touching her skin, just enough that she knew it could be used at any moment as it trailed its way slowly upward.
The flat of the blade brushed across her left nipple. Rather, it wasn't quite touching but so close that just the nearness of it was agonizing because it would have been so easy to arch and make contact... She behaved, and was rewarded by a chuckle as the right nipple received the same treatment. It was harder being good the second time, but even though she managed it she was pleased when it moved on again.
When the blade touched again, there was pressure behind it, and it was moving over the curve of her shoulder. She could feel the skin parting beneath the sharpened edge, just a light separation and then a slow seeping of blood. There was a murmur as the figure leaned over her, breasts in her face as those soft warm lips moved along the trail, tongue swirling as it followed that thin line of blood.
Mistress leaned back again so that the candle glow could illuminate the girl's lightly trembling form. The knife wasn't within her limited view, and she couldn't feel its touch. She took a moment to breathe deeply as she prepared herself for whatever might come next.
What came was a light pressure against her thigh as Mistress's hand slid over its softness and dipped into the valley in search of moisture. The light made her fingertips glisten as they passed up again and a low murmur of approval came from out of sight “So sweet, my love...”
An instant later the knife came back, and it took all of her willpower not to shift, not to even breathe as it moved slowly over her throat. She had a moment of fear as it paused, pressing down against her jugular. It seemed that the wild, uncontrollable thumping of her heart would draw the blade down, tempt it to slice too deeply... but nothing happened. It just rested there, biting just a little into her skin, drawing blood but no more than a paper cut would have done.
As the blade finally moved away she could still feel the erratic thumping of her heart, only now it was echoed between her thighs. Mistress would never harm her, this was meant to tease, to tantalize... yes, even to frighten just a bit. Adrenaline could be a powerful aphrodisiac, and fear was a guaranteed way to bring it to the surface.
The weight on the bed shifted away as Mistress reached for something, then leaned over her... hand moving over her thigh again before gently pressing to indicate that she should part them, spread them wider, then wider again. She heard the buzzing just before the toy was pushed into her; it took a few experimental thrusts before it was settled with the attachment fluttering against her clit as the core of it pulsed within. The gag muffled her moan as Mistress allowed her thighs to close again, leaving the toy securely in place.
The knife moved along her hip, harder now. She was having difficulty keeping still now, and each time she lost that battle the blade pressed harder. Flesh parted beneath its tip as it moved over her hip and carefully upward through the valley between her breasts. Her nipples weren't touched this time, not that it made a difference. The knife moved in a wide circle, tracing her aureole then spiraling gradually inward. The nipple was avoided as the circuit came close the other breast got the treatment instead.
It didn't touch her throat this time... instead, she could feel the cold of the steel against her cheek, caressing her earlobe, then jumping down to move over her arm. It stopped at her wrist pressing harder than was comfortable for a moment, but not drawing blood. Just... the force of it reminded her that she had given her Trust, which was a dangerous thing, but it also showed her that the trust was well placed as she was in no real danger.
Almost as if to spite that conviction, the knife moved sharply upward, cutting deeply into her forearm so that blood spilled down onto the sheets. At the same moment Mistress's free hand forced itself between her thighs, pressing the toy more tightly, pushing it in more deeply “Come.” was the command, one obediently and immediately obeyed.
Later, once the world returned, the gag and blindfold were removed. Mistress showed her that the cut hadn't been as deep as it looked, then carefully and gently cleansed and bandaged the wound. The toy was switched off, though it was left in place for the moment, an indication that the night still had more play in store... but the knife was put away.
The hands that tied them were big, long fingered like a pianist... it gave her ideas that made her blush a little and she heard a soft chuckle as the figure leaned in to brush soft lips against her cheek “Getting anxious, my lovely?”
The gag kept her from responding, though she made a soft sound that hopefully indicated her eagerness... There had been no warning, no preparation for this scene... Just a phone call that told her to be waiting on the bed in the dark. The blindfold had come from behind, tied quickly and with just enough roughness to give her a moments concern before those lips pressed against her own and then the gag was put into place.
“I'm not going to tie you tonight, but I expect you to stay completely still no matter what happens.” the light glinted off of something in those hands, but she couldn't see it because of the blindfold. Her breath caught.
Sulfur scented the air as a match was lit and touched to the candles sitting on the bedside table. Moments later, the overhead light went out and everything was aglow with soft dancing flames. She could see a hand as it came toward her, brushing hair back away and tucking it behind her ear. “You aren't going to be able to scream... but trust me my love, I will know if you need it to stop.”
Out of sight, she could hear the other hand sorting things on the table, then a brief silence.
Something cold touched her belly, causing a flinch. The hand on her hair moved faster than she could've expected, tangling into her locks and tugging “I said. Be still.” there was a note of irritation in the voice, but it didn't quite hide the amusement.
The cold moved across her abdomen slowly, giving her a chance to focus on its sensation, giving her a few moments to identify it. Not ice, there was no trail, no drip. What, then?
An unexpected prick of pain made her gasp as she realized that the tip of a blade had just pierced her just above the navel. Tension shot through her body as the knife moved again, the sharp of the blade just barely touching her skin, just enough that she knew it could be used at any moment as it trailed its way slowly upward.
The flat of the blade brushed across her left nipple. Rather, it wasn't quite touching but so close that just the nearness of it was agonizing because it would have been so easy to arch and make contact... She behaved, and was rewarded by a chuckle as the right nipple received the same treatment. It was harder being good the second time, but even though she managed it she was pleased when it moved on again.
When the blade touched again, there was pressure behind it, and it was moving over the curve of her shoulder. She could feel the skin parting beneath the sharpened edge, just a light separation and then a slow seeping of blood. There was a murmur as the figure leaned over her, breasts in her face as those soft warm lips moved along the trail, tongue swirling as it followed that thin line of blood.
Mistress leaned back again so that the candle glow could illuminate the girl's lightly trembling form. The knife wasn't within her limited view, and she couldn't feel its touch. She took a moment to breathe deeply as she prepared herself for whatever might come next.
What came was a light pressure against her thigh as Mistress's hand slid over its softness and dipped into the valley in search of moisture. The light made her fingertips glisten as they passed up again and a low murmur of approval came from out of sight “So sweet, my love...”
An instant later the knife came back, and it took all of her willpower not to shift, not to even breathe as it moved slowly over her throat. She had a moment of fear as it paused, pressing down against her jugular. It seemed that the wild, uncontrollable thumping of her heart would draw the blade down, tempt it to slice too deeply... but nothing happened. It just rested there, biting just a little into her skin, drawing blood but no more than a paper cut would have done.
As the blade finally moved away she could still feel the erratic thumping of her heart, only now it was echoed between her thighs. Mistress would never harm her, this was meant to tease, to tantalize... yes, even to frighten just a bit. Adrenaline could be a powerful aphrodisiac, and fear was a guaranteed way to bring it to the surface.
The weight on the bed shifted away as Mistress reached for something, then leaned over her... hand moving over her thigh again before gently pressing to indicate that she should part them, spread them wider, then wider again. She heard the buzzing just before the toy was pushed into her; it took a few experimental thrusts before it was settled with the attachment fluttering against her clit as the core of it pulsed within. The gag muffled her moan as Mistress allowed her thighs to close again, leaving the toy securely in place.
The knife moved along her hip, harder now. She was having difficulty keeping still now, and each time she lost that battle the blade pressed harder. Flesh parted beneath its tip as it moved over her hip and carefully upward through the valley between her breasts. Her nipples weren't touched this time, not that it made a difference. The knife moved in a wide circle, tracing her aureole then spiraling gradually inward. The nipple was avoided as the circuit came close the other breast got the treatment instead.
It didn't touch her throat this time... instead, she could feel the cold of the steel against her cheek, caressing her earlobe, then jumping down to move over her arm. It stopped at her wrist pressing harder than was comfortable for a moment, but not drawing blood. Just... the force of it reminded her that she had given her Trust, which was a dangerous thing, but it also showed her that the trust was well placed as she was in no real danger.
Almost as if to spite that conviction, the knife moved sharply upward, cutting deeply into her forearm so that blood spilled down onto the sheets. At the same moment Mistress's free hand forced itself between her thighs, pressing the toy more tightly, pushing it in more deeply “Come.” was the command, one obediently and immediately obeyed.
Later, once the world returned, the gag and blindfold were removed. Mistress showed her that the cut hadn't been as deep as it looked, then carefully and gently cleansed and bandaged the wound. The toy was switched off, though it was left in place for the moment, an indication that the night still had more play in store... but the knife was put away.
02 September, 2008
The real story
I'll admit this... I didn't leave the abusive ex because of the violence. I would urge him into it, bait him when he was in a bad mood, encourage him to vent his rage on me. Even then, he was never rough enough, even in the midst of a red-haze-rage he still apologized for being the kind of person that would enjoy taking it out on me sexually... If it'd just been the violence, I'd have stayed, found ways to tempt him into exploring the darkness beneath the surface..
But he was too passive aggressive. He ignored me when I made him angry, took it out on me when he was upset at other people. He picked fights so that he could justify disappearing for 2 or 3 days to see friends that I didn't like and would've told him to go hang out with anyway. They played him like pro's, blaming me for all his troubles, so that he'd come home and do the same. They helped me in a way, as it was easier to enrage him in those moods.
Even the night he tried to set the bed on fire with me in it, though it was a major incident that led to me making the decision that it was time to go... wasn't the reason.
The truth? We went to hang out with some friends of his, a couple that he played with sometimes. They brought out the flogger and took turns on me, then on him... This was all fine and well and had me worked up more than a little, but then he killed it. He signed the death warrant to our relationship. He started trying to get me to use the flogger on him, got his friends to help him try to guilt me into it... saying that I was worthless as a sub because I wasn't willing to take control in order to satisfy him.
It was the one subject that, once broached, he didn't stick to his passive aggressive ways on... though I wish he had. He brought it up at every opportunity over the following couple of weeks, a childish combination of anger and hurt as he tried to bully me into playing Domme for him. When I refused, he would stomp out and disappear to that couple's house for days on end. He would come home again and immediately launch into it, whining, pathetic...
The only reason I was sad to leave him was that I loved his dogs, and his mom was awesome.
But he was too passive aggressive. He ignored me when I made him angry, took it out on me when he was upset at other people. He picked fights so that he could justify disappearing for 2 or 3 days to see friends that I didn't like and would've told him to go hang out with anyway. They played him like pro's, blaming me for all his troubles, so that he'd come home and do the same. They helped me in a way, as it was easier to enrage him in those moods.
Even the night he tried to set the bed on fire with me in it, though it was a major incident that led to me making the decision that it was time to go... wasn't the reason.
The truth? We went to hang out with some friends of his, a couple that he played with sometimes. They brought out the flogger and took turns on me, then on him... This was all fine and well and had me worked up more than a little, but then he killed it. He signed the death warrant to our relationship. He started trying to get me to use the flogger on him, got his friends to help him try to guilt me into it... saying that I was worthless as a sub because I wasn't willing to take control in order to satisfy him.
It was the one subject that, once broached, he didn't stick to his passive aggressive ways on... though I wish he had. He brought it up at every opportunity over the following couple of weeks, a childish combination of anger and hurt as he tried to bully me into playing Domme for him. When I refused, he would stomp out and disappear to that couple's house for days on end. He would come home again and immediately launch into it, whining, pathetic...
The only reason I was sad to leave him was that I loved his dogs, and his mom was awesome.
01 September, 2008
"Playtime"
Advisory: Disturbing content, graphic violence, rape, murder. Read at your own risk, complaints will be laughed at as you've been warned.
Music
Thumping, pumping, grinding
Driving the audience into a frenzy of Lust
People bumping, touching, fondling
Strangers sink to the ground locked in an embrace, lips, tongues, hands seeking purpose
Desire.
Need.
Lust.
She stands at the edge of the stage, almost purring with satisfaction.
She comes for the show.
She stays for the fun.
The show is done...
And now...
It is playtime...
She stalks through the crowd, a predatory presence which is felt, but unnoticed. She pauses to watch with the tiniest smirk quirking her lips upward.
It has been too long since she has played, since she has fed the darkest desires.
The first one comes to her, eyes wide and full of wonder as he studies the glint in her eyes. "Hungry" she says petulantly, lower lip pushing out just slightly as large blue eyes flutter at him pleadingly.
He nods, reaching for her hand, scanning the crowd. He pulls her close, shielding her with his own body. He is strong. Muscles rippling just beneath the surface of flesh and sweat drenched tshirt as he shifts, putting one arm around her. His breath comes in quick gasps of anticipation.
She doesn't know how she attracts them, only that they find her. There is something within them, some need to feel, to hurt, to feed... They understand her own need, come to attend to her, giving of themselves if necessary. Sweat, Blood, Life itself if that is what she wishes...
When the demon comes, it calls to them somehow, and they obey. They need her as she needs them. As the demon needs them. The darkness calls, a siren song of forbidden desire... and one cannot resist or deny its call...
She smirks just slightly to herself as he slams another away, a weak one who could not hope to satiate or even whet her appetites.
This one, he calls himself Kent, finds the dark corner, pulling her into an embrace. She whispers her pleasure, allows him a taste of her lips, then pulls away. "Hungry" the same petulant almost whine which cannot be ignored. He nods. "Wait here."
She leans against the wall, absently toying with the hem of her skirt as he slips back into the crowd. She watches him dodge through, occasionally losing sight but knowing he will return before long with what she craves...
Moments, barely minutes, later... A figure enters the other end of the short alley way. Her champion, with another in tow.
The girl is small, petite even. Short blonde hair framing her face. Pouting lips and wide, frightened eyes. SHE Smiles with pleasure, gesturing for the girl to move forward. Smiling as the girl obeys, pressing herself close, stretching upward in search of a kiss.
She allows the girl but a taste of her lips, enough to tantalize... Speak of future rewards... The girl shivers as she is pushed away, gently.
The man moves forward, taking the girl in his arms, petting her hair as he speaks soothingly. Stroking one side of her neck as the girl instinctively leans into the touch, exposing her throat.
She watches, smiling. A soft glow reflected in her eyes as she leans forward, nuzzling. Her lips brushing across the hollow of the throat. One hand comes up, snaking around the girl's back to hold her steady as teeth lightly nip across the shoulder, along the neck. The tip of her tongue tracing the hot vein as she glances to the man, who nods, tightening his grip on the girl, leaning down to press his mouth against hers in a kiss, stifling the scream as She sinks her teeth into the girl's throat.
There is no gentleness, no teasing or playfulness. No pointed fangs to ease the way as teeth tear at flesh, gouging it open, ripping at the vein. Blood pours from the jagged wound, filling her mouth, filling her cleavage and pouring down the front of her shirt. She drinks, swallows greedily, whispers words of love to no one who hears...
The girl weakens, becomes limp, falls to the ground in a heap as He releases his support, reaching for Her. She smiles, leaning back against the wall, eyes closed. His hands move to her breasts, smearing the blood across her shirt front. His fingers move to the buttons, ripping them away, pulling the shirt and dropping it onto the still warm body at their feet. She turns his face from his kiss, arching her back as he turns his attention to her breasts.
Obediently he traces a line of kisses downward, one hand cupping a breast as his lips close around one pert nipple, teeth nipping lightly, then harder as she arches into him. He pushes her roughly against the wall, growling as she wraps one leg around his waist, pulling him against her.
She growls in response, rubbing herself against him, urging him on, tempting him to greater darkness, to the violence she craves.
"Take" she commands, biting into his ear as her nails rake across his back, tearing both shirt and flesh. He arches with the pain, pressing her more firmly against the wall. She brings the other leg up, wrapping both around his waist, supporting herself by strength of her legs and her back against the wall.
He bites, hard, into her nipple, growling. A trail of bites upward to the throat where he nuzzles, for the briefest moment, before sinking his teeth into her throat as she had done only minutes before with the girl.
She arches, squirms against him. "Harder." His arms wrapping around her waist, crushing her against him. She whimpers with the pain and the pleasure of it. His teeth grind together, bruising flesh, scraping bone. He drinks hungrily, thrusting drily against her as she moans in his ear.
Behind him, a shadow. Another comes, as they always do...
Her eyes open wide, full of fear. The shadow is filled with lust, hunger, an impulse to conquer and protect...
Before Kent is aware, he is torn roughly from his prize, shoved against another wall. His head is slammed against brick twice before he loses consciousness, looking to Her, fully aware of betrayal as she beckons to the "rescuer" who quickly moves to take his place.
The new one, nameless, hungry. His lips move to her breasts, suckling, lapping away the blood. His hands move to the clasp on her skirt, letting it fall into the mud. "Take my Reward" he says with no urging from her.
She smiles, reaches for his belt. He growls, taking it from her, grabbing her wrists. Using the belt he roughly ties her arms to a bar above her head, forcing her onto her toes. She whimpers, plays victim, waits. His shirt and pants fall, fly across the alley to land on a dumpster. Roughly grabbing her legs, forcing them apart, ankles on his shoulders, slamming her back against the wall.
He growls as his fingers dig into her waist, forcing himself completely inside with a single stroke. Her cries, high pitched, sounding fearful...
Does he notice the difference when the screams become whimpers, lengthen into moans? Does he notice when her legs shift, slide down his sides to wrap around his waist, seeking to control his frenzied thrusts? Is he aware, even, when one hand moves, with no thought or command from himself... One dirt and blood grimed thumb pressing and rubbing at her clit? When his own body moves more slowly, drawing out each stroke in time with the raisiing of her hips?
For certain he does not notice when his victim smiles, watching a bloddied form stagger to its feet. Some glint in her eyes echoing or perhaps even reflecting the shine of light on a steel blade.
The grip of her thighs around his waist loosens, the bonds on her wrists come free and she slips down the wall. She whispers something "Surprise" as a sharp pain warns him, too late, of danger. The blade crosses his throat, tracing what seems at first only a faint line. His body continues without thought. Blood splatters across her face, into her open lips. Her body convulses on a wave of pleasure as he falls away, pulling out. She whimpers, reaching for the other who obeys instantly.
"Mine" he mutters, covering her mouth with his own, pulling her to the ground, laying her across the body as she franticaly tears at his jeans, the offensive barrier between them. Moments later, soft gasps and whimpers are heard from her. He is moving within her even as the nameless one spills his seed uselessly on the ground in his dying moments. "Bitch" he mutters as she squeals, already lost within her newest lover.
Later, the music begins to die down as the last band wraps up its performance. Taking the knife, she kisses Kent, whispering to him. "It was good." He smiles, watching the knife with an almost sorrowful eye. "One last time?" he asks hopefully, noting that he is prepared for the occasion.
She smiles sadly, but nods as he rolls over onto his back. "Like this, then..." and she nods again as she straddles him, lowering herself onto him. They move in time with the dying music, and he stretches up to kiss her.
"I'm sorry..." she whispers as she returns the kiss, bringing the knife up.
"Thank you..." he says softly, closing his eyes, arching up against and into her.
"Goodbye." she says softly as she draws the knife across his throat, throwing her head back as she rides through his death spasms, biting deep into her lip to control her own screams as the spasms begin deep within the core of her body, radiating outward in a deep warmth and satisfaction.
Afterward, she leans down to brush a kiss against already cold lips. "Its better this way." she whispers to the body as she stands on shaky legs to gather her clothing.
A moment later she sighs as she studies her skirt. "Bastards. Got mud all over my favorite skirt." She glares at the three bodies. "Serves you right."
She finds a lighter in a pant pocket somewhere, setting fire to a dumpster and turning it over onto the bodies. She waits for a couple of minutes for the alarms, and the sprinklers to wash away the worst of the mess.
She whistles softly to herself as she slips between the firemen who rush onto the scene, confident she will go unnoticed.
Later, in the cab on the way home, she stretches luxuriously, feline, and purrs to herself. "Been too long since I Played" she mutters to the driver, who nods and presses down on the gas pedal.
Music
Thumping, pumping, grinding
Driving the audience into a frenzy of Lust
People bumping, touching, fondling
Strangers sink to the ground locked in an embrace, lips, tongues, hands seeking purpose
Desire.
Need.
Lust.
She stands at the edge of the stage, almost purring with satisfaction.
She comes for the show.
She stays for the fun.
The show is done...
And now...
It is playtime...
She stalks through the crowd, a predatory presence which is felt, but unnoticed. She pauses to watch with the tiniest smirk quirking her lips upward.
It has been too long since she has played, since she has fed the darkest desires.
The first one comes to her, eyes wide and full of wonder as he studies the glint in her eyes. "Hungry" she says petulantly, lower lip pushing out just slightly as large blue eyes flutter at him pleadingly.
He nods, reaching for her hand, scanning the crowd. He pulls her close, shielding her with his own body. He is strong. Muscles rippling just beneath the surface of flesh and sweat drenched tshirt as he shifts, putting one arm around her. His breath comes in quick gasps of anticipation.
She doesn't know how she attracts them, only that they find her. There is something within them, some need to feel, to hurt, to feed... They understand her own need, come to attend to her, giving of themselves if necessary. Sweat, Blood, Life itself if that is what she wishes...
When the demon comes, it calls to them somehow, and they obey. They need her as she needs them. As the demon needs them. The darkness calls, a siren song of forbidden desire... and one cannot resist or deny its call...
She smirks just slightly to herself as he slams another away, a weak one who could not hope to satiate or even whet her appetites.
This one, he calls himself Kent, finds the dark corner, pulling her into an embrace. She whispers her pleasure, allows him a taste of her lips, then pulls away. "Hungry" the same petulant almost whine which cannot be ignored. He nods. "Wait here."
She leans against the wall, absently toying with the hem of her skirt as he slips back into the crowd. She watches him dodge through, occasionally losing sight but knowing he will return before long with what she craves...
Moments, barely minutes, later... A figure enters the other end of the short alley way. Her champion, with another in tow.
The girl is small, petite even. Short blonde hair framing her face. Pouting lips and wide, frightened eyes. SHE Smiles with pleasure, gesturing for the girl to move forward. Smiling as the girl obeys, pressing herself close, stretching upward in search of a kiss.
She allows the girl but a taste of her lips, enough to tantalize... Speak of future rewards... The girl shivers as she is pushed away, gently.
The man moves forward, taking the girl in his arms, petting her hair as he speaks soothingly. Stroking one side of her neck as the girl instinctively leans into the touch, exposing her throat.
She watches, smiling. A soft glow reflected in her eyes as she leans forward, nuzzling. Her lips brushing across the hollow of the throat. One hand comes up, snaking around the girl's back to hold her steady as teeth lightly nip across the shoulder, along the neck. The tip of her tongue tracing the hot vein as she glances to the man, who nods, tightening his grip on the girl, leaning down to press his mouth against hers in a kiss, stifling the scream as She sinks her teeth into the girl's throat.
There is no gentleness, no teasing or playfulness. No pointed fangs to ease the way as teeth tear at flesh, gouging it open, ripping at the vein. Blood pours from the jagged wound, filling her mouth, filling her cleavage and pouring down the front of her shirt. She drinks, swallows greedily, whispers words of love to no one who hears...
The girl weakens, becomes limp, falls to the ground in a heap as He releases his support, reaching for Her. She smiles, leaning back against the wall, eyes closed. His hands move to her breasts, smearing the blood across her shirt front. His fingers move to the buttons, ripping them away, pulling the shirt and dropping it onto the still warm body at their feet. She turns his face from his kiss, arching her back as he turns his attention to her breasts.
Obediently he traces a line of kisses downward, one hand cupping a breast as his lips close around one pert nipple, teeth nipping lightly, then harder as she arches into him. He pushes her roughly against the wall, growling as she wraps one leg around his waist, pulling him against her.
She growls in response, rubbing herself against him, urging him on, tempting him to greater darkness, to the violence she craves.
"Take" she commands, biting into his ear as her nails rake across his back, tearing both shirt and flesh. He arches with the pain, pressing her more firmly against the wall. She brings the other leg up, wrapping both around his waist, supporting herself by strength of her legs and her back against the wall.
He bites, hard, into her nipple, growling. A trail of bites upward to the throat where he nuzzles, for the briefest moment, before sinking his teeth into her throat as she had done only minutes before with the girl.
She arches, squirms against him. "Harder." His arms wrapping around her waist, crushing her against him. She whimpers with the pain and the pleasure of it. His teeth grind together, bruising flesh, scraping bone. He drinks hungrily, thrusting drily against her as she moans in his ear.
Behind him, a shadow. Another comes, as they always do...
Her eyes open wide, full of fear. The shadow is filled with lust, hunger, an impulse to conquer and protect...
Before Kent is aware, he is torn roughly from his prize, shoved against another wall. His head is slammed against brick twice before he loses consciousness, looking to Her, fully aware of betrayal as she beckons to the "rescuer" who quickly moves to take his place.
The new one, nameless, hungry. His lips move to her breasts, suckling, lapping away the blood. His hands move to the clasp on her skirt, letting it fall into the mud. "Take my Reward" he says with no urging from her.
She smiles, reaches for his belt. He growls, taking it from her, grabbing her wrists. Using the belt he roughly ties her arms to a bar above her head, forcing her onto her toes. She whimpers, plays victim, waits. His shirt and pants fall, fly across the alley to land on a dumpster. Roughly grabbing her legs, forcing them apart, ankles on his shoulders, slamming her back against the wall.
He growls as his fingers dig into her waist, forcing himself completely inside with a single stroke. Her cries, high pitched, sounding fearful...
Does he notice the difference when the screams become whimpers, lengthen into moans? Does he notice when her legs shift, slide down his sides to wrap around his waist, seeking to control his frenzied thrusts? Is he aware, even, when one hand moves, with no thought or command from himself... One dirt and blood grimed thumb pressing and rubbing at her clit? When his own body moves more slowly, drawing out each stroke in time with the raisiing of her hips?
For certain he does not notice when his victim smiles, watching a bloddied form stagger to its feet. Some glint in her eyes echoing or perhaps even reflecting the shine of light on a steel blade.
The grip of her thighs around his waist loosens, the bonds on her wrists come free and she slips down the wall. She whispers something "Surprise" as a sharp pain warns him, too late, of danger. The blade crosses his throat, tracing what seems at first only a faint line. His body continues without thought. Blood splatters across her face, into her open lips. Her body convulses on a wave of pleasure as he falls away, pulling out. She whimpers, reaching for the other who obeys instantly.
"Mine" he mutters, covering her mouth with his own, pulling her to the ground, laying her across the body as she franticaly tears at his jeans, the offensive barrier between them. Moments later, soft gasps and whimpers are heard from her. He is moving within her even as the nameless one spills his seed uselessly on the ground in his dying moments. "Bitch" he mutters as she squeals, already lost within her newest lover.
Later, the music begins to die down as the last band wraps up its performance. Taking the knife, she kisses Kent, whispering to him. "It was good." He smiles, watching the knife with an almost sorrowful eye. "One last time?" he asks hopefully, noting that he is prepared for the occasion.
She smiles sadly, but nods as he rolls over onto his back. "Like this, then..." and she nods again as she straddles him, lowering herself onto him. They move in time with the dying music, and he stretches up to kiss her.
"I'm sorry..." she whispers as she returns the kiss, bringing the knife up.
"Thank you..." he says softly, closing his eyes, arching up against and into her.
"Goodbye." she says softly as she draws the knife across his throat, throwing her head back as she rides through his death spasms, biting deep into her lip to control her own screams as the spasms begin deep within the core of her body, radiating outward in a deep warmth and satisfaction.
Afterward, she leans down to brush a kiss against already cold lips. "Its better this way." she whispers to the body as she stands on shaky legs to gather her clothing.
A moment later she sighs as she studies her skirt. "Bastards. Got mud all over my favorite skirt." She glares at the three bodies. "Serves you right."
She finds a lighter in a pant pocket somewhere, setting fire to a dumpster and turning it over onto the bodies. She waits for a couple of minutes for the alarms, and the sprinklers to wash away the worst of the mess.
She whistles softly to herself as she slips between the firemen who rush onto the scene, confident she will go unnoticed.
Later, in the cab on the way home, she stretches luxuriously, feline, and purrs to herself. "Been too long since I Played" she mutters to the driver, who nods and presses down on the gas pedal.
Violence Fetish
I crave it, I hunger for it, I dream of it. Violence.
Nothing calms me more on a bad day than loud music. Nothing gives me more of a jolt, a recharge, than a good loud thunderstorm. Nothing thrills me more than a loud movie with lots of explosions, blood, violence... The more violent the better. Natural Born Killers, Boondock Saints, Sweeny Todd, House of 1000 Corpses. The more violent, the more horrifying, the more twisted... the better. Horror, violence, blood, rape... Anything. The more twisted the better. I need it. Monsters, vampires, demons...
The Darkness of the human mind and soul...
It is a sign of my madness, a symptom of the seething rage within me... and for the longest time I thought I was alone.
When I was 18, I met a man who called himself Loki. He was not Loki, neither god nor angel, just a man who called himself Loki. A man who craved of violence as I do, who savors chaos and darkness, danger. Who dreams of rivers of blood. We were drawn together, an intensity that could not be denied. A need that would not be refused. Stolen kisses, late night meetings. He had a girlfriend, I had a boyfriend, neither of us cared. We weren't very careful about getting caught, or about anything else. We both sort of hoped that I would get pregnant, so that we would have to stop lying and sneaking... but we enjoyed it.
There was a fog that year, every night for at least a week, we drove through the city looking for places to park. The fog protected us, shielded us. People we passed by looked like shambling zombies, like something out of a B-Movie.
Our favorite places to go were church parking lots, the blasphemy satisfied a need for perversity.
We carried out the affair in front of everyone, under their noses. We would all go out together, and he would grab me, drag me around the corner, kiss me, touch me. They would be feet away, if they turned the corner they would see us, but none of them ever knew.
We shared our dreams, our fantasies. In those dreams, and in our fantasy, we killed. Violence, so much blood. Together we would burst into homes, slaughter families, torture, dismember... We would make the husband watch as we removed the unborn child from his wife's womb and killed both. Would make him drink their blood. Would make him bury the bodies...
During sex, more often than not, we would talk of those we wanted to hurt. Of people we knew, who we would kill first. How we would kill it. It would begin slowly, stalk, capture, conquer...and as the fantasy became more involved, the tempo increased until we were so involved in our visions of gore that the violence of it didn't seem significant until afterward, until the bruises and the marks showed up against my skin. Bite marks, scratches, bruises from his hands being wrapped around my throat... and the orgasm was never better than that.
I was his succubus, he my incubus, and for the time that we spent together...nothing else mattered...
But in the end, it was too dark, too violent... We both began to wonder, worry, when the line would be crossed. How long before it wasn't enough to merely talk about killing and maiming, how long until we needed to actually do those things?
We exorcise our inner demons through thought or action, but give yourself to it and it is the demon who is in control, not you.
We stopped, except once in a while still... even if it is years in between... sometimes the hunger comes again, a craving so intense it cannot be denied, or ignored, or forgotten.
Yet, even with him, it has never been enough. I need it, the violence, the rough... but even he wasn't enough for me, I would beg for more, harder, rougher, but they can't do it. Can't give me what I need. Can't fill the void.
If I believe in my nightmares, only Moloch can do that... and if I don't believe in the dreams, then I am left with the fear that no one, nothing, will ever do it for me.
Hurt me. Break me. Bleed me. Fracture, fragment, release me. Destroy me.
Before I destroy you.
Nothing calms me more on a bad day than loud music. Nothing gives me more of a jolt, a recharge, than a good loud thunderstorm. Nothing thrills me more than a loud movie with lots of explosions, blood, violence... The more violent the better. Natural Born Killers, Boondock Saints, Sweeny Todd, House of 1000 Corpses. The more violent, the more horrifying, the more twisted... the better. Horror, violence, blood, rape... Anything. The more twisted the better. I need it. Monsters, vampires, demons...
The Darkness of the human mind and soul...
It is a sign of my madness, a symptom of the seething rage within me... and for the longest time I thought I was alone.
When I was 18, I met a man who called himself Loki. He was not Loki, neither god nor angel, just a man who called himself Loki. A man who craved of violence as I do, who savors chaos and darkness, danger. Who dreams of rivers of blood. We were drawn together, an intensity that could not be denied. A need that would not be refused. Stolen kisses, late night meetings. He had a girlfriend, I had a boyfriend, neither of us cared. We weren't very careful about getting caught, or about anything else. We both sort of hoped that I would get pregnant, so that we would have to stop lying and sneaking... but we enjoyed it.
There was a fog that year, every night for at least a week, we drove through the city looking for places to park. The fog protected us, shielded us. People we passed by looked like shambling zombies, like something out of a B-Movie.
Our favorite places to go were church parking lots, the blasphemy satisfied a need for perversity.
We carried out the affair in front of everyone, under their noses. We would all go out together, and he would grab me, drag me around the corner, kiss me, touch me. They would be feet away, if they turned the corner they would see us, but none of them ever knew.
We shared our dreams, our fantasies. In those dreams, and in our fantasy, we killed. Violence, so much blood. Together we would burst into homes, slaughter families, torture, dismember... We would make the husband watch as we removed the unborn child from his wife's womb and killed both. Would make him drink their blood. Would make him bury the bodies...
During sex, more often than not, we would talk of those we wanted to hurt. Of people we knew, who we would kill first. How we would kill it. It would begin slowly, stalk, capture, conquer...and as the fantasy became more involved, the tempo increased until we were so involved in our visions of gore that the violence of it didn't seem significant until afterward, until the bruises and the marks showed up against my skin. Bite marks, scratches, bruises from his hands being wrapped around my throat... and the orgasm was never better than that.
I was his succubus, he my incubus, and for the time that we spent together...nothing else mattered...
But in the end, it was too dark, too violent... We both began to wonder, worry, when the line would be crossed. How long before it wasn't enough to merely talk about killing and maiming, how long until we needed to actually do those things?
We exorcise our inner demons through thought or action, but give yourself to it and it is the demon who is in control, not you.
We stopped, except once in a while still... even if it is years in between... sometimes the hunger comes again, a craving so intense it cannot be denied, or ignored, or forgotten.
Yet, even with him, it has never been enough. I need it, the violence, the rough... but even he wasn't enough for me, I would beg for more, harder, rougher, but they can't do it. Can't give me what I need. Can't fill the void.
If I believe in my nightmares, only Moloch can do that... and if I don't believe in the dreams, then I am left with the fear that no one, nothing, will ever do it for me.
Hurt me. Break me. Bleed me. Fracture, fragment, release me. Destroy me.
Before I destroy you.
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