Monday, September 29, 2008

Incubus


Note: (I've posted this story before, but not on this story blog - Poem is by f-cynyr - Incubus - story is mine)

The moon reels in a wine-dark sky and the constellation of stars fades before its silver dominance. A whisper of cool breath and the moon breathes into the night and probes silver fingers and feels through the night for dark moments and realities of time and place.

She lies sprawled, her alabaster body relaxed against the soft embrace of Indian cotton, arms upstretched and relaxed, hips slightly twisted, the long legs lying closed. The moon probes through the fluttering of pale curtains, exhaling into the intimacy of the room and on its cool hoary breath rides something made of silver and shadows and hot red moments of lust.

She moves, restlessly on the bed, and the silver fingers of the moon pick out the sweet curve of breast, silvering the plump pale nipple and licking curves of shadows into the sweep of waist and arc of hip.

Dappled shadows drift in gossamer strands of maybe across the perhaps of hot green eyes which savour the creamy flesh and warmth of the girl on the bed, glowing against the strong line of jaw and the reality of hard flesh.

He slips onto the bed, quiet and as light as a cat and gently moves a curve of tumbled crimson silk from her pale face and the silver moonbeam tumbles her curls into darkness against the shadows.

Her breathing is even and shallow and her sweet breath exhales through half parted lips. The silver of the night shows the fluttering beneath translucent delicate eyelids and he leans and his long firm lips breathe above her breath until in unison they inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale and her restless body quiets and she tumbles into the inky darkness and deep inside herself watches the moon reeling in a wine-dark sky.

Gently, delicate as the brush of butterfly wings, his lips meet hers and they cling and she breathes acquiescence into his warm mouth and the silver light seems to dance through his pale flesh and cast shadows of questions against the smooth curve of back and kisses the strong curve of buttock.

He trails moist soft breath down the long curve of neck as she sighs and settles against the cotton sheet, her head tipped back exposing the fluttering of breath in her vulnerable throat. He watches the blood race beneath the delicate skin and with his mouth traces the subtle blue tracery of veins along the throat, down over the sweet curve of collarbone to the impossibly soft flesh of her breast.

He sits back, and reaches out his hand and sighing, cups the warm reality of plump flesh and gently squeezes one round breast which swells against the skin of his palm and throbs and he watches the plump pale nipples tighten and swell and he sighs. Silver seeps between the shadowed edge of the curtains fluttering in the breath of the moon which reels in the sky and watches.

A sliver of silver seeps
between the shadowed edges
of blind and window,
silvering your
round, heaving breasts
as I fondle and
toy with an engorged nipple.

He releases his delicious handful and gently toys with the swollen tips, twisting and pulling until, engorged and now a deep, blood-red crimson they seem to yearn toward his hand. Her breath quickens and a soft moan resonates in the quiet of the cool room.

He squats, graceful and sure on strong legs and feet, and sighs as the moon licks along the curve of buttock and a glistening beam illuminates the long thick distended phallus, the tip swollen and glistening as pale, translucent drops of lust well up from the winking tip, swelling, glowing then trail down the quivering shaft.

His fingers play a symphony upon the girl’s engorged breasts, pinching harder now and pull the long hard tips and rolling them in clever fingers until her breath comes short and her chest heaves and he watches as her eyes flutter frantically beneath closed lids and her hips move restlessly. He cups in both hands the small, plump orbs and squeezes and releases until the indentation of finger can be seen like bruises on their smooth pale surface and he smiles.

I lay awake in this
silver
glow of night and
watch as
you rustle and twist
in your passion,
as your tormented
body is drawn
to my sliding
hands and probing
fingers.

She moves her legs restlessly and the moon caresses the long line of his back and he moves silently to the edge and allows the moon to probe between the long, firm thighs and she sighs. Her legs fall open slightly and the moon licks glistening trails of light along the long smooth slit and the silver rings gleam in the pattern of shadows and light and he slips lithely between the slightly parted thighs, his fingers drumming a soft Mandela on their smooth delicate inner skin until they part wider and he settles between them, not touching with flesh but his gaze as substantial as touch caressing and licking the slighting gaping smooth sex, hint of deep pink and promise of mystery now open to his eyes.

In the silent, shrouded
house,
you moan and whimper
in your aroused, thin
sleep;
your thighs dream of me,
of my hands and mouth and body,
as your pelvis tilts with
wishes of lust and
wet throbbing hope.

He reaches and runs a finger up over the smooth mound of stomach, dipping into the hollow of hip and along the achingly sweet dip where hip meets smooth thigh and with his palm, cups the plump mound of her sex.

She moves restlessly in her deep unconsciousness and the narrow hips tilt and he watches as the long slit swells and the blood flushes beneath the pale flesh and the moonlight glistens on the silver rings which bracket the top of the deep vee of her sex. Leaning, his eyes probe and then narrow as he sees the small, plump pink clitoris peeking from between the tight lips. Breathing warm breath, his tongue flicks out and barely flicks its sensitive head and her hips jerk ….

He breathes deep, pulling in the unique scent that is only hers, vanilla and almond and the sweet, astringent perfume of natural fluids and exhales his lust along the length of her from the delicate rings to the sweet indentation of her secret place. Her body twitches and moves restlessly and like a breath, her moan trails through the dappled silver light and shadows of the room. Her long legs fall open wider and her hips tilt and she pushes her swollen sex onto his lips.

Light dances along the curve of his back and a moonbeam sighs along the swollen length of his prick, its cool fingers brushing gossamer tremors of sensation along the tender, delicate skin of his shaft. He sighs and his hot green gaze devours the opening of her sex to him and his breath quickens as he watches the deep pink of her inner lips unfurl and glisten as moisture seeps from her inner self and trails glistening paths of want. His tongue tastes her delicately, lapping at the translucent glistening moisture and pulling it deep in his mouth and his tongue dances along the intricacy of her woman’s sex and probes and licks until the sweet hot musk of her tightens something deep inside.

Outside the world spins and the moon reels in the reality of time which triumphs over even its will and moves lower in the horizon. Silver moonbeams slither through the fluttering curtains and dapple a heaving back with light and shadow and illuminate the girl’s glistening, swollen sex.

Your eyes rapidly
dance under frail lids,
as you push your wet
dream against me
and I, stiff and inflamed,
enter you and your fantasy.
You moan and expel
a breath in the midst of
undulating blankets as
the aroma of musk
rises.

Insubstantial in the dance of shadow and light he holds himself over her on strong arms, not touching the trembling, shivering flesh beneath him and probing only with the hot swollen prick he runs himself luxuriously up and down the long swollen slit, the engorged tip of him leaking a viscous translucent fluid, mixing and mingling with the fragrant juices which are welling up from deep within her.

His breath is hot in the cloying, delicious musk of the room and his hips move restlessly and he probes and feels the sweet indentation and pushes and exhales hot lust as the hot swollen head, slippery with his secretions pushes the hot clinging folds of her apart and thrusts. His arms tremble as he hovers over her, their flesh connected at the hips as he thrusts deep and the hot inner muscles of her sex caress and lick until his cock feels as it is being suckled and her legs, long, lean muscles flexing and trembling, wrap around the firm hot flesh of his thrusting buttocks.

And she writhes beneath him and her eyes flutter and turn up under the translucent skin of her eye lids and her breasts heave as she rustles and twists and her hips rise to meet his and she expels a moan and the smell of their coupling rises and envelops them in a cloying delicious miasma of musk and pure lust.

He pulls out, the sucking folds of her sex clinging to him, and lowers until the top of his shaft is rubbing against the swollen tip of her clit is throbbing against the flesh of his prick and then exhaling hot silver breath he thrusts harshly into the depths of her body, running its length and pressing against the tiny nub of her desire.

Just the other side of
sleep,
you franticly jerk and thrash,
quickening your fall
over the precipice
till breath and dreams
expel.

The moon peers through the gossamer of pale curtains and watches and then insinuates its long silver fingers through the open window to glisten on the pale buttocks as they flex and push and thrust and picks out crimson as she thrashes her head and the silken curls spill in a frenzy of fire across the pale sheets and the shadows and light grapple and wrestle and the world reels and a kaleidoscope of time passes ….

Deep within he feels the tugging and she is impossibly swollen and impossibly hot and she grips him and pulls him and suddenly in the heat of the room he hears her groan and stifle a scream and with a long exhale she tips over the precipice and he feels her inner muscles, strong and toned, grip him in rhythmic contractions and the tip of his prick is pinched as her womb begins to contract. Like a wave of sound, she squeezes and pulls at him, and before his eyes, a hot red flush spreads across her found, heaving breasts. And her breath is held tight within her and the wave hits and she exhales as she ejaculates rhythmic steams of clear fragrant fluid that soaks his groin and pools beneath her ….and he tips over the edge.

Almost painfully, pulled violently from deep inside his groin, he ejaculates in long powerful streams deep within her contracting warmth and he feels himself thrust helplessly, filling her, flooding her, spilling his essence in her most private place, filling her up with his hot creamy emission, claiming her as his own ….

And the moon moves across the wine-dark sky and sighs, enveloping the thrashing couple in hot silver light and licking along the curve and play of shadow in thrusting buttock and the spill of tangled curls along sheet and breathes in the hot essence of lust and glows luminously in the night sky.

In the warmth
and pause of release,
sleep’s tendrils pull
you deeper,
back to your nether
world of wet repose
and throbbing urgencies.

Her breath softens, evens as his arms tremble and the moonlight dapples his green gaze and runs a caressing finger along the line of jaw. He pulls himself, still stiff and wet, sticky with their secretions and lithely moves away from the trembling moist body of the girl to crouch in the shadows. The moonlight peeks through the fluttering curtains and licks a line of light along the length of leg then slides up onto the bed to glisten along the long length of parted thigh, lighting the droplets of moisture and creamy froth bedewing the swollen flesh of her sex.

The girl’s eyes flutter then calm as the moonbeam licks gently along the closed lids and breathes softly into her mouth.

Moonlight dances in the dappled shadow and light of the room and the figure stands almost transparent and waits and then as the world reels and time calls, the moon lowers on the horizon and he reaches for the pale flesh and cups a round, heaving breast and at his groin, he twitches and stirs and the pale nipples began to flush as he twists and pulls…

The silver sliver
of light along the
edge of the blind spills
onto your ripe silver
breasts; I cup and gently
pinch erect nipples,
and my hands whisper
dreams to your thighs
as my fingers probe
promises into you,
as you throb and leak
in another of your
incubus haunted
nights.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Autumn Interlude

The air is crisp and cool, the sky that intense almost impressionist blue that only occurs in the fall. Around us, the forest blazes red, orange and yellow, pulsing, colours which illuminate and shine like gold and bronze, shimmering painfully against the deep cerulean blue of the sky, creating a hyperawareness of self and life as we walk through our secret woods. Sunlight spills down through the fluttering leaves that dance and cavort in a final burst of life to waft to a forest floor that drifts and confuses as we meander through its corridors.
Hand in hand, crunching leaves underfoot, our breaths are frosty in the crisp sweet air, bodies moving gently, limbs supple and warm from our hike. Here, out in the forest, we feel peaceful and calm, two forest creatures walking gently through the woods. Squirrels rustle in the thick carpet of leaves which have already fallen from the leaves, leaping from tree to tree as they busy themselves for the coming winter. Above our heads, the thinning canopy of trees forms a rich tapestry of colour and promise of light as sun strikes fire into the yawning expanse of sky and spills gold onto the yearning of yesterday.

Your eyes meet mine and spark green into forest and want and I feel myself dampen and beneath the sweater which cloaks me in a spurious modesty, I feel my nipples stiffen and pucker and yearn towards the need in your gaze.

You push me hard against the gnarly, rough bark of a large oak, and I feel the rough bark against my back scraping and pushing as if in the embrace of some elemental wooden spirit and I sigh, breath cool. I close my eyes, just feeling, as your lips meet mine and your cool hands clasp my sweatered waist. We kiss, deep, long and passionate and I feel the ache begin deep within as your hot breath mingles with mine and against the cool of this fall day we spark heat. Against my slender hips, I feel you stirring and between my thighs, I feel a moaning want that makes me tremble.

Your hands fumble at my waist and slip up under my sweater to find my breasts. Your palms are cool against the warmth of the soft, swollen globes, your fingers seeking and finding the hard nubs of my need. I sigh against you, leaning in and running my lips along your neck, the detritus of a long day tickling the soft flesh of my lips. In the golden glow and intense blue of the fall sky, my breasts are luminous and pale, skin translucent, nipples tumescent and crimson.

You press hard against me and I feel your cock like a bar across my groin. I reach down and gently but firmly run my fingers along the swollen length, pausing at the tip, to gently pull and squeeze ever so gently beneath the harsh denim.

Eagerly, I unzip and with some difficulty, manage to free your rampant erection. Your stiff swollen penis shrinks slightly in the cool air, then rallies as I run expert fingers up and down the sweet pale shaft, pulling the velvet skin up and down as your hands continue to cup and fondle my breasts, tweaking the hard swollen nipples, pinching the soft flesh until I sigh my need against your neck and squeeze the sweet, hard flesh of your want between my fingers.

My breath is coming faster now as my very sensitive nipples are rolled and pinched gently between your fingers. I groan and you, understanding, delicately take my nipples and squeeze them firmly, almost painfully, taking the turgid, crimson nubs between fingers now warmed, and pinch until I moan into your neck and feel the connection to my womb. As you squeeze my nipples, beneath my skirt a trickle of clear arousal runs from the swelling folds of my cunt and I move restlessly against use, pushing the mound of my sex against your want.

You press your painfully stiff prick against the wool of my skirt, then impatient, you release my breasts and bending down, gather the bottom of my skirt and pull it up.

I am wearing stockings underneath, flesh coloured, clasped by a white garter belt. My legs are long and muscular and curvy, thighs taut. I am wearing a thong, the skimpy silk barely covering my groin, the string gusset running between the plump, swollen lips of my cunt.

You grasp me urgently between the legs, no preliminaries required or wanted. Your fingers push aside the string of my undergarment, and burrow between the slippery smooth lips of my sex, probing between my swollen folds then finding the slippery entrance, you sink your finger up me, to the knuckle. I gasp and sink down on you’re your invading digit. Against my groin I feel your prick jump and looking down I see a long thread of clear sticky fluid extending from the crimson tip of your prick to my skirt, glistening in the cool golden spill of sun.

Our breaths come harsh and quick in the crisp fall air, pale puffs of lust, heating our bodies and warming our intimacy.

I spread my thighs, giving you egress to my cunt.

You pull at the folds of the full skirt with frustration, an urgency firing your blood and infecting me with a sweet lust.

I spread my thighs, your fingers probing roughly, deliciously between. Then you pull your fingers out, coated and wet with my juice. Pulling up the skirt, you grasp the base of your stiff, hard prick and push forward. I angle my hips and the spongy head of your cock probes firmly. The tip enters my tight, swollen cunt, pushing aside the deep pink folds and sinking deliciously up, pushing aside the firm, swollen flesh.

I gasp as I feel your cock impaling me. Although thoroughly aroused, I am still tight and you have to push a little harder to sink another inch up my sweet hole.

I close my eyes and lean back, weak kneed against the rough bark of the tree. I feel as if your prick is holding me up. I look down and my mouth is dry. Your prick juts out obscenely from your pants, long and pale and thick. My skirt is flattened against my belly and I can see the shaven mound of my sex, the rings glinting in the tendrils of sunlight.

Your prick disappears, a thick bar between my pale, white thighs.

Your face is closed, intent, determined, your eyes glued to where we are joined. You push closer, sliding that beautiful cock even deeper and making me gasp yet again. My juices are running in clear, sticky rivulets down my thighs and coating your prick. As you pull out, we both look down and watch as its long thick shape emerges, glistening from my sweet juices in the harsh sunlight.

You moan as my rings scrape ever so lightly against the distended velvet length and push in and up again, seeking the sweet sucking pull of my cunt.

You begin to thrust then, hard and rhythmically, in and out of my secret, swollen depths, pushing your sweet hard prick up and deep, impaling me deliciously, probing and pulling, thrusting in and out, in and out, trailing liquid fire and sticky discharge along my slit, gasping each time my rings rub your cock as you pull it, sucking, out.

I am moaning now because each time you push in I feel your cock trail over my now distended and erect clit, hiding usually but now peaking from between the lips of my labia.

I try to thrust my hips at you, claim more of that delicious treat but our stance is awkward.

Impatiently, keeping your prick buried in me, you carefully lean down and hook my knee over your elbow. Immediately I feel the full thick length of your prick sink straight up me as your groin smacks against my spread cunt.

I hang on to your shoulders, my leg braced against your arm. My cunt is spread and open to your big thick prick, now pushing hard in and out of the red, swollen folds.

I can feel the tugging, insistent, from my womb, warning me that I am coming close. I moan, gasping louder, closing my eyes, and relishing the feel of that hard cock pounding into me. Your other hand is grasping my hip almost cruelly, pulling me toward you each time you thrust. I know I will have a bruise there from your fingers, my pale skin purple, the mark of your fingers clear, but I don't care.

All I care is that your prick continues to push into me, that your sweet hard cock keeps fucking me, pounding into me.

Your breath is harsh in my ear, and I can tell that you are getting close. I reach down and am just able to scrape my nails lightly across your balls, which are tight now and pulled up close into your body. You moan and your tempo increases.

I feel the tugging, pulling and push my cunt hard against you, so that the swollen distended clit scrapes against your hard groin .. and then it happens. I scream as my orgasm floods over me ... contractions grasp and milk that thick stem and my cunt seems to swell and tighten even more. I have a hand on your balls and suddenly, in the midst of my euphoria, feel the thrumming and know your balls are emptying and suddenly, deep inside, I feel the hot almost painful spurts as your cock erupts.

Once, twice, three times you push as deep and hard as you can, hot jets of frothy white sperm inundating my most secret passageway, filling me with a forceful, throbbing heat that sends me spinning into another reality.

My orgasm begins to subside, my contractions lessen...

You lean against me, your breath harsh against my neck, one hand spasmodically clutching my swollen, aching breast, our heats throbbing against each other, echoing the beat of satiation, your hips pushing spasmodically against me ..

I feel your beautiful prick softening slightly. You slump against me, our breathing harsh and measured, as we both recover.

I feel the bark against my back, prickly and hard. Our conjoined parts are warm in the frosty air, but I feel the coolness against my belly, as our fluids trickle out and down my inner thighs as your prick softens and shrinks.

You pull away, your prick reluctantly pulling out, sticky and softening. A stream of warm cum trickles out, cooling rapidly and making me give a low, satiated laugh.

Your prick, still humid and thick, droops against the blue of your jeans, a sticky tendril of cum trailing from its crimson tip.

You pull my sweater down, cupping my breasts over the warmth of the wool and leaning close, kiss me, your mouth warm and sweet, our breaths frosty.

I reach and tenderly gather your prick in my cool palms. Falling to my knees, I take it for a moment in my warm mouth, licking it gently clean, my tongue laving and swallowing the taste of my own cunt and the sharp, tangy sweetness of your cum, then carefully push it back in your pants, zipping up, leaning my face against its still swollen length.

I shake my skirt down and move, legs trembling. I feel the warm sticky reality of our want. You take my hand and kiss me gently, and we continue our meanderings through the vibrant woods, content and satiated.

Monday, September 15, 2008

The Master

Part I

Her wrist stings as the rope bites into the soft pale flesh, the almost translucent delicacy of skin beneath which a blue tracery of veins throb stretched taut. Beneath the pale soft embrace of the blindfold, her eyes flutter as graduations of light and dark lick fear into the aching fragility of their green gaze. She feels a rippling along the stretched line of thigh and forces herself to relax, staving off the painful reality of cramping muscles.

She lies spread-eagled on the bed, the mattress firm beneath the pale flesh of her buttocks, her arms pulled up and out to the sides. An ache in her shoulders, tolerable but insistent keeps her focused. Intricate knots, delicate and complicated encircle the long bones of wrist and snake sinuously along the long line of arm, sweeping under the small breasts to encircle and imprison and then sweeping up and to the other side of the stretched reality of her supine figure.

Each long leg has been pulled to opposite corners of the mattress, the firm muscle of her thighs jumping slightly from the pressure, calves flexed, delicate ankles embraced by 2 inch scarlet leather cuffs, through which yet another rope has been woven and then tied off.

He stands back and studies his handiwork.

Her skin is so pale it is almost translucent. At the sweet, delicate pressure points of her figure; the wrists, the spot where the pulse throbs in the ankle, the achingly sweet valley where thigh meets groin and the smooth plump sex, a pale blue tracery of veins licks fragility into her strong frame. Her breasts are small, their firm handful of soft flesh prominent in the prison of ropes, the large plump nipples swollen, engorged, their normal colourless sweetness blushing pink and as he watches, crimson, the ivory of their soft flesh blushing deeper and deeper as circulation is carefully compromised.

Turning, he bends to his bag and picks through its bounty; pausing, he contemplates the soft falls of a suede flogger, then deciding against it, chooses the short-handled crop. Deceivingly innocuous, the crop looks benign in his capable hand.

He stands back to contemplate his canvas.

Her breasts quiver, the flesh shivering as her breath quickens, shallow and rapid. She is tense, on edge, anticipation lending anxiety to her restrained flesh. Delicately, barely touching, he runs the crop from ankle up the inside of the long leg to the inside of her thigh. Like a restless mare, her skin quivers beneath the touch, muscles jumping under the smooth flesh. She snorts, an explosion of air and the taut flesh of her belly jumps and her breasts shake.

Delicately, barely touching, he uses the tip of the crop to push between the tightly furled lips of her sex, gaping just slightly between the widely spread thighs, silver rings glistening in the muted light of the room. She moans then catches her breath and is silent. He watches intently, leaving the tip resting just below the shy nub of her clitoris, just tickling the first set of O rings and causing the flesh on her spread thighs to ripple.

Tightly restrained, her movements are limited. He watches as her flesh flushes, the long muscles in her arms flexing, the soft belly quivering as she tries to push against the tip of the crop.

Pulling back slightly, he trails the crop just slightly down the long pale slit, to the swollen pink creaminess of her cunt; there, leaning slightly to get the angle right, he pushes the leather tip just inside, sighing as the deep pink folds seem to swell and engulf the slick, soft leather.

"ahhh" he exhales as he carefully twists the crop, licking his lips which feel dry and relishing the wet, suckling sound of her swollen folds as the stiff leather pushes in and out, glistening now with the fragrant, silky wetness of her arousal.

His cock feels swollen and heavy, throbbing beneath the stuff of his blue jeans. Sweat gleams on his bare chest, glistening in the muted light of the candles which are massed in fragrant bunches at various stations in the room, scenting the warm air with a hint of vanilla.

Pulling on the crop slowly, he sighs as the hot swollen folds seem to cling and lick along its dark surface, as if seeking to swallow its stiff promise.

She makes a mewling sound of loss, then breathes deep and he watches as she struggles for decorum. Slowly, her breathing which had become rapid and shallow, began to deepen, the swollen, purpling breasts quivering as she fights for control and then finds that spot deep inside.

Leaning over, he closes his eyes and breathes in the scent that is uniquely her, clean, soft and with an underlying deliciousness of musk and woman scent that makes his prick twitch, swollen, drooling and dampening the gusset of the snug pants. Again, he pushes slowly, exquisitely the stiff leather of the crop up into her body, his breath warm against her belly.

Without warning, he straightens and in a graceful movement, pulls the crop from its warm prison. Moisture sparkles as with a practiced flick of his wrist, he cracks the crop on the taut thigh. She cries out, shocked and he watches as the flesh pinkens, then pales, a long white line of flesh already swelling. Then stepping back and taking a comfortable stance, he flicks the crop again and yet again, laying an intricate mandela of fire along her flesh, creating a pattern of ownership that will linger on the sensitive canvas of her body for several days.

He feels restless, unsatisfied. He pauses, his fingers run along the abused flesh of her thighs, pushing against the rapidly swelling welts and feeling his cock twitch, stiffen, damp and throbbing between his thighs as she whimpers. He wants more.

He looks at her and drinks in her helplessness and likes it. He wants to hurt her, hard. He wants to hear her whimper and scream and watch her body writhe as he pays homage to his need and want. He feels almost feverish as he contemplates his desire to rend flesh and stepping, lithe and silent, to the supine body, he leans over and nuzzles into the long line of her neck.

Delicately, he breathes along her throat, then like a great beast, he widens his mouth and baring his teeth, he leans into the valley of her throat and pulls the almost translucent flesh between his lips. He moans, vibrating into the pulsing of her very life force, feeling it between his teeth, knowing he could bite and feel the hot copper blood rush into his mouth, that he could, should he choose, take her very pulse of life into his own and drink it in until the spasming of her very essence jerks into silence.

She lies, pliant and accepting, docile under the threat of his want, open to his need and his desires and he reaches between his own legs and squeezes his prick which aches with a fierceness that is almost painful. Then releasing her throat he bends into her neck, down into the meat of her shoulder and bites, hard, her breath harsh in his ear as his teeth sink deep. She cries out, trying vainly to stifle herself as the pain slices through her self-imposed sacrifice and stings reality into her mind.

Before his teeth can cause too much damage, he steps back and grins wolfishly, loving the mark of his teeth in her shoulder.

He reaches without looking for where the knives lie, honed, shined to a bright dangerous gleam. As expected, she has laid them out precisely, aligned exactly as to size and height. His fingers unerringly close over the bone handle of the bowie knife, caressing the smooth, worn surface lovingly, as if the elegant twist of bone was a lover’s flesh.

Holding the knife consideringly, his eyes narrow but watchful, he contemplates his canvas.

To be continued