Category: Crimson Writ

Where my words give lie to the wolf under the skin.

Afraid?

Are you afraid of how it would feel to have your hands drawn behind your back while being pressed against the wall – but you can’t stop thinking about it when you close your eyes?

Are you afraid of words that can slip inside and strip away everything, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, naked inside and out – and yet the mere thought makes you tighten inside?

Are you afraid of being drawn across lines that you’ve thought about but never crossed? Afraid the lines might cease to exist in the submission of thought into deed at the hands and voice of someone who understands those parts of you better then you do yourself? Of someone who knows just how to touch you on your neck to make you weak in the knees, knows how to tell you where to place your hands, knows how to hold you still so that that only thing that exists is the feel of his body against your own?

Does the edge of fear just make it worse, make you want it more? Afraid that what you desire most is someone who will take it all?

Night Silk, Part II

She awoke in the room at dusk; rather, the lighting gave the impression of neither night or day but some indeterminable time between the two. Her eyes felt heavy as she struggled to hold them open and glimpse her surroundings.

On her back, the room was somewhat difficult to absorb. When she tried to sit up she found she lacked the strength to do so. She noticed a door on the dark side of the room and a window on the opposite wall which was carefully opened a few inches to allow a soft breeze into the room. Then her eyes closed again as she let herself slide downward once more.

The soft touch of a warm hand against her right ankle startled her into opening her eyes once again. He stood at the edge of the bed, solid and as real to her senses as herself…yet he still seemed to be surreal in a way that she couldn’t describe. Despite her best efforts she couldn’t keep her eyes open and they fluttered close again.

The hand on her ankle moved slowly up over her skin, fingertips just barely touching as they slid over the slow curve of her calf. Her skin warmed under his touch and he continued his caress upward to her knee, fingertips brushing slowly underneath to stroke gently. She stirred slightly on the bed as the heat of his caressing moved through her body; the slowly building heat turned firey blood-like poison. The hands continued to tease, first at the edge of her thigh, slow strokes down between her legs; her skirt slid away to expose her naked skin and his fingers found the silken expanse of her inner thighs, tracing delicate patterns.

His soft strong voice whispered next to her ear, warm breath teasing her neck, “You are mine. Let go…” and his words were followed by the daring touch of his hand sliding deeper, drawing his fingertips along the skin of her inner thighs. Drowned amongst the sensations and his will, she struggled, as if fighting for breath; but each time she approached the surface, his fingers would find new trick to distract her, fingernails against sensitive skin.

Finally his fingers moved back down along her legs and seemed to fade out when they reached her ankles. Curiosity cut through the sleepy laziness that held her and she opened her eyes once more. And she saw him. Really saw him.

His pale skin in the dark. His soulful eyes. Sharp canines between crimson lips. Deep within her, fighting the turmoil of emotions, her soul cried out in fear and ecstasy.

Too late, his hands restrained her as she fought to sit up. His strength was solid though not violent. Tears slid out her eyes, smearing her makeup and the paleness of her skin.

“Not yet…” he whispered as he gathered her into his arms. She could feel the indomitable strength and impossible quickness in his arms as the world spun around her. Out the window…

The night sky danced for a moment before she could closed her eyes and felt the cool night air teasing her skin. She felt him leap form the window to the roof, and for a moment she was free, flying…

“Open your eyes…” his voice was lost in the night and when she opened her eyes, it was to look out over the city, stars above and below in the headlights of cars, neon signs and store windows. He stood just behind her, his hands on her waist.

“You want to fly…” Her feet slid slightly on the edge of the roof and his hands steadied her. “Feel the night! The cool breeze, the darkness engulfing you…the freedom!” And then he was laughing.

Her lips parted as if to taste it, the night. He spun her around and his hands gripped her blouse, ripping the silk in half to expose her black bra. The night air brought her nipples to attention as his lips met the soft skin of her neck as the night surrounded her, his burning lips now on the side of her neck, tongue ever so slowly sliding just behind her ear as if tasting an appetizer, savoring it. One hand cradling the back of her head, fingers sliding along the nape of her neck, his teeth slowly brushed over the soft skin of her neck, the touch of his fangs sending shivers straight down he body, leaving her skin tingling. But he paused, as if struggling within, “No…not yet…”

His hands, once warm, were now as cool as the night. Their touch was the caress of the night as they moved over her sides and down the length of her skirts. Yet his touch made he body burn; his hands sliding her skirt up along her thighs, gathering it about her waist.

She moaned softly. Standing at the edge of the building, clothed only in her bra and her skirt about her waist, this moment brought her body to the edge…and his hands drew her over. His palm slid up along her silken thighs and against the burning moist heat. His fingers slowly spread as they teased her.

“Oh…oh…please…” her voice seemed foreign to her as she gave herself over to it, the heat between her thighs almost unbearable and the night daring to envelop her.

“Yes…now.”

His teeth nibbled for a moment and then breached the skin, and the heat exploded into an intense fire, her blood burning in her veins as he leaned her backwards over the city, her chest heaving as she struggled to breath.

She wasn’t sure if what she was experiencing was sexual, but it felt like an on-going rush. Each moment brought her higher, the heat turning into a sensation unlike anything she had felt before. The source of these sensations came from her neck, but she was too lost to understand what was happening. She craved only for it not to stop.

And it didn’t…even as she felt herself weakening, she felt into the abyss of pleasure, lost utterly.

The morning brought sunlight through the shades. Her eyes opened to an empty room.

Night Silk, Part I

Wrote this quite a long time ago (nineteen maybe?). One of the first short stories I actually managed to finish. Slightly editted, but mostly in it’s rough state.

Within the dark came the whisper of silk on silk and the jingle of tiny bells. A patch of light exposed the thrash-strewn ground of the alleyway as the door to the club opened and she stepped inside. Across the room, through various tables scrawled about, she made her way to the bar. The seat she took was between two hazy men, each with dark drinks sitting before them. She shrugged off her purse and placed it on top of the bar.

Her eyes met the mirror behind the bar as she opened the top of her purse. Her hair was bound with a crimson band, forcing her dirty gold hair to remain immobile as her head moved slowly from side to side strangely as if mesmerized by her own image; no vanity by the white pale glimmer of her skin, just a curious fascination. her green eyes seemed to throw off the pale image before her in the mirror, not distorting the appearance so much as accentuating her skin.

Her dark violet silk blouse shimmered slightly in the light of the bar, leading down to her swishing black skirt and long legs, and the source of the jingle: a band of small bells around her ankle.

“Would ya care for a drink lady?” Startled out of her reverie, she looked up into the burly face of the bartender.

“Jack Daniels please.”

The large bartender poured the drink and set it before her. Without looking, she reached into her purse and placed a few bills next to the drink. The bartender picked them up and moved along the bar to speak to another customer.

She idly stirred the dark liquid, brought a finger to her lips, let her tongue slide along the sides. She closed her eyes to enjoy the taste; she opened her eyes a moment later to find herself gazing at the mirror again. Except this time there was a man standing behind her.

His eyes were an odd color of brown, almost magenta. She slowly closed her eyes, and opened them again, curious to see where he would be next. He was now standing right behind her.

Long black hair framed his face; pale in the candlelight, pale in the mirror, pale even against her skin. He was dressed comfortably in a black cotton jerkin and black slacks. The collar of his shirt opened to expose a silver chain that held a miniature sterling rose with petals of onyx.

The black rose held her attention for a long moment before she slowly turned her head to the side, seeing him out of the corner of her eye, as if verifying his existence. She returned to her drink, lifting the glass to sip slowly, her eyes on the mirror. His eyes met hers.

Her lips parted and she took another sip; eyes closed once more to focus on feel of the liquid burning a path down her throat. Slowly opening her eyes, she placed the empty glass on the counter and looked into the mirror again but the man was no longer there. Turning her head to the side, she scanned the room, failing to find him.

Frowning slightly, she stared at the empty glass for a moment before shrugging slightly. Picking up her purse she stood and turned from the bar. Her eyes continued to scan the bar, but he was no longer within the room. Her slow steps brought her to the door and she left quietly.

The darkness encompassed her again as the door to the bar closed and left her alone in the alleyway. Shivering slightly she took a few steps down the alleyway before coming to an abrupt stop. Her eyes widened briefly when she saw the man leaning against the wall at the end of the alleyway.

She almost stumbled to a stop. His eyes were easily discernible within the darkness of the alley, illuminating the rest of his face; his dark clothes lent themselves to the shadows, keeping the attention on his face.

She stood in the middle of the alley for a long moment as he watched her. She shivered, unsure if it was the cold of his eyes that affected her so. An irresistible urge to approach him washed over her like a wave. She struggled for a moment before giving in. After the first step, the rest were easy.

Blurred images of his eyes on hers as he stood within inches of her, his voice like a soft harsh whisper, “I thought you were one mine with your pretty pale skin…it is dangerous to attract such attention.” Like a caress, his voice and warm breath teased her skin. Reality seemed to fade against the background of his eyes.

Arrived, Framed, Caught

Arriving at the door to my apartment, you knock once. Silence. You reach to knock again only to find the door opening. A smile, and I invite you in.

You’re dressed casually – black jeans shorts, light-colored shirt. Escorted into my living room, I stand you in the center and turn to draw the drapes closed. There are hints of light where the drapes don’t quite meet each other, but the main source of light within the room comes from the lamps.

Silently, I gesture for you to stand in the center of the room. Picking my camera up from the table, I slip behind you, body warm against yours. From behind, I reach around – fingers slide into your hair, musing it, and then down, over your eyes, closing them.

The only sound here, for minutes, is the soft clicking of the camera. Blind, you are not quite ready for myhands as they draw your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the ground. Fingers slip along the edge of your jean shorts, undoing the buttons and letting those too pool at your feet. I tug you forward, and you stand naked except for your panties. Click. Click. And your eyes remain closed.

Fingers draw your hair back over your shoulder, and tilt your head back. Click.

Hands press you down to your knees, hair spilling now over your face. Click.

Your hands held against your back, head lowered…and a light touch, and then harsh twist, your nipples hard – Click.

“Open your eyes.” And you do. “Go into the bedroom and put on the outfit on the bed..”

Doing as bid, you enter the bedroom and take off your panties. Turning to the bed, you see a soft blue satin nightgown. Lifting it up, you let it settle against you, fabric slipping over skin, ending just at the top of your thighs. Too short, you think. But you move back into the other room where I wait.

A smile that almost reaches my eyes and you know I am pleased; a gaze that touches the skin like soft fingertips, draws down along your shoulders, following the contours of your shoulders, breasts, hips, and then the bare skin of your thighs and the soft shadows the nightgown creates. Gesturing to the couch, you follow my direction and lay along it, right knee bent atop your other leg as you look up at me.

“Eyes on me.” With your gaze on me – Click. Click.

“Now stand – and take it off. Slowly.” It takes a moment for the words to register and you find your feet reluctantly. Yet you already can feel that tightening just below your stomach, that slow ember of heat that awakes with a sudden burning hunger, stirred by fear and excitement. You slowly draw the nightgown up along your skin, feeling the cool air against exposed flesh as it slips up and off, leaving you standing naked – all the while, the soft click-click of the camera, taking in each inch of revealed flesh.

“Turn around and lean against the chair.” Your hands come down on the sides of your chair and your skin heats as you find yourself revealing everything to me. With your ass in the air, you wait.

“Higher.” You can actually feel my words, and the soft bite of my hunger with each word, “Higher. I want to see your pussy.” You move to obey, but not quickly enough – a sting, the heated caresses of my hand as it slaps your ass. Click. Click.

Your breath catches in your throat – so lost in awaiting the sound of each click, each picture – when my fingers slide down against your moist heat from behind, it is entirely unexpected. Fingers curl as they slide inside, pressing in, two fingers pressed tight within you.

Breathe. Each breath is ragged, and your skin flushes a soft red, unable to hide the effect his fingers have as they move in an agonizingly slow press – in and out. Instinctively, you press yourself back against my hand. Thumb drawing down along the edge of your ass, between your cheeks, fingers drive in hard, once,reminding you of how cruel my touch can be – how harsh my teasing is…when not so carefully drawing you to the edge, time and time again.

A moan escapes, an inarticulate cry for more. Wet fingers draw out and up over your ass, leaving a moist trail. Warm lips follow the trail, tasting you against your skin and teeth nip lightly before you feel my tongue so close…

“We are done.” You glance up and see me standing a few feet away, near the door, the slight catch in my breathing the only hint of the effect you’ve had on me.

I smile. Yes, I always have been good at being cruel.

Indefinable Belief, Satiate and Submit

Just how hungry am I?

Hungry enough to strip you bare and then clothe you in the firm grip of hands that know the fine places to touch you – the places that make you go weak in the knees while anticipation drives your pulse to race and your skin to tingle. Hungry enough to reveal you layer by layer – removing all pretension and lies until you are completely exposed and yet anonymous in the truth of who and what you are.

Naked, you feel everything.

Hungry enough to see just how far you’ll go to find the edge. To see your boundaries – to push you over with one hand while keeping your head above water with the other. Drown you in heat while giving you breath in kisses that never quite end, but move one into another, on lips, neck, curves.

Hungry enough to whisper of things that you’ve often thought of but never let touch your lips. Hungry enough to make you speak words that burn when spoken but taste like sweet indulgence. Hungry enough to draw out each desire with fingertips that find the most sensitive spots – just behind your knees, the small of your back, the side of your neck; fingertips that write naughty poetry on your thighs; fingertips that speak in a language you have to lose yourself in to understand.

Hungry enough to trap you. Have you ever been caught in a gaze that knows you better then you know yourself? Knows which way you’re going to run? Knows where you are most vulnerable? Knows how to go for your throat – and wants you to know he can. And he waits, until the tension is sharp enough that the delicate coiled heat inside of you can be set off with just one touch, one word.

Hungry enough to teach you what it means to be so bad that it feels good – and reminds you that you are, indeed, *alive*.

How hungry are you?