Hey guys this is my first post on here so all comments are welcome.
a couple of stories to get the blood flowing. if i get some ok comments i'l post more.
Manage a Trois
They wipe warm metal. She reaches with needful tears.
He gently takes her in his arms. Her back arches. Nipples lift.
He stabs her. She shudders, clutching air.
“Yes,” she moans, crying, helpless.
She awakens, gently kisses his fingers.
He opens his eyes. Feels it cut his chest.
Feels wetness slither down ribs as it opens strands of perfect muscle.
“Deeper,” a groaning whisper.
She pushes it, harder, placing her ear to his skin. Listening to it tear open, more.
They hold hands. Smile softly.
The two bodies braid, sleep.
He wants to watch. Just the two, doing it for him.
She lowers eyes, lips a vulgar bow.
He waits, fixed.
She spreads, runs the bevel along her inner thigh, makes ghastly red liquorice.
Again, Illegible running onto sheet.
Legs an obscene note written with private ink.
He kneels gripping himself. Breath speeding.
Her teeth part, tongue reaching.
His eyes close in soundless convulsion. He collapses.
She strokes his hair. Holds him close.
Cuts his face open. “I love you.”
He clings like a baby, soaking her breasts red.
They hold each other in candlelight.
Sweet body oils; their personal sea, seeped into sheets.
The knife rests, between them.
They take it together, run lips over it, faces touching.
Lick mirror sharpness; kiss thick stem, ecstatic slowness.
Their tongues spread open and bleed.
The candle burns.
They moan. Turn to face each other.
Both want more.
He begs with sounds, eyes. She sits on his chest, raises it over him and his eyes close, letting it happen.
Hot red freckles them and he smiles up at her as she slices him.
They sleep. Huddled.
Bloody blade nestled between his stomach, her back.
She stirs. Can’t sleep. Something is wrong.
A feeling. She begins to resent them as three.
The rivalry. It’s become ugly. Obscene.
She quietly turns, takes the knife lover, moves it to his throat.
It speaks, I answer
It asks, I give
Longer, deeper, it says
Press harder, go slower
Take your time, enjoy.
Yes! I say, what now?
It tells me, more
I cut deeper
Waiting for the red to show
For the liquid to flow
Hot, sticky, down my legs, across my breasts
Good it says, use me it says
But who is using who?
Who will win in this battle of wills
Me or the knife?
Not me I fear
But the knife, with its constant cravings
And endless hunger.
Black Magic Rites
12 red priests grab the girl by the wrists and lead her, struggling into the large cavern. She screams but to no avail. The cavern itself is adorned with ritualistic symbols. At one end is a huge stone alter and upon which the girl is roughly thrown and secured with iron shackles.
On the opposite side of the room is a female upon a Wicca cross. She looks all too human. Her skin is pasty white. Her eye sockets though empty have a way of burrowing into your soul, bringing back with them your every sin and desire. Her arms are outstretched as if in a ready embrace. Her heart is gone. Instead a gaping hole waiting to receive another.
The priests encircle the girl, placing goblets and candles around the table at intervals. They start to chant in an ancient long dead language.
“To you Isabella, Great Mistress, we dedicate this sacrifice so you may walk among us once more.”
The priests place their hands on the girl.
“In you we place faith that we will bask in your glory once more.”
The head priest dressed in white steps forward from behind the cross and removes the girls’ clothing. Her dark skin shimmers in the candlelight. He picks up an Atheme – a ritual knife with a scythe like blade and ornate bone handle.
“With her suffering you will come back to us.”
The white priest opens up the girls’ wrists, the blood pouring in rivulets into the deep indentations on the table gathering in the goblets. The girl screams.
“With her blood, you will come back us.”
The red priests pick up the goblets offering them first to Isabella pouring a little from each into her mouth, and then consuming the rest of contents.
“Accept this offering Great Mistress, with her blood we anoint you.” The white priest places the knife close to girls’ eyes and presses down.
“With her eyes we gift you so you may see when you return.”
The priest removes her eyes and places them in Isabella’s sockets. “With her heart we give you life never-ending”
The priest plunges the knife deep in the girls’ chest plucking out the heart and placing it in Isabella’s chest.
“Let her life flow into you”
The red priests once again circle the girl
“Isabella great mistress come back to us, Isabella great mistress come back to us, now and forever we will worship you as our goddess.”
As the chant grows louder the wound in Isabella’s chest starts to close, her arms drop to her side and she steps from the cross. Her new eyes start to glow. White beams flow from the irises incinerating the girl and the priests.
She thanks them kissing each one before taking their life force and becoming even stronger than before.