This piece of erotica was written by Dweaver specifically to post on Insatiable Desire.  Thanks so much, Dave! We love it!

The whip laid into Valerie’s back with a vengeance.  Blood flipped off the end of the whip to create a splatter pattern on he wall behind the creature wielding the instrument of torture.  More blood streamed down the nearly dead woman’s back from the open wounds on her back; more appearing each time the savage whip laid into her with a loud crack.

“Say it!” the demon raged, it’s high pitch voice shrill with anger.

“Never,” came the whispered answer, uttered by a throat too soar to scream in pain any more.  “I’d trust her with my life.”

“We’ll see about that,” she raged, her face contorted in a strange combination of fear and anger.  “Trusting me will cost you your life!”

As she spoke, the demon’s skin fell away to reveal a tall woman with scars covering her own back.  Read more…

Photo by: D Sharon Pruitt

Pink, purple and yellow chiffon was everywhere.  Pink and purple balloons tied to every fence post.  And that was just near the main house.  Corianne’s father had the lawn boy and his friends tie pink and purple bows on each of the posts around all two hundred acres when they did the rushed trim job after the rainstorm.  And every horse in the paddock had pink and purple ribbons braided into their tails and manes.  Corianne hadn’t asked for it.  But birthdays were special to her father, so one day out of the year, he was overindulgent.

Huddled in one corner were all the mothers, cocktails in hand, occasionally calling out to their children to stop that or do this or take that.  Corianne’s mother was pressed up against her father feeding him bits of celery and cherry tomatoes from her own plate.  Her father had his arm around her waist and kept calling out to Corianne for help between bites.  Corianne giggled, baring perfect white teeth and adorable dimples.

“Mommy! You’re gonna kill Daddy with vegetables! Leave him be!” she exclaimed, good-naturedly, before spinning back to her friends.  “Aren’t they funny?”

“They’re in love, stupid.  I wish my parents were.  All they do is fight.  Look! My mom’s over there talking to Mrs. Brackwith.  Probably about how much of an asshole my father is.  And my dad’s too busy ogling your mom to notice.”  Jenny Prat’s parents were on the verge of divorce.  Everyone was talking about it.

Corianne didn’t know what a divorce was.  She was afraid to ask because Jenny Prat ran away any time anyone mentioned it.  So instead, she studied her parents as they continued to flirt back and forth.

“Okay, Celia.  We should probably tend to our guests.”  Corianne’s father said just loud enough for her to hear.  “Besides… we have a spy.”

Corianne rolled her eyes. “Daddy,” she groaned.  “I am not a spy.”

He laughed and closed the distance between them.  He squatted down to be eye level with his daughter.  “Corianne Winters, P.I.”  he quipped as he wrapped his hands around Cori’s waist and lifted her high above his head.

Cori squealed with delight and screamed, “Down! Put me down!”

Her father spun to the left, “Who said that?”

“Daddy!”

He swung to face her mother.  “Celia? Did you hear something? I thought I heard Cori say my name.”  Read more…

Last night, while watching season two of Chuck with Master, I suddenly had direction for a plot Master has suggested a time or two.  So I snatched up a notebook and wrote.  This is not erotica.  Though I’m sure there are some extreme masochists who would enjoy having a pen knife stabbed through their wrist, this story’s meant to be scary, not sexy.  Though some of it will, without a doubt, be sexy.  Constructive criticism is welcome, and appreciated.

Without further adieu, meet Corianne…

“What’s that? Oh yeah.  You can’t talk, can you? Pity.  I did so want to hear you scream.  Maybe later, I suppose.  Oh… don’t cry.  Not yet.  You’ll spoil the ending.”

The voice was full of sugary sweet warmth.  Almost concern.  And a finger gently wiped a tear from his face.

“Aw.  You’re not scared are you? Come on.  It’ll only hurt for a little while.  You can handle it.”

She ran her fingers through his prematurely thinning hair.

“So what were you doing that day at the park? The girl you were with? She was so pretty! How did a man like you get a girl like that?”

Her tinkling laugh filled the air as he began to struggle.  “Don’t worry, darling.  She’s safe.  I have no interest in females.  Just rich, corporate boys, like you.  Y’all are right tasty.”  For just a moment, her southern twang slipped.  But she caught herself.  “So let’s get started, shall we?”

Her hand slid from his head to his waist.  She unbuckled the golden buckle.  And as she reached for his silk waistline, the man began to sob softly.

“Oh, come, now.”  she tutted.  “What’s wrong? Are you afraid I’m not as pretty? Here.”  She leaned forward nestling his face between her silk-clad breasts and grinned as he, for a split second, relaxed into the warm fragrance of her favorite perfume.  She untied the silk scarf and dropped it to the floor.  Then she stepped back and studied him for a moment while he stared at her.

“Do you like what you see?” She spun in place to let him admire the view.

Her hair was long and straight, cut straight across her back.  She had a pretty face and was a bit on the plump side.  She was barely dressed, in her barely-there teal camisole.  Her legs were bare and her nipples hardly covered.  The man’s mouth fell as open as a gagged mouth can.

“I’ll take that as a yes.  I hope the scarves aren’t too tight.  I hear most everything else leaves marks.  Marks lead to the cops finding the restraints, which leads to fingerprints or fiber testing.  And then the whole thing gets messy.  Messy could be bad for me.”

She walked to a nearby table and picked up a pen knife.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his eyes widen.

“Oh, come, now.  It’ll be fun!”

She retook her position in front of the chair.  As she reached toward his tailored shirt, he began to hyperventilate.  When she slipped the tip of the knife between the button and the fabric, he started making this strange whistling sound through his nose.  She giggled softly as the soft snick of thread being cut announced the button’s removal, and her hand dropped to the next.  When she got to his waist, she tugged the tails out and unbuttoned the last two.  Then she finished what she started with his pants.

“Lift your tushy up, honey.  Just a little bit so I can get your stuff out of the way.”

He whimpered but didn’t move.  Read more…

“You’re listenin’ with Jimmy Jive and that was Duke Ellington on WKIT FM.  Comin’ up after the break we got Louis and Dizzy, in that order so keep your dial right where it is, folks. WKIT.”

Jerry rolled her eyes as the reel of commercials played for the third time that night.  She rifled through her purse with her right hand to find a pack of Marlboros and slid one out.  After tucking it between her lips, she pushed the lighter in and waited impatiently for it to pop back out again.  Nothing was moving fast enough to suit her.

Louis’s gravelly voice blared from the speakers of her red Trans Am as she blew through the intersection.  Her eyes didn’t even flick to the light.  Her foot felt like lead as she rushed to the hospital to find out how Ariana was.

There was a sudden jerk as the car skidded seemingly of its own accord into the left lane.  As if in slow motion, Jerry turned her head to the right just in time to see a man explode through the windshield of a Hummer. She watched in awe as his body tumbled over the roof of her car.

“Oh my god.  Oh my god!” Jerry screamed as her head hit the steering wheel and the lights went out.

_______

“Caleb, I said green.  No! Andie hates red.  It has to be green.  I don’t care what you have to do to make it green.  You should have ordered the green one to begin with.  What the hell am I…”

All of a sudden, Pacey was thrown through the windshield.  As he tumbled over the top of what looked like a red Trans Am, he began to scream.  He put his arms over his head, hoping to protect his neck, and tried not to fight his body’s momentum.

Whatever he did, it worked.  Pacey was alive when it was over.  In a lot of pain, but alive.

“Help me! Somebody call nine-one-one! Holy fuck.  Help me! Oh fuck.  It hurts.  It fucking hurts, man. Somebody help me!” Read more…

She walked around the house picking up one empty pack after another, sometimes the same one more than once, and shaking it, listening carefully for the telltale rattle of one last overlooked cigarette. He watched silently with his hands folded before him as the look on her face got meaner and meaner.

“Where’re mah smokes, boy?” Her thick southern drawl mixed with her toothless gums sometimes made it difficult to understand her. “You gettin’ inta mah smokes again, boy?”

“Now, Mama. You know I don’t smoke.”

“That never stopped ya when you were a chil’.”

“Mama, I told you. I never stole none of your cigarettes. It was Brand.”

A smile broke on her face. It was like sweet morning sunshine after a week of rain. Suddenly, the face worn so roughly from years of gardening, drugs and alcohol dropped twenty years. He swore, in those rare moments, she was an angel.

“Brand. My angel. Where is he?” Read more…

She crushed the heels of her hands to the backs of her eyelids. A single tear ran down each wrist, one dripping off to land on a bare breast and the other tickling the crook of her elbow. An attempt to sniffle quietly went unnoticed as she tried to put her thoughts in the filing cabinet that was her mind.

It was locked, this file of negative emotions. She never allowed it to open longer than the time it took to add the newest thought and shove everything back inside. She was too afraid. Afraid the tiny trickle that came with opening the drawer would lead to the downpour that took her places she hadn’t been in years. And she couldn’t explain it. The reason behind keeping her mouth shut and her emotions hidden. She just knew it was better this way.

She’d progressed in her ability to hide. Once upon a time, she had to leave the room. Before that, she had to lock herself in the bathroom. Now she just remained silent and fought the tears she’d been trained to show. And when her silence was misunderstood, she allowed it to remain that way. Better to keep the real reason locked away in the file of negative emotion.

She knew the vicious cycle that was her life had come full circle. The names and faces had changed. So had the situation. But the reality was everything else was the same. And as she sat in the seat she had chosen quietly fighting the urge to run, she knew that everyone around her was oblivious to the war trying to force a scream from her throat.

A loose thread in the upholstery of the chair caught her attention and she began to fiddle with it. A nervous habit that had cost her more than one expensive piece of clothing. Back and forth, back and forth, and then she pinched it between long red nails hoping to sever it where thread met cloth. When that didn’t work, she began to saw at it. Read more…

It had been a month since she’d been allowed out of the basement. Longer still since she’d been given free reign of the house and the right to go outdoors. Not because of her own behavior, but to protect her from the new Mistress.

The house was dirty, giving witness to Oralee’s absence, and the first thing she did was begin to slowly pick up the mess the new woman left in her wake. She heard the lady, Mercy she was called, exclaiming about how long it took to clean up after the dirty slave. Oralee could only hope the Master knew better. She assumed, from the lack of beatings, that he did.

Hers was a simple life. The life of a slave often is. She’d made a few friends when out and about and found that hers was much different than most of the girls she knew. She began to plan out how to show her appreciation.

The Master came home finally and looked about his home. He searched for Oralee but she was nowhere to be found. Concerned that she had finally used her freedom as an escape route, he began to question his staff and his woman.

“Mercy.”

“Yes, Darling?”

“Where is Oralee?”

“You know that girl avoids me. How should I know?”

Maybe that was it. Maybe the slave had gone into hiding while the Master was away. He calmed himself and looked around.

“Why, the house is spotless, Mercy! However did she do it?” Read more…

Soft red curls teased along the crack of a tight sun kissed ass as sensual curves danced her across the room, a cup of coffee in each hand. She watched him fidget as he watched her walk and gave him that smoky ‘Come fuck me’ smile. They’d been screwing a month, to the night, and he still couldn’t sit still around her. Her mother always said she’d be a whore. Somehow, she missed the fact that Jezzie didn’t care.

Setting the mugs on the table beside the pseudo-stranger’s bed, she slid between the jersey knit sheets and snuggled close to Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, a slutty smile teasing on her painted red lips. Gazing into his eyes, she whispered “Come on, sexy. Do me again.”

“Woman, you are insatiable. When are you gonna tell me your name? Mine’s Tr…”

She put her slender fingers, with those long blood red nails, over his mouth before he could finish. “What’ve our names got to do with sex?”

He knew if he pushed her too hard, she’d leave him with balls so blue he’d hump a whale just to get off. She’d done it before. And what it took to get her to that point changed with the meeting. A dangerous look would cloud those erotically blue eyes like lighting flashing just behind the pupils. It was the only warning you got that one more word would transform this Irish goddess into a pumpkin.

And damn if he wasn’t addicted. Long, thick, red hair, electric blue eyes and legs clear up to her throat. A chest you just couldn’t help but touch and that baby-bare pussy tasted as good as it looked. The kind of girl who could infect you with a glance. You’d fuck her if she were your sister. Who cared that she was at least twenty years younger than he was? The sex was good and it was free. And she wouldn’t tell a soul.

He knew he wasn’t the only one. She took home three, maybe four men a night, fucked their brains out, and when they were spent, sent them on their merry way. She always used protection – it was a requirement – and she never got paid for what she did. “Consider it… community service.” She said in that excitingly husky voice that was way too old for her. He wondered if any of them knew her name. Read more…

I open my eyes. The light blinds me momentarily and then my eyes adjust. I move them side to side to take in my surroundings. A beach. Fenced in but not privately. I look between the slats and see as well as hear that there are people all around the fence in which I’m encased, yet no one seems to notice me.

I feel the ache in my arms and realize my hands are clasped behind my neck. I try to bring them down but they resist. I glance above me and see that my wrists are tethered to a rope which is, in turn, tethered to slats above me. I am caged. And within this cage, I am bound. I start to thrash and try to scream but something is in my mouth. A gag.

I sit still for a moment and try to assess the situation. I try to look down but I cannot. I turn my head from side to side and then look up, all these functions with no difficulty, but…

I cannot look down. A cool breeze brushes across my nipples, stomach, and licks at the lips of my pussy and I start to panic. I am naked and bound kneeling with my legs spread wide. Suddenly the morning comes back to me. The threats, the terrifying chase, the punishment, and finally being strapped in this dreadful cage.

I begin to panic. I feel as if I’m being suffocated. My lungs feel as though they are about to burst. They burn and scream for mercy. I thrash about and scream behind the gag, tears streaming down my face, trying to free myself of my bonds. To what avail, I’m not sure because I know I will never be able to free myself from the cage. Read more…

The alarm sounds raising him from his dreams of her and he slaps it angrily to quiet it. He stands and slides his bare feet into the dark blue slippers she gave him three years ago today. They match the silk pajama pants he wears. He never wore the top after he bought it. She stole it and wore it when they had company as she was not allowed to be fully clothed in his home. It made a nice contrast against her pale skin and an even nicer view when she bent to retrieve something revealing her bare bottom and her equally bare pussy lips as she was not allowed to wear panties. He sometimes slept with it but never wore the shirt again after…

He shakes his head as if to clear it and shuffles to the bathroom stripping himself as he goes.  He lays the pants on the whicker chair beside the bathroom door (her idea), leaves the slippers under it, and then opens the door and steps onto the cold tiles. The rugs had to be removed and he was never able to bring himself to replace them as they were her touch as well. He glances around and sees that white towels and a white terrycloth robe have been laid out for his use and only then realizes that the staff has made themselves scarce, as they do this day every year.

He turns the water on in the massive stand-up shower barely noticing the temperature as he steps inside. He glances around inside and then walks over to the seat he often shared with her when she wasn’t kneeling at his feet waiting for his next command. His staff had long since removed all items that belonged to her and boxed them up under the guise of making things easier on him. He refused to let them throw anything away, including her shampoo and conditioner, in case she did one day return to him. The chances of that ever happening became bleaker and bleaker until one day he just accepted that he would never see her again.

As he sits under the methodical pounding of the water, he lays his head back against the cold tiles and closes his eyes, thinking of her. Her vibrant blue eyes. Her thick pink lips. Her beautiful thick auburn waist length hair. Her thin, pale throat. Her large perfect breasts. Her tiny waist. Her hips that always had that slight sway with her step. Her long beautifully formed legs and her tiny feet. He goes over her in his mind’s eye thinking about that last morning they shared together. Read more…