Lust

It ebbs and flows, a rushing cascade of unleashed emotions, a swirling maelstrom of unstoppable power. The first sting of lust is like a epiphany of the flesh, the revelation of an ancient power that roams the halls of a house made out of desire.

There is no denying when this force takes you over, when it grips and seizes your mind and soul. Its sheer kinetic energy fuels life, laying waste to morals and restrain.

From the eldritch shadows of me it emerges, a handsome vampire that needs to feed its thirst every night. An organic creature that breathes and lives on unspeakable fluids, old as time itself. Muscles and sinew and bone become an instrument of longing and desire, casting a different light on a world that most don’t see.

It is a restless beast, a sleeping giant that never slumbers, but lies awake, prowling the hallowed waterfalls of the mind, looking for her.

The soul becomes a vagabond, a nomad of the night, dancing without sleeping, breathing to the rhythm of a mystifying lover.

Then the soul touches down on a soft navel, and it glides, spreading its wings around, and lust awakens with a grinning howl. The connection is immediate, and the senses glisten and swell, and there is a slow dance that becomes a throe, and then there is blossoming screams that long for more.

There is heavy breathing at midnight, and the soul of lust sighs with bated anticipation, wielding its mighty power with the pride of a thousand thrusts. And then there is no self-control, once you give yourself to your own overriding want. And her own, and she’ll take what she wants and needs from you, in a candlelit ceremony of yielding sensuality. Once that soulful lust gives into temptation, the gates of Hades crash open, and a rush of wind underneath your skin blows the curtains sky high, and the fires that burn low turns into an inferno, and the mist of hesitation fades away, giving way to the power of the Gods, a power that shines as bright as the stars and knows no bounds.

The first kiss binds the energies, blood for lust, and lust for blood, and the words that are unspoken hang in between and fade away, melting into one another. There is heat, and there is untamed behavior. The zest for life uncoils from its own moorings and springs into overdrive, tangling itself in a communion of fire and flesh.

‘Lines’ featured on this month’s edition of eLust

Very proud to announce that my short story “Lines” has been chosen as one of this month’s top picks at eLust, one of the most prestigious erotica-themed sites on the web.

Why not head over there and browse all the exciting material available? You won’t regret it.

Lines

The altar stood in the very center of the chamber. Four feet in height, it looked solemn, brooding, and pristine in its own darkly and striking irreverence.

Intricate tapestries woven in crimson and black velvet draped it in its entirety. They hung low, spilling onto the floor below and spreading around in no casual manner. Trinkets and junkets of indescribable origin lay scattered in odd but seemingly purposeful patterns around the altar. Here, an animal skull the colour of ivory; there, a furry thing which may have once been part of a living being, but now hung limply from a rusty chain. Whatever these things were, they possessed a palpable significance and purpose.

And flanking the altar on both sides, wooden statuettes of the Sired One stood guard, with forked tongues, slit eyes, and cloven hands that held the unnamable power of past and present in their grip. Heathen idols, perhaps, the legacy of a long since dead progeny. They stood still and silent, and yet, their agape mouths were forever frozen in the middle of a savage snarl.

At the dark altar’s foot, a pentagram had been drawn in chalk. Short, stocky black candles burned bright on each of its vertices, almost in timid respect of the altar’s throbbing power. A heavy, almost stifling atmosphere hung in the air. And it was hot, very hot.

And dwelling within the pentagram’s confines, a man and a woman sat cross-legged before one another. The male had a well defined, muscular body. A patch of dark hair right in between his pectoral muscles granted him an attractive, virile look. The female’s body was no less toned. Her skin was smooth and sun tanned, and as she breathed, her small breasts rose and fell in unison. Any man watching it would long to feel the heartbeat that kept those elegant breasts alive.

He wore a black studded leather thong, and she wore nothing but a leather collar around her neck. The pair concealed their identities with ornate decorations; he had a faun mask on him, with deep, blackened ridges, thin eyes and long, thin horns sprouting from it. The female wore a golden Egyptian mask, decorated with red trim, an oval-shaped jewel in the center, and long, narrow tassels the color of sunlight running all along its underside.

In complete silence, the man reached for a flask of bluish liquid set to his right. He dipped his right index finger into it, and the thick fluid seemed to react when disturbed. Long, bright filaments trailed the man’s fingers as he made a stirring motion inside the flask. Then, they vanished as he drew his finger out, leaving behind nothing but a ghostly luminosity.

He ran his finger across the woman’s bare chest, and where the fluid touched the skin, a streaked line appeared. She moaned, not in pain, but in pleasure.

‘The power of the Sire grants you this stygian delight,’ the man said as he carved a line parallel to the first one. His voice was deep, and somewhat intimidating. Yet, the female did not flinch. ‘These runes will bestow you primordial pleasure, and in return, you shall relinquish your body to the Sire.’ When the second line was finished, he drew a horizontal one across the two vertical ones. The female threw her head back and moaned loudly.

‘Do you relinquish your body?’

‘I do,’ she said almost in a whisper. ‘I do. I relinquish my physical being to be taken by the Sire.’

He dipped his finger into the fluid again, and once more those eldritch filaments appeared. Then, he began drawing semicircles around the female’s breasts, and whenever the fluid touched, a dark grey line appeared. The man’s finger had turned into an artist’s brush of sorts. Once imprinted on her skin, the lines became imbued with a faint organic glow, like a dull, throbbing luminosity. They appeared alive.

The man kept drawing lines all around the female’s body. Soon, her chest and back were entirely covered in throbbing streaks that emitted a palpable energy. She was enthralled, caught up in a trance of ancient pleasures. Her body swayed like a candle’s flame, and the lines on her skin pulsed in synchrony to this hypnotic dance.

The man stood up, genuflected before the altar, walked around it, and reached into an unseen space at the back. He took a small book, bound in red leather and inscripted with arcane runes and symbols. Then, he walked back to the pentagram and stood over the woman with the book open in his hands, as a priest would do before his congregation. When he spoke, he intoned his words in a solemn manner.

‘And He walketh upon this Earth before time itself was born, and He alone commanded the legions of darkness when light hath no voice. This is the word of He who reigns in a kingdom unseen.’
He turned the page.

‘In times past, a shepherd took his herd through a land barren and desolate, and in the winter blizzards, a quarter of his sheep perished, and a half of his fowl lost their yield. The shepherd lived in hunger and necessity, and in desperation, he called to Him to save the remainder of his herd, and to banish the perennial winter sleet. And He listened, and He acted upon the shepherd’s wish. The man’s lands became fertile again, and his herd thrived once more. But He always claims remittance, because his deed is final, and demands fair retribution.’
‘One night He called to the shepherd’s dwelling to ask for His requital. The shepherd protested, but He entertains no such whimsical lamentations. He took what it was rightfully His, and the shepherd’s daughter was called upon His side to join His choir. This is the word of He who reigns in a kingdom unseen.’

The markings on the woman now glowed harder than ever. She swayed and murmured, thralled, and enchanted.’

‘His herd is as large as it is loyal, and it is forever expanding. He takes this female unto His bosom, to fuck and to cherish and worship Him.’

Upon these words being uttered, the shadows came alive. There was a stir among the darkest recesses all around the chamber, and the atmosphere shifted.

Three men and three women emerged from the shadows, walking without haste. The men were clad in similar fashion, black leather thongs and red cloaks, and their forearms were decorated with long, black leather bracelets reaching up to their elbows. And they all wore the same faun masks.

Masks also dressed the females’ faces. They wore thongs and cloaks, and their bodies were bare chested. Their breasts were decorated with nipple chains that swung and sparkled as they walked.
All six carried an ornamental chalice in their hands. They walked towards the woman and formed a semicircle around her.

‘Tonight, on the eve of Baphomet’s Day, we turn this female over to Him,’ the man said. ‘ This woman shall join His conclave, in adoration and enslavement.’
‘This is the word of He who reigns in a kingdom unseen.’

The man closed the book and gently lay the woman’s body on the pentagram. The marks on her body continued to throb as he gently arranged her limbs around the burning candles, ensuring that her legs were wide apart. Her perfectly shaven pussy became was swollen with anticipation, and it glistened with oozing nectar.

Then, all men and women intoned these words at once: ‘His blood shall purify this woman’s body, for it is the life of all that is flesh. It shall wash and cleanse her soul, and she shall atone from the wantonness of her life prior to giving herself to Him. This is His word.’

They tilted the chalices. Thick, crimson blood began pouring on the female’s body. When the blood touched her skin, two things happened; she began writing and contorting, moaning as if in extreme ecstasy, as long tendrils of red fluid started to spread around her. And then, the lines carved on her body began throbbing harder, pulsing with an unnatural phosphorescence. Once emptied, the men and women held the chalices upright again, close to their bodies, and beheld the woman at their feet. Her body had now turned a deep shade of crimson, and her pussy oozed long strands of precum. The body became gripped in a paroxism of unnatural strong sexual desire.

‘Fuck me,’ she said, almost with a snarl. ‘Fuck my body until I scream and beg.’

The man who spoke first removed his thong, revealing a shaved cock with a powerful erection. He knelt beside her, held her legs open, and pushed his shaft inwards into the female’s pussy, reaching into her innermost recesses. She moaned loudly upon feeling his cock inside her body, and open her blood-soaked legs as wide as she could so she could be fucked unhindered. He began thrusting, deep and slow at first. She began kneading her own breasts, spreading blood everywhere. The sight of the bloodied female body being fucked was wild, raw, and fleshly obscene, and yet, it was imbued with an undeniably heathen sensuality that reached beyond men and women’s darkest fantasies.

Soon, the men joined. They shed their cloaks and thongs and turned their attention to the woman inside the pentagram.

First, three pairs of male hands began touching her body, feeling every inch of her bloodied and exposed body. Fingers entered her mouth, and she sucked and licked and took them deep into her throat as hands massaged and pinched her nipples. She moaned and groaned and opened herself to be fucked by all present. All male bodies loomed over her, and she sucked multiple cocks and relished their salty taste inside her mouth. Then, the men turned her body over and three of them fucked each and every one of her natural openings with unmatched eagerness, and all the while, the lines on her body glowed with primordial power and His blood coated the bodies of all participants. Soon, each and every body was dripping blood and sweat, and the men groaned as their cocks pierced her body, and she screamed as she came time and time again, feeling a carnal pleasure beyond her imagination.

As the orgy raged on, the women joined. Soon, eight bodies fucked each other on the pentagram. There was a swirling maelstrom of flesh and blood, an almost unimaginable vision of carnality and wanton fucking beside His altar. Men and women became fused into one another, and soon the room smelled of cum and lust, and the primordiality of such aroma spurred them to fuck even harder.

At the height of the bacchanal, as the crescendo of the human fucking reached the cusp of primordial savagery, the atmosphere inside the chamber shifted. A rift appeared among the darkened shadows behind the altar, and a low, preternatural roar broke the darkness. The revellers, caught in a throe of deep sexual trance, did not notice. Their bodies and minds were taken up my sheer desire, after all.

And as they fucked each other in every conceivable way and more, He materialized. His unseen kingdom became visible, peering through the shadows like a voyeur from the underworld. He watched, and He was satisfied with the scene before His yellow eyes. He listened to the pleasure of men and women, and He approved of such natural calling of the wild side. His bestial body loomed further into reality, and soon He stood at the altar, presiding over the proceedings. He raised his cloven hands high up in the air and murmured chants that were already millennia old when He was merely an infant in a dark and indecorous age.
His words echoed with a dark and ominous resonance across the chamber. Yet, they fed into the lust of man and woman, entering into their subconscious mind, commanding them to fuck into a new level for His satisfaction. Thus, He welcomed the bacchanalians into His bosom, and there and then He understood their acceptance of Him. Their combined sexual desire nourished his own ego, and He saw this was good. He bestowed His blessing unto them, and watched the women come like wild beasts and felt the powerful jets of male sperm shooting up every cavity that the females had to offer.

And when it was over, He nodded, pleased of their dedication to His deeds. All the females knelt and genuflected before Him, their bodies still glistening with the sweat of intense sexual activity. Cum oozed from each and their openings, dripping down their thighs and chins as they paid their respects to their Master and Owner. The men stood back, their heads bowed, and their hearts still beating fast and loud after the exertion. There was life and there was unlife within that chamber, and if any gods were watching, they’d blush and balk before His work.
He then hoisted every female by the neck unto his own shape, and with a tongue that grew unnaturally long He licked the entirety of their bodies. He tasted the very pheromones that those bodies gave off, the essence of their desire. One by one, He licked them all, he tongue fucked their pussy, probing shallow first, then deeper, seeking heat and warmth and cum. The women climaxed darkly for Him, their minds full of imagery that was both profane and forbidden, yet deeply arousing. And He saw this was good.

Then, sated, he receded into a darkness overcome that was both shelter, refuge, and lair.

Darkness and the Rose featured on this month’s edition of Elust

Very proud to announce that my short story “Darkness and the Rose” has been chosen as one of this month’s top picks at Elust, one of the most prestigious erotica-themed sites on the web.

Why not head over there and browse all the exciting material available? You won’t regret it.

A blade on a demon’s hand

Act I

The lovers

It’s another time, and it’s another place. The female right there, clad in leather and rawhide; she is the scion to the throne in a House that time forgot. And though her kinship with the clan bestows immense riches upon her hands, she has other things on her mind tonight.

And her counterpart, the male dressed in black and tan and currently tethered to the bedposts, he is a noble halfling. And more importantly, he is her lover and property.

Neliah’s quarters are in the Keep’s upper level, away from the bustle of the daily life going on in the levels below. An army of halfling maids and human vassals criscrossed the dwelling, ensuring that all aspects of the House run smoothly. In times of war, the Keep is a busy place indeed.

But up here, Neliah lives her own existence, at her own pace. She’s not interested in the pointless wranglings of the Upper Caste, nor the petty conflicts that more often than not sparked even more futile conflicts with some council or another along the Outer Arc. Instead, Neliah gazes at the stars in the night sky sometimes, imagining that one day she will become one, as Father used to say. You were born to last an eternity, like the stars that shine at night, he used to tell her, when she was little. But that was a long time ago. Neliah had long since become a full-bred, and her physique left no doubt that she was in her prime.
She was ripe.

Presently, she stood at the foot of the large bed where she spent a lot of her time. Set on the very center of her quarters, the bed kept Neliah warm during the long winters, and very much entertained during her frequent play sessions. Foraging parties made out of the strongest axe men (and always escorted by a detail of the Keep’s troops, as ambushes by marauders were common) cut down gigantic redwood trees and brought the rough wood back to the Keep, where it was crafted by artisans and turned into weapons, kitchen tools, beds, or any other item or piece of furniture that may be needed.

And Neliah loved her bed. So much comfort, so many memories; so much room to play with her favorite toy. She watched him there, her muscular body as helpless as a rabbit caught in a snare. And that majestic cock of his, erect and at full girth for her, just the way she liked it. It was hard to look away from that glorious manhood. Still, Neliah resisted the urge to take that throbbing wonder of nature into her mouth -for a while, at least, and looked around with a mischievous look in her yellow eyes. When she saw what she was looking for, she cast her roguish stare back at him. He looked back at her, but remained silent. He knew better than to speak at the wrong time.

Neliah used her tail to pick up an item, and almost in the same movement, she leaped nimbly onto the bed, landing on all fours on top of him. He grunted and winced. She was light, but not that light. He looked into Neliah’s eyes. Her yellow, cat-like pupils bore down on him as she swung her tail around to show what she had picked up.

‘This is the Skean of Dawn,’ Neliah said, and brought the blade gently onto his lips. ‘The riddle of the Elders is written on its hilt, and some say that the specter of this world’s creator dwells within.’ She ran the blade across his face with great care, her feline eyes never leaving his. ‘This skean has pierced the heart of champions, Mortain. One cannot understimate its power.’

Now up close, Neliah took in the scent of his body. Mortain’s smell always mesmerized her. He smelled of forest, and leather. He smelled of war, too. Of danger, and violence. Mortain wasn’t the only halfling she knew, but certainly was the only one she had ever fucked. And yet, there he was, this highborn man-o-war tied up to her bed, all vulnerable and somewhat undignified.

Neliah glanced at his cock, and her lust maxed out. She moved down, squatted, and half closing her eyes, took in the entire length of Mortain’s virile power in one long, slow motion. Mortain’s eyes widened as Neliah’s body fused with his. As she pressed down with her hips, Neliah’s pussy opened wide to take him in. His cock always felt divine inside of her, and this time it was no different. Her pussy swallowed him whole, without hesitation nor shame.

After taking his male pride, Nelia set her hands palms down on his wide chest for leverage and again used her tail to swing the Skean of Dawn into play.

‘Do you know, Mortain,’ she said as she began moving her body up and down along his cock, fucking him. Her pussy juices began coating his cock at once. ‘The blade on this skean has been forged a thousand times,’ she added, and began moving the blade down his throat. ‘It’s quite a deadly weapon. Do you trust me with your life, Mortain?’
‘There are many secrets inside those eyes, Neliah. But murder is not one of them.’

She smiled. ‘Even in the heat of passion?’ Neliah kept moving the skean across his chest, and around his nipples.
‘You wouldn’t want to cause a political rift by slaying the firstborn of the House of Atreos, would you Neliah.’
‘Well, the way I see it, as long as I have the firstborn’s mighty cock inside of me,’ she said, and moved her face closer to his. ‘I have the power.’

He thrust upwards suddenly, making his cock reach further into Neliah. She moaned loudly. ‘You may have the power, my dear. But I own this cock.’

The sudden motion took Neliah completely by surprise. Her tail swung wildly and the blade made a slight cut on her lover’s chest. Crimson blood oozed out from the wound, and Mortain grunted.
Neliah saw the vital fluid running down Mortain’s body, and immediately reached down. She licked his blood as eagerly as a thirsty nomad drinking at an oasis. Her tongue lapped every drop, and her eyes never left his. Mortain’s excitement grew exponentially at the sight of her raw craving for him.

‘All of you taste heavenly, My Lord. Inside and out.’
‘My fluids belong to you, Neliah. Drink, and be sated.’

Neliah did. She took in every last drop of the flowing life fluid, until her lips and tongue were painted with crimson tones. She kissed him then, and shared the blood. Mortain accepted this without hesitation, and his cock acknowledged her deference by growing ever thicker inside of her. Ripped and powerful, the shaft now filled her fully.

Neliah wasted no time. As he licked his own blood from her tongue, she began fucking him harder. Her pussy, now fully aroused, became stretched open by his virile manhood. She moaned, and her pleasure resonated inside his throat. Mortain thrust upwards, feeling his cock touching her innermost recess.

Once Neliah’s breed reached maturity, their genitalia became the ultimate pleasure machine. Lining up its fleshy walls, there grew a myriad of small stalk-like hollow conduits full of nerve endings with the sole purpose of inducing sexual enjoyment. Once aroused, pleasure-generating enzymes were secreted through a small opening at the top of these stalks.

And she knew how to use this natural ability to her advantage. The enzymes had an addictive quality to them, something that Halflings didn’t know. Neliah kept her lover literally hooked onto her, without him realizing it.
And presently, she rocked her body down, taking in the entire length of that marvelous cock of his. And as she did, as she enjoyed her lover’s body to its fullest, she closed her eyes and let her mind soar back in time. She whispered ‘Remember…’

Reaping Moon

…that tonight is Reaping Moon,? Father said.
‘I do, Father’
‘Look skywards, child.’ Neliah did. The moon was full, and fat. Also, it loomed closer than ever, taking up a large sector of the night sky. Its silvery glow bathed the Keep in a ghostly shine, making its walls glow with the eldritch knowledge of centuries past.
‘Reaping Moon heralds the advent of The Harvesting. Soon, the fields around the Keep will be stripped of their yield, and our pantries will be full for another year.’

Neliah’s tail was swinging gently, almost playfully. She loved listening to Father’s voice there in the balcony outside her quarters. It was her favorite place in all the Keep. It opened up to a landscape of rolling hills and crisscrossing rivers in the distance. And on clear nights like this, one could easily make out the circle of limestone monoliths that the Elders had erected aeons before. She had never been allowed that far east from the Keep, specially at night. Father said that wraiths wailed and danced around that place after nightfall, and those unwary enough to wander close would become ensnared in their musical thrall, and their mind would be lost forever. The circle is a bad place, Neliah. Never stray too close, Father always said. Such tale had given her plenty nightmares through the years as she grew up.

‘Reaping Moon is also a time for change for females, my dear daughter.’ As if to highlight this, a cicada began singing somewhere near the Keep, far below in the fields. ‘When the moon is full and big in the sky, and the crops give up their yield, all females of our breed enter a new stage in life. Your body is now mature enough to bear offspring.’
‘I understand, Father.’
‘But you shall not concern yourself with such matters tonight. Tonight, I host Reaper’s Masquerade. A time to enjoy and have fun.’

Neliah nodded, and snuggled closer to Father. Their tails entwined and braided around each other, a sign of their love for one another.

‘This is a time of uncertainty, Neliah. It’s a time of war. The other clans vie for control of the West Ridge, and the Keep stands right on their path. But tonight, we celebrate. All clans respect Reaping Moon. And we must get ready, child. Guests will begin arriving soon.’
‘I will, Father. But I would like to stay here a moment longer. Alone.’

Father smiled as their tails separated. ‘Of course,’ he said, and walked back inside, and though Reaping Moon was indeed a sacred time across the Domain, he would make sure all the outposts were manned with extra men and the lookouts kept a sharp eye on all the approaches. Just in case.

As Father went inside, Neliah leaned on the balcony’s balustrade, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She loved to smell the night. It gave her an indescribable sensation of belonging, as if a bond with Nature manifested itself on the night air flowing through her body. And she did feel the change that Father had talked about. Deep within her, she felt her body had matured. And the change had also brought on certain cravings, of a kind that she could not talk to Father about, or anyone else, for that matter.

Neliah had become aware of things that moved deep within her body, things that felt good when rubbed. There were nascent desires inside of her, a youthful lust that screamed to be fulfilled.  She opened her eyes, and for a fleeting moment, she perceived some movement across the monoliths. It could have been an illusion, or a mind trick. Whatever it was, or wasn’t, did stir something within her. Fear, perhaps, or awe. Maybe both. Neliah’s mind conjured up images of wailing demons dancing around the stones naked, perhaps at a time of their own change, reaching maturity. She thought of demons engaging in wanton sexual encounters, and such train of thought aroused her inner fire. Something stirred very deep inside of her, and she felt a sharp and wet sting of longing. Neliah moaned, half in desire and half in frustration. She looked eastwards again. All appeared quiet at circle now.
Neliah went inside and…

The lovers II

…at the moment of climax, all the stalks jetted out a thick, translucent fluid that kept the male and female both lubricated and fused. Ancient chemistries that nobody understood took over, and as she reached orgasm, Neliah coiled her tail around Mortain’s neck and arched her body backwards. The ecstasy was powerful, and incredibly satisfying. It rippled through the lovers’ bodies with amazing strength. The stalks inside her held onto the erect cock and rubbed against its hard flesh, elevating the halfling’s arousal to a whole new level. Neliah screamed first, Mortain soon after. And when he began squirting his seed inside of her, the stalks blossomed and absorbed the fluids through pleasure organs that prolonged the lovers’ combined ecstasy. At times like this, when both body and mind are in the thrall of sheer pleasure, when passion erases all rationality, there’s only one thing to do. Scream each
other’s name, and that’s just what they did.

A Feast, a Masquerade, and a Lover’s Dance

The Paladin’s Ode kicked off the Reaping Moon festivities, as it always did. All attendees expected it, and traditions were strong in and around the Keep’s circle of influence. The Ode had been sung for generations, and it would probably continue to be sung long after a thousand winters had come and gone. Bards with lute in hand sung it with the passion and zest of those who truly love what they do. The Ode’s melody was dotted with words of defiance, and victory, and also the death of hope. Nobody remembered who wrote it in the first place, as the lyrics were passed down the ages by word of mouth, and in all likelihood, every bard and every generation added and substracted bits here and pieces there to suit a particular epoch. Still, the Paladin’s Ode was a staple of the Reaping celebrations, so omitting it would be unthinkable.
Neliah loved the Ode, and because tonight was her first Reaping as a full-bred, the melody took on a more poignant significance. She listened to it respectfully, with her head bowed and her tail resting on the floor. All attendees paid heed to the bards’ words and kept their silence as the Ode was sung. And at the end, all females threw a curtsy and all males jumped and clapped twice to honor the Paladin’s memory.

Then, the feast began.

A feast fit for a king

All tradesmen, craftsmen, and itinerary merchants invited to the celebrations sat down to eat, and as they did, an army of wenches brought out seemingly endless trays of cold meats, red meats, and huge bowls full of mashed potato and gravy, with vegetables on the side and enormous tankards of mead and grain beer to wash it all down. The Keep’s denizens were a hungry bunch. By the end of the night, there would be nothing but animal carcasses left behind, a very messy tablecloths full of gravy, beer stains, and likely someone’s vomit.

Throughout the feast, bards and jesters entertained the guests, and all through the night, trade deals would be done, fragile political alliances would be forged, and even one or two  shady transactions were likely to take place, specially after the second or third tankard of beer.

And tonight there was a special delegation of Halflings in attendance. They had come from Reene’s Peak, the neighbouing keep riding on the border of the Outer Arc, on a trade mission, Father had said. ‘Halflings are only good for two things, Neliah,’ her old man had told her earlier that day. ‘Business, and playing the lute with one hand, mostly when drunk.’ Neliah had laughed at that, and she would soon discover that Halflings -at least, some of them- were good at something else, too.

The atmosphere inside the Banquet Hall was jovial and relaxed. Even in the age of war and disquiet, a banquet was a time to relish and enjoy. All vestiges of political disillusion or incumbent citizen unrest dissolved inside tankards of rich wine and plenty red meats slaughtered just for the occasion. And as the feast got underway, there was but one thing in everyone’s mind: eat, eat, and then eat some more. And drink the seemingly inexhaustible supply of mead and other liquors. Neliah sat at the Great Table with Father to her right. Mother would have sat to his right, had she been alive. And though she was long gone, Father always made sure a empty chair was placed there, to honor her memory. Beyond, Baron Kalen -Neliah’s uncle- sat beside his mistress, an albino Northern Princess with sultry red eyes and flowing silver tresses. A long, richly decorated crimson tablecloth sporting the Keep’s elaborate coat of arms covered the entire length of the table. The guests had to accommodate themselves on long -and rather uncomfortable- wooden benches running alongside equally long wooden tables. Those who had been previous guests at the Keep and knew of the tiresome benches sometimes brought their own cushions, to alleviate the numbness.
‘Bureaucrats, child,’ Father said, and Neliah winced out of a reverie. ‘I hate them.’
‘Pardon’?
‘Bureaucrats. The low caste,’ Father said, nodding to a place about twenty feet from the dais and to their left. ‘Over there.’
Neliah followed her father’s gaze and spotted three men from the low caste. Short, stocky, with protruding eyes and disproportionally large ears. All wore garish, ill-fitting tweed garments and hats decorated with a white goose feather. As Neliah looked, the three were drinking mead and appeared to be having an argument with a young squire who stood beside them with a bewildered look in his eyes. The din inside the hall made it impossible to hear what the argument was about, but the vigorous arm movement of the three bureaucrats left little doubt it was a heated one.
‘They come from the slums, those three. They always cause trouble. Hate them,’ Father said, tucking into a chunky turkey leg.
Neliah was about to say something else when the oak doors on the far side of the Hall opened up. Five male halflings and one female entered, followed by an entourage of Lairds and squires.
‘Ah!,’ the king said, putting the mangled turkey leg down. ‘Here they are. The trade commission.’
In walked the delegation, led by a broad-shouldered Elder, middle aged perhaps, with a long beard the color of sunset and thick eyebrows of similar hue. He walked briskly across the hall towards the Great Table, carrying a neatly rolled scroll in his right hand. The rest walked behind him at an equal pace.
‘Your highness,’ the Elder said, dropping to one knee at the foot of the dais, before the king. All the others followed suit.’We thank you for the invitation. My people and I would like to avail of your hospitality. We are greatly honored to be your guests.’
‘Your kind words are well received in this House,’ the king said. ‘You and your people are very welcome here.’
‘In the name of the House of Orel, we accept your hospitality.’
The Elder stood up and went to hand the scroll over to the king, but the monarch waved him away. The Elder stopped mid stride. ‘Business tomorrow. Tonight, we eat. And we drink!’
The Elder nodded, bowed, and retreated politely. The rest of the delegation stood up, and as they did, one of the halflings caught Neliah’s gaze, and held it.
He was younger and not as broad-shouldered as the Elder, but still robust and well defined. He had a rugged look about him, Neliah thought. His face was completely devoid of hair, she noted, very rare in a male halfling. Even females sometimes had hirsute faces, but the skin on this one looked pristine. And he was tanned, way more than the rest. When he noticed her stare lingered on him, he nodded almost imperceptibly and smiled a little. Then, he turned and walked with the rest of the delegation towards a vacant space on one of the long tables, near its far edge.
Neliah followed him with her eyes, and wondered.

The feast went on for almost three hours. Vast amounts of meat, breads, and broths were consumed by the guests, all washed down with gallons of grain beer and grapefruit elixir. Towards the end, quarrels had erupted, deals had been sealed, and some cash had surreptitiously changed hands. The halls were an unholy mess; bits of discarded food littered the place, and puddles of beer and congealed gravy had appeared everywhere. The kitchen staff had some job to do. Yet, Neliah cared little about such menial tasks. Specially tonight. She could not get that handsome halfling out her head, and had been trying to catch glimpses of him all throughout the meal.

Neliah looked to her right. Father had drank the usual too much and was now having a lively chat with Kalen, who was just as drunk as he was. She scanned the hall again, and spotted the halfling just standing up from the table. He saw her looking, smiled, and once again nodded in her direction, this time holding her gaze for a moment that seemed to stretch forever. And though he was all the way across the hall, the intensity of his eyes made her stomach flutter. And much to her surprise, she blushed. Such an unfamiliar sensation to her, as all of a sudden she could not remember the last time she felt that queer heat creeping up her face. Almost in fear, she looked away from him. Her tail jerked and knocked a tankard of mead over. ‘Gods…,’ she said, feeling silly.
‘Oh dear,’ Father said, leaning over, and almost falling off his chair. Kalen just about managed to steady him. ‘What is the matter, my little one.’
‘Sorry Father. I’m so clumsy sometimes.’
‘You know Neliah…all those people out there, they’re pigs. Look at the state of my hall. Pigs!’
‘Father, please, calm your tone.’
‘Pigs I say. Anyway, Neliah. Feast is over. Tonight’s your night. Go and dance, and be merry. Now, one more for the gods,’ he said, and took a long swig off his tankard.
Neliah smiled and looked down the hall. The handsome halfling was gone.

A Masquerade
While an army of squires and vassals moved swiftly to clean the mess in the hall, those guests who could still walk moved to the Great Chamber, where most after-banquet parties and events usually took place.

 

Darkness and the rose

There is already a hint of Autumn drifting in the late summer breeze. It has that sharp, fresh undertone buried deep beneath its warm overlay. And the nights seemed to be born faster and with more intent, as if darkness awoke more eagerly and wanting with every passing day.

And across the field of roses, night was falling. An immense mantle of obsidian blackness that concealed the sins of a decaying world and became a dark canvas where dreams and illusions of other places turned into whimsical concepts. And there was a woman walking on that field. She walked among the roses swaying in the dusky light, and the backdrop was one of savage and brightly tinted red skies. Clouds with jagged edges that resembled all that is unnatural drifted by, and as the last beams of sunlight fell on the woman’s long, crimson tresses, she looked up, took a long, deep breath of pure and crystalline life and smiled.

Her body was bare, her pale skin a deep contrast against the merciless nightfall. Still, she walked among the roses, and the roses swayed a lover’s dance around her feet. She hummed a tune as she rambled across the field, and the impending night listened closely. She sang in hushed, tender tones, as a mother would to a baby cradled in her arms:

Dream a dream, my child, let the elven witch take you away, there where there’s no more sorrow or joy.

The lullaby’s dreamlike cadence hopped among the stalks, and even the roses bloomed yet a little wider to catch every note. And so the naked woman walked on, and chanted.

A valiant’s heart soars up into heaven, and a coven of wraiths await with open arms. So dream a dream, my child.

Then, a male voice, calling from the void; ‘Haunting tune.’
‘You like it?’ the woman said, withouth breaking her stride, and smiled towards the night. ‘It’s older than us both.’
‘Time is as irrelevant to beauty as rain is to the ocean.’
‘So it is,’ she said, and laughed a little. All around her, daylight was no more. It had been taken over by a relentless obscurity.
‘Are you going to take me?, she said, looking down, and with an unmistakable hint of uncertain apprehension.
‘You chose to be here. If you walk upon the night alone, darkness has a right to your body.’
‘Is that so.’
No reply. She looked up, and as she did, a murder of crows took flight in the distance, cawing and screeching.
‘I am here because I chose to be taken by darkness.’ Her voice was now steady, unwavering. ‘It’s my desire to be fucked by the power of twilight, and if there is penance attached to my lust, I am more than willing to pay my dues.’
A groan.
‘Does your body crave what is unseen?’
‘It does. My desire is boundless.’
‘Many have walked this field before you did, and many have spoken arrogant words. I shall only believe when I feel the truth inside your body.’
‘Take me, then. My body is your vessel of pleasure.’

To this, there was no reply. Only a moment of electric anticipation, like those last few moments of disquieting calm before Nature unleashes a thunderstorm. Even the roses fell into a respectful silence. The cawing of the crows echoed in the distance.

Then, there was a tear in the world, and the darkness took form. The shape was at first blurry, undefined, and darker than a shadow. Under the rule of darkness, ancient sorceries took over, and the shape sprouted wispy limbs that fluttered from deep within the void of night.

The woman stood motionless, watching Darkness come alive before her very eyes. In her sheer nudity, the woman’s senses became instantly aware of an overwhelming male energy surrounding her. She gasped as long tendrils of solid nothingness braided her body, and as Darkness enveloped her, the woman’s pussy began to ooze dew. She closed her eyes and relished the sensation of being taken by such relentless force, offering no resistance.
‘This human body is now part of me,’ Darkness said as it coiled itself around the naked woman.  ‘I shall feed on your lust, and return it to you a thousandth fold.’

As the woman became entangled in Darkness’ grip, her body began to be slowly opened wide by tendrils born out of sheer obscurity. The motion was somewhat rough and animalistic, almost unnatural in its premeditation and precision. Arcane forces spawned from the agony of rituals long forgotten drove the woman’s desire to the point of obsession. She willingly gave into the sweetest torment granted by the raw sexual power of Darkness, and into its preternatural and relentless will to take her whole as it pleased.

Now hovering high above the field of roses, the body of the woman had become a kaleidoscope of blackness and bare flesh, almost heathen in its appearance, yet oddly alluring and impossible to look away from. Be it witchcraft or the energy from the pit of Hades, Darkness’ grip was powerful and tantalizing. Its obscure body wrapped itself around the human form, seeking to enter the woman’s wide open cleft. She sensed this as her legs were now wide apart, her body supported by Darkness’ heft.

Presently, a long appendage resembling an impossibly elongated human tongue sprouted from Darkness’ dim outline, It dripped and oozed a gossamer-like whitish fluid as it moved steadily towards its quarry. The tongue-like thing began slithering around the woman’s bare body, leaving a slick trail of thick fluid all over her. When she felt it, she moaned out loud, and willingly ached to be entered.

‘This is the moment of truth and revelation,’ the voice said. It seemed to come out of nowhere and everywhere all at once. ‘Here, and now, on this ocean of roses that lies beneath us, your body shall become entwined with the essence of this Universe’s darkened soul. Make your choice’

‘Take me,’ she said, and there was deep and true longing in her voice. ‘I give myself to the darkness. Fuck my body until I am full of you.’

‘There is a primordial nobility in this act of complete surrender to the power of another. What will be done tonight cannot be undone.’

There was no reply, in fact the woman barely registered these words. She was enthralled by a web of primeval and elemental pleasure. The entirety of her body had become aware to the most intense sensual pleasure she had ever experienced. Her body gyrated and pivoted in a sort of ritualistic dance of sex and lust. Darkness’ coils now braided her body completely, and they slithered and slipped all around her naked flesh with unequivocal intent. There was a definite eagerness in Darkness’ every move. Its ways and insight into human pleasure were already old when the Earth was a cauldron of molten sand. Darkness had the power of experience in its side, and its force was as relentless as eternity itself.

The woman’s body was now fully covered in oily fluid, and such sight was as powerfully seductive as it was awe-inspiring. Her skin glistened with the power of a thousand moons, shining with a sensual radiance that could not be denied. Her nipples were hard and erect, and longed to be caressed and sucked. Her pussy oozed and dripped with Darkness’s thick saliva, and her slit was fully swollen and dilated, waiting and ready to be penetrated.

And thus, Darkness took her. It entered the woman’s pussy in one single, effortless move. Darkness slid into her easily, and with the gathered power of a thousand lovers.

The awareness of having her body full of Darkness removed any last barrier of shame or apprehension that may have remained inside of her. Darkness’ obsidian cock filled her wholly and completely, and the ecstasy of being fucked by the immense power of an eternal night soon grew into an overwhelming desire for carnal apostasy.

‘To fuck with a revenant is the privilege of a chosen few, human,’ Darkness said. ‘The vitality of a galaxy of lovers shall erase any vestige of human sexuality left within you. Tonight, the darkest recesses of your fantasy shall become aroused by my touch, and when you climax, the energy of an orgasm induced by the power of darkness will be released through you.’

Darkness’ coils embraced her prey tighter, creeping and braiding the paleness of her body in a sensual constriction. The woman rendered her body open, and as Darkness penetrated every cavity at once, she began moaning loudly. Darkness fucked her harder then, using fleshy limbs the color of night to keep her legs wide apart. Yet, there was a primordial elegance in all the impure and visceral communion taking place above the field of roses. The joining of Darkness and a human female told the story of a thousand hidden desires, of a myriad fantasies buried deep beneath a thin layer of the human mind. Darkness knew of all these occult figments, and how most men and women chose to deny their own lust for the sake of correctness. This, Darkness could not understand. It had fucked a thousand races in a thousand worlds, and of all these, only the male and female humans lived in such fear to liberate their fantasies. Darkness’ racial memory extended back to the nascent whimpers of time itself, and throughout an eternity of relentless pursue of sexual satisfaction, it had never encountered such disposition.

Thus, as Darkness fucked the human white rose above a field of endless beauty, the rain began to fall. It was a warm, summer rain that soon soaked the woman’s body, and made all the roses below open up and begin singing a song of respect and awe for the unholy union happening above.

The union reached a crescendo, and Darkness’ engorged phantasms entering the woman thrust even harder, triggering her orgasm. Darkness, sensing her coming, said: ‘Come with the power of shadows, and may this night’s delight become an everlasting dream. Come. Now.‘

The sexual pleasure was total, and overwhelmingly beautiful. Her pussy, stretched wide by Darkness’ girth, began rippling savagely. Primordial fluids shot out of Darkness’ multiple hardened cocks, filling the woman’s cavities to the point of overflowing. As she came, she screamed to the very night that was making her reach such elemental orgasm. Her body twisted and bent as spasms of sensual glory took over the very fabric of her soul. She gladly gave into such delight, and relished every moment of it.

The orgasmic journey lasted for a split second eternity. The white rose’s perception of time had become distorted while sheltered in Darkness’ bosom. The ecstasy could have lasted a minute or a lifetime. Within her, sexual wonders hitherto unknown had become alive. The overwhelming acceptance of a new state of sexual awareness slowly dawned on her, and as Darkness gently set her body among the roses, soothing rain kept falling.

The woman rested now, her pale body still glistening and shining with Darkness’ seed. Fluid oozed out of her, and even as these sexual honey dripped from her cavities, she craved more.

Darkness hovered over her for a moment longer, its own energy temporarily spent. It watched her body relax and breathe the night. It watched the rain turn the white skin into a wet temple of  pristine beauty, and if Darkness ever came close to feeling jealousy, it was then, at that very moment. Such was the beauty of her.

Then, a flash, and Darkness was gone.

The white rose opened her eyes, and saw the roses covered in morning dew. She looked down at herself, and the slick dampness in her own body betrayed Darkness’ presence in her.

She breathed in deep and looked over to the horizon. Far to the east, the nascent moments of daylight painted the field of roses with a warm brush. She saw the sun rising, and though her lover was gone, she knew that daylight was not eternal.

Darkness would return. And she would wait.

The harpist’s lover

Winter always came around fast and loud. Wild thunderstorms and heavy snowfalls raged almost without warning. The sky would turn a deep shade of grey, and even daylight would fear the lashing winds up in the hilltops. The evenings grew darker, and seemed to last an undue eternity. Winter life was bleak.

And yet, there was an ember of bright light among the pervading darkness. Though nature did its best to drown out all semblances of beauty, the voice of reason would always prevail.

Her dwelling lay high up in the hills, nested in between two streams of crystalline waters. During the summer months, she would step out in early morning and bathe in them as the sun beamed down on her slender body. But winter would keep her inside, and there was no sun to speak of. Only a perennial gloom that would feed her insecurities.

For she waited, high up in the hills. Waited for her lover to return.

There she was, sitting by the fire, her harp by her side. And she would play, every evening she would play a different melody. Her ringed fingers would expertly strum the harp’s strings, and enchanting music would drift all over her cottage.

The harpist played, always naked, always ready, every winter evening. The blazing fire would keep her body warm, and the light cast by the rising flames would make all her trinkets shine with an eldritch and queer luminosity.
The cottage’s very soul would feed on melodies long since woven by her mind. The notes would rise and fall in a charming beat, and for a while at least, the blade of winter became blunt.

She remembered how it used to be. How her feelings and desires would be fulfilled by her lost lover. Her mind and body reminisced about long days and nights full with passion and lust. It was a time of undying pleasure, of a deep connection that she had neither felt before, nor would she ever feel again. When the two of them became one,
Lucifer’s Fire would envelop their bodies, and the beads of sweat running down their backs would hiss and evaporate. They would fuck as if to please both angels and demons, and the gates of the Underworld would open fo them.

The harpist remembered kneeling on the thick rug by the fire, and how he would move close to her, and knead her full breasts from behind. She would turn her head and kiss him, take his tongue into her mouth and lick it, while his hands ran up and down her body with undisguised eagerness. He would then grab her long red hair and pull it back and just take her right there, from behind, and he would fuck her body and make her scream his name by the firelight. Night after amazing night of pleasure, they would ride on the edge of winterlight together, and they
would watch the sunrise from their bed, and then keep fucking all through the day.

Other times, she would play her harp for him. Se would play the most beautiful melody, and he would listen, enthralled by her and her tune of love. She would play and smile, watching his body rise and harden for her again, and that would please her to no end. Then he would smile himself, and she would walk over and straddle his hardened cock, and she would rise and fall on his flesh until they were both delirious with ecstasy.

But that had a been a long time ago, in another year, or in another life. It didn’t matter anymore. Yet, the harpist played on, played a melody of melancholy and longing, and in the depth of winter, music would replace the pleasure she craved and longed for.

Still, the memories of him, of her lover, would haunt her every note. And every time she thought of him, her pussy would throb and ooze a little. Sometimes she would dip a finger and taste it, and the bittersweet aroma of unfulfilled lust would greet her with an unwelcome sting. She would run her finger across her lips then, longing to taste him again just like so many times before, wishing to take all his fluid into her mouth and feel it slide down her throat. His seed had been her addiction. She would take it and play with it, and share it with him. Their bodies had become each other’s playground, and their freedom and salvation from the world.

On this winter’s evening, the harpist played again, and took no notice of the snowfall outside. In the cosy warmth beside the hearth, she would weave a melody that would catch God’s attention, and the hollow nooks around the cottage would turn the sound into a haunting chant. Her eyes would then betray her true nature, and through tears of deep obsidian, she would cry for her lover to return.

And she played on, the gods of sex and lust would listen, and would grant her escape from a deep longing. On this winter’s evening, as the harpist’s resonant melody reached a crescendo and the fire blazed high, there was a knock in the cottage’s door.

Oneiros’ path

He walked, where, he couldn’t tell. There were no signs, buildings, landmarks, or in fact, anything at all. Only the path beneath his feet. A long, winding path, which seemed to stretch to the infinite.

He looked back, then forward. Side to side, up and down. Nothing. Only a path. So he kept walking upon it.

How he had got here (wherever here was), he didn’t know. His mind was a blank, and since no other option appeared to be any better, he just walked along the stone path. Or at least, it felt like stone. He couldn’t be sure. Feeling was a funny thing in this place.

Something caught his attention up ahead. Was that someone else? He squinted, but it was just maddeningly beyond his field of vision. The horizon was hazy; it shimmered like a desert road at noon. But he had definitely seen something just ahead, though it appeared to be gone now. So he kept walking.

The path stretched before him, and appeared to go on forever. It didn’t seem to lead anywhere in particular though. It occured to him that a path to nowhere was just one of the weirdest things ever, and yet, at the same time, it made perfect sense.

Movement again! This time definitely closer. Was that a woman? The ghostly figure had a female feel to it, even at a distance, he could have sworn it had been a woman. A naked woman, to be precise. For the first time, he became aware of his own nakedness. Curiously, he felt no embarrassment or awkwardness. He simply had a moment of matter-of-factly realization, sort of. He was naked, and that was that. Who was he to question such singularity, eh.

So he kept walking. After what felt like miles of a serpentine route through nowhere land, the path straightened up just a bit further ahead. In fact, there appeared to be a crossroads coming up.

And standing there, right at the crossroads, was his quarry. And yes, it certainly was a beautiful, naked woman.

She paid no heed to him, at first. She simply sat there, crosslegged, as if meditating, her back turned towards him. As he approached this strange apparition, he notice her slender body was decorated with queer signs and symbols that he could not readily identify. Her whole back was covered in these things, and her long red tresses seemed to conceal more of the queer drawings. He reached out with his hand to touch her, but her voice made him freeze in midair.
‘Runes,’ she said, and he withdrew his hand at once, as if backing off from fire. ‘My creator etched them on me, long ago.’
She stood up then, gracefully, unfolding her legs in a pure and nimble move. She stood with her back still turned towards him. He watched her every move, her every muscle working to lift that beautiful body. She was pale, yet there was an elegance and a purpose to her fair skin. He could not help but think of touching that slender shape, to run his fingers down her back and beyond, and feel her body react to his touch. Perhaps unsurprisingly, his cock began hardening at these thoughts.

He took a closer look at her body. Now that he was close enough, he realized that the runes were indeed carved on the woman’s body, rather than painted on. They were all over her body; down her legs, on her ass, and all the way up her back. He hadn’t seen her front yet, but he imagined the other side would be just the same.He tried to imagine who (or what) could have done that to such beautiful girl. The runes were done in painstaking detail; one could perceive minute details and nuances in them. The time that it must have taken to do that, not to mention the girl’s suffering. Yet, as a whole, the combination of flesh and arcane art had an unmistakable mysticism about it. The girl looked like a goddess.

Play time

It’s raining outside. Droplets of water hit the glass pane, less than an inch from your hands.

You can see half the city from your vantage point inside this penthouse suite. The city of love opens up thirty floors below, just for you.

It is warm and quiescent inside. A stark contrast with the bustling world left behind for a few hours. But tonight is just for you and me. It is our time, away from everything and everyone.

The door clicks open then, and your heart skips a beat and becomes a runaway horse. The door clicks shut, and our world becomes our own.

‘Keep looking ahead,’ I say, and you nod your silent obedience.

‘Hands pressed against the window, palms flat, spread your legs open,’ and once again, you do as instructed.

I watch you from afar. Your body is gorgeous, it is the epitome of exotic foreign beauty. It deserves to be cherished and fucked hard.

‘I am going to pour oil down your back and spread it all over you. You will not move. Do you understand.’

‘Yes Sir.’

The rain outside becomes heavy. Water drops hit against the window pane as I open a bottle of massage oil and tilt it over your back. The fluid runs down your spine, and all the way down your ass. I run a finger from your neck all the way down your spine, and though I know how good this feels for you, you stay true to your word and remain immobile. Even when my finger slips shallow into your pussy from behind, you stay still, but there is a barely perceptible break in your breathing when you feel me inside you.

‘That’s such a good and beautiful girl.’

‘Thank you Sir.’

My finger probes further. Your pussy is soaked in cum, as it always is for me. I hear you let out a little moan. Further inside now, two fingers this time, looking for your G-spot. You can feel your pussy being gently explored, touched, with all the gentleness it deserves.

‘You like that, don’t you.’

You nod as your breathing turns heavier. Your pussy oozes cum right into my fingers, so I take them out and let you smell them.

‘Lick. Like a cat would.’

You obey, and you lick your own cum with short, fast strokes of your tongue.

‘Good girl. Hands still on the glass, do not come away from that window. Raise your ass.’

You do as commanded. Your body is fully exposed for me now, your dripping pussy stretched open.

‘Stay still.’ I loop my whip around your neck and pull your head back as I slide my cock into you. I hear you gasp as your pussy becomes a very willing participant in this game of kink and love. My cock fills it up nicely and completely, and your legs tremble ever so slightly when my cock glides in to the deepest part of you.

The bed

 

The bed knew of darkness. Whatever lived in it dwelled there in a state of perpetual obscurity, after all. The wood and the springs that made the physical thing be were nothing but a empty husk. It (whatever it might have been, or was, or would ever be) silently filled such void, and made the bed become something altogether different.

Whatever it was, it preyed on flesh, and feasted on the lust and desire of men and women. It fed on sin. The lingering passion left behind by all those who had laid there throughout the years became its nepenthe, and it craved and longed for more, its hunger growing ever so insatiable. A storm of lust relentlessly swirled within the void of the bed’s own apostate soul, like an inexorable hurricane of pure sexual energy.

As the woman slept an uneasy, restless sleep, the bed stole the darkest figments of her fantasies and molded them according to its own profane whims. It searched the deepest recesses of her mind, ruthlessly snatching every piece of lustful thought she had ever had and swallowing it deep into its voracious maw.

She couldn’t see it, but as her naked body roamed the Sandman’s domain, the bed had started to shift. Its finely cut sheets had now transformed into long, unnatural appendages that twisted and coiled around themselves like the taut steel cables of a suspension bridge. One first, then two, then four of these monstrous limbs began to contort and braid the sleeping woman’s body, seeking to penetrate any natural opening they could find, longing to physically enter her and feed on the female energy which drove her own desire. Like a ghost rider it sought to spur her body into a paroxysm of ecstasy. In making the woman climax with the power of an army of lovers, the thing that lived in that bed would find its own wretched satisfaction. The more she enjoyed herself, the more its own vampiric lust grew, leeching the woman’s pleasure from deep within until there was nothing left.

And her helpless form just laid there, among a set of sheets that weren’t quite inert anymore, but moved, and touched, and skulked around like nightly creatures. She laid bare and vulnerable, and though her consciousness was somewhere else, her body had begun to react to this unholy stimulation.