dying in a drowning embrace

Passion burns and she gasps
Earthshake quivering over a rigid rising
when he pulls the pleasure from her belly
Rhythmic motion of riding the ocean sighs

He watches desire rise from her chest
It’s a tsunami of tangled bodies
Her cries rise like a bird in flight
Both clinging to love
like a life preserver
While dying in a drowning embrace


©MelanieMcCurdie2017

Rolling the Beautiful Bones – coming soon to Fear Front Publishing

The Sane Sanctuary

Thirty-two: there are thirty-two and they hang on the wall. What you ask?  My collection of grisly souvenirs, the last one is barely a month old and frankly, it’s starting to show little signs of decay  and putrefaction.  No matter what I use, I can never stop that first biological rebellion that would keep them perfect.

The walls are pristine white, at least they were once, but now they are marred, stained and marked by the drippings and droolings of crimson that remind me somehow of Dali.  Not that I care about much than the fragrance it leaves behind.  It is art, and it is gorgeous to me.

Am I insane? Perception counts for much I suppose.  We are all beasts, extent hominina and we were given teeth for a reason; to rend flesh from bone and ingest the delicious plasma proteins that sustain life.   Are you any different? I know that you eat too.  Are you better than I? Anyone would do what they had to, to survive if they were starving.

Granted, my actions would be frowned upon in boring polite society.  They would call it cannibalism, but I call it, living.  It is not society’s opinion that matters to me, and it never has. The only judgment that I fear comes from the ones whose thoughts of me really matter and they are the only ones who have the right to judge. Who? Those whom I grilled and gormandize, of course.  They sacrificed their lives to feed me.  And they stay in here, where I come to pray at their feet and beg for forgiveness.

This is my sane sanctuary, my quiet place and the only space of reflection that I have in the world.  Only here can I be myself and lay myself bare before those who know me best, and beg forgiveness of the ones that are a part of me.  Everything about them was delicious; their memories, their minds and their bodies.  They were so tasty and the recollection makes my mouth water.

They aren’t all unknown.  Several, admittedly, had people who loved them and that I will regret til the day I die.  I wonder, though, did they have the same concern for the steak they ate off the grill on Sunday afternoons? One doubts it.  The majority, however, have never been reported missing, or have had people on television with tearful eyes pleading for their return. Sad, isn’t it?

The first one though, she is my favorite, my best girl and I mean that.  We lived together for years while I hid my all but rabid desire to devour her.  My Love, she was so beautiful with her laser beam eyes that always managed to melt my defences.  All she had to do was put her always cool fingers on my cheek and smile into my face and I would turn into a puddle of goo.

My Angel; I met her when I was already dead and her life had just ended.  At first, she never seemed to stop weeping, and all I could do was wrap her in my arms and wait for her sobbing to slow and her bright bright eyes to meet mine in a clear and direct manner.  Eventually, the weeping ceased and her clear stares eventually became something of a signal to her desire.   Not that I complained, and never to her.

Now, her eye sockets are empty , devoid of the once vibrant colour that sparkled there. It happens with decay, but I didn’t let them dry and roll back into her empty noggin.  I couldn’t do that to her.  The holes leave a vacant glare that shivers my spine. I hate when she looks at me like that.

She watched me suffer, disgusted and horrified as I suppressed that need, when died inside night after night laying next to the woman I adored and smelling the luscious scent of her sleep warm flesh.  I smothered my desires while I loved her, and chose to bite and never to tear flesh.  I drew blood but I never drank what I spilled, although sometimes the urge was so overwhelming that I would shake with the paroxysms of bottled passion.

My Angel, I miss her so much that I swear I can still taste her on my lips.  That night, I tried to be gentle and I succeeded, at first.  I devoured her with my eyes until she was the one quivering.  I remember the way her skin ran with goose-flesh and her breasts quivered and the way she looked up at me with those wide eyes that always made me wild with need.  And then, she whispered inconceivable words that both stunned and made my fly a little tighter.

My Love, I had never truly wanted to – never her; I wanted to taste her but I couldn’t live without her.  There was no other option and I clenched my fists and howled at the ceiling.  Angel insisted I explain, allowing me to pull her into her arms and sit her nude on my lap while I stumbled through the horror that I had been holding back for so long.

Only then, feeling my anguish, did Angel see the error of her ways and her thoughts, and she repeated the same words she’d said before, this time with that sweet, secret smile that made my heart throb in its cage.  She gave herself over to me, willingly as her final act of love, as my first meal.  Angel lay back on the bed with her legs spread slightly and waited for me to begin.  She volunteered herself to my strong jaws, and smiled as I nibbled and licked along her inner thighs and screamed when bit into her supple skin, tore into it and buried my tongue as though it were her forever wet well.

She screamed in pleasure at her ecstasy and mine, begging and pleading at first then just howling nonsensically.  It was getting a bit much, the noise and she came alive beneath me when I punctured her eyes, and sucked them from her head like some rare delicacy.  They were as delicious in my mouth as they had been watching me from her beautiful face.

The release was too much for her, the delicate flower that she was, and her heart staggered its last beats like a trapped bird in a cage while her too white hands danced a final pas de deux in the air over my heart.  Ah memories.

You never forget the first, and she, my fragile Angel, was the first taste of freedom that I had savored.  Just as her kiss had been the one I based all others upon, the flavour of her young, lean healthy muscle was one that all others have paled in comparison of.  Angel, her hair was like spun glass, and she tasted like spring after a long, hard winter.  Her blood was reminiscent of early morning dew, so much so that imbibed it like a fine wine and the vitality danced on my tongue for hours after the fluid had been digested.

Gently, I filleted her lean flesh from her bones, and carefully wrapped her so that I could ingest her piecemeal over time, and I made her last as long as I could, until there was so little left that I cried when she was gone.  Angel was no more, in life but she still lives on here, hanging on the wall. She, though Angel’s head does not hold grey matter, not now but it is certainly not empty.  She had the most amazing mind and now her skull holds a secret, a hidden treasure.

Small jars, not quite canopic although I did get the idea from a documentary I watched on the television a few weeks before she gave herself to me.  It took sometime to find them, and eventually ordered a large number with the future in mind.   The first ones I filled with portions of her puréed organs and her exquisite, perfect brain.  The rest I ate in a stew with spring vegetables that turned out so well, I have used it repeatedly.

No other woman has come close to Angel, yet.  Some have resembled her, but that only occurred when I was missing her desperately.  Not one was her, or even had the same flavor.  They have all have tasted tainted, spoiled somehow, and the last made me vomit for days on end.  I had to dispose of the meat as I suspected that it was poisoned and nearly ended up in jail when a pissed off police officer decided my car looked worth inspecting.  It worked out for the best, however, and I convinced him to come home with me for a beer and a home cooked meal.

Perhaps, this one will be different.

©MelanieMcCurdie2017

Rolling the Beautiful Bones – coming soon to Fear Front Publishing

The Statue of She

She sits in silence,

her eyes closed with a

sweet distracted smile on her lips

Oh, she pretends to blend in

with the crowd and fails

He says that she wasn’t meant to

but stand out like a glorious statue

in the middle of a war-torn slum

And she is so blissfully unaware

of the watchful, covetous stares

they do not register, only his does

At the mention of her name,

the sapphire lasers flicker open

blushing at being caught

with her mind wandering

Her eyes bore holes into his

with a flicker of laughter

embarrassed she looks away

with a sigh and a flush

Closing her pretty eyes again

as though her actions are

an invisibility cloak

He can’t understand how

she can’t see that she is beautiful

That insecure creature with a

masque crazy glued in place

She doesn’t understand that when

the masque lifts, and the

makeup is washed way

That she shines like the devil

dressed in Angel’s wings

©MelanieMcCurdie2017

Misery loves Company – A Love Story

I first saw her reflection in the shop window of that absurd little doll store.
The one on 5th and Main?

Tragically gorgeous in that B Movie kind of way,
I couldn’t take my eyes from her curves and edges.
The porcelain perfection of her complexion and those lips.
full and pouty – red in that almost garish porn star way.
But on her it was fresh cherries from the tree and
I was willing to bet that they tasted as good

And there I stood,
stunned into silence with my cock at full mast and
holding a half-naked children’s toy in my hand.
It felt like I was smiling but likely I was leering
and be goddamned if she didn’t return my lustful stare,
flicking her tongue out like some living thing
to taste the right of the lollipop she’d been playing with
before pushing it slowly between her wet looking lips.
She never dropped her eyes once.

I thought I had died, just then when she smiled at me and
called me forward with one black tipped finger.
And I came, then went to her with burning cheeks and
the front of my jeans beginning to show a dark spot.
I wanted to run but she put her hand over it
and put her mouth on mine.
I was sure I was in Hell but man it felt like Heaven.

When the shopkeeper cleared his throat,
she stopped licking my teeth to look at him,
with her hand squeezing my tortured dick.
Heaven.

She nodded and released me, whispering in my ear,
“come see me if you want company.”
Hell.

The man snickered and finally guffawed before
staring me soberly in the eyes and shaking his head.
“Take an old man’s advice,” he said,
lighting his match with a worn fingernail and holding it to his home rolled cigarette.
“She loves company. Don’t be her next conquest.”
I handed him the doll I’d ceased fondling
while embarrassingly thanking him for his sage advice and his time.
Turning to leave, I saw the most amazing thing in a small room off to the side.

Full sized dolls, dressed in 50’s clothing and
so realistic I laughed in spite of myself.
The shopkeeper chortled grimly, “remember what I said.”

I didn’t listen, of course.
I followed her home in my old green pickup
and watched her struggle with her playthings,
cursing and spitting vile and deviant admonishment.

It shocked me, intrigued me
so I jumped out of my truck and ran to her rescue
like some brain-dead Lancelot.
She smiled and kissed me full on my mouth and
pressed her firm breasts to my chest.
But all the while, I could hear the shopkeeper’s raspy words in my ears.

I wondered about how much company she kept.
I wondered what her name was.
I wondered how the old man knew.
All this as I stepped through her front door
That was forever ago, just before I discovered that I loved her.
My Captor, my Daemon. My wife.
And my questions were eventually answered in
far more detail than I care to remember.

Mustn’t frown!
She wants smiling happy people.

My father-in-law, you have already met, albeit briefly.
You really don’t want to make his acquaintance or hers,
because it’s like Pops, the Shopkeeper says, my wife,
Misery?

She loves company.

©MelanieMcCurdie2017

Vacant Rose

It’s easier in the dark.
Alone doesn’t feel quite so isolating
wet cheeks go unnoticed
Somehow, the bleakness seems a comfort
Not unlike a pair of warm arms.

She doesn’t know I’m watching
Lost in her rain cloud
I’m positive that she’d prefer an embrace
To the cold silence

There she sits
Cross-legged, nude,
Tragic beauty she cries, face in a pillow
The mirror covered in linen
I know she is wishing for the strength
For the courage set right the horror show
That she sees in the mirror reflection

But, much like me, she’s a coward
A loser done up on codeine and weed
Practically paralysed, poor thing
And all in an effort to achieve peace
Much like me, she’s achieving nothing close to it.
These are the nights I can’t help but hate
Because what other choice is there
I can hardly barge in, now can I?
Invading her misery by pulling her close
I want to take it away, if she’d let me
If I could,

Instead I watch her turn it inward
It’s a simpler method to live with
Mechanisms to emancipation
I write the steps to her freedom

It’s all about weights and measures
The balance is off
The telemetry is fucked
Knowing so doesn’t calm a racing heart
Or stop the tearing desire to howl

Soon, so soon, Impatience cries
I’m sick of waking each day
Gasping because I’m dying of suffocation
It all comes from bottling
The anticipation is agony

She rises, long and lean
Her lips rippling as she chants the same ugly litany
Telling herself;
It’s stupid to be in fear of nothing
idiotic to be afraid of long dead monsters
What are you, 12?
Trembling with like a child
No desire in the dark
Are you so desperate to be swept away?
Just take the pills and shut up

Pacing, bare flesh flashing
Her hair flies static
Staring out at the street below
Tonight its defenestration she battles

I know how she thinks
i know all this as well as I know my own heart
The idea of that beautiful body
Splattered like red velvet vomit
Horrified and aroused

Blood spilled spells oxygen.
The weight of biology is lifted
Swiftly slipping to press against the glass
She stares, pondering and
My temperature burns hotter
The daemon salivates,
Its venom fills my mouth
Such a glorious gluteus maximus
It calls my palms with a sirens wail
So long she’s teased me
Pleading for release from her glass tower
Tonight her prayers are answered
Blood is life.

I’m so tired of bleeding.
Now it’s her turn

©MelanieMcCurdie2017

The Swollen Man

The voice in my head is incessantly whining at me;  Don’t start.  Stop Crying.  Big girls don’t cry.  You’re stronger than this. Gods, shut up already.  I’m not stronger than this, not remotely.  Perhaps once upon a time,  when I could breathe and move without scrutiny and suspicion, and without resignation, maybe then,  I was stronger.  Now,  not even close.

I know that tears are a waste.  I know that they are a weakness and that they get you hurt.  Whatever entity lives up there knows that I’ve lived enough lessons in my life to know that’s a fact, Jack.  There are those that will shake their heads in disbelief or in disgust at my words, likely wondering if I have finally blown a mental gasket and if I am leaking sanity.  I’m neither out of my head nor crazy;  things would be simpler if I were, but no, this is all just result of environmental poisonings, experiences and far too many teachings from the fist.  One learns early on how to bottle and I am old hat at that game. I’ve forgotten more about self-preservation techniques than most should ever know in their lives.

People are so blind.  They have little clue about how it feels to sit and shout at yourself you must not be weak sister every single time tears threaten or how it feels to know that you are going to fail. I doubt most of them could survive if they couldn’t find a Starbucks.  I wonder if any of you  can comprehend being torn apart by your own mind, over a few tears?  I don’t think that the majority could, and I pray that they never learn how.

It’s a dual existence truly, learning how to shatter on the inside, and while smiling on the out.  Sometimes, some nights it gets to be too much and the pressure can’t be held any longer.  No matter how one tries, no matter how one berates oneself,  those tears are going to fall.

No one likes to be made fun of as they are falling apart; the beatings I give myself, the fear that I can taste in my mouth when that dam breaks, the shame of crying because I can’t stop, is agonising.  To be poked at and told to stop and denied release when it’s an impossible to hold back that tidal wave with what amounts to a drink umbrella  is more than unfair.  It’s cruel.  The words just add a sting, when warm arms would’ve been a softer place to land.

In attempting to be all that everyone requires, one loses oneself in the demands.  It’s difficult to juggle, but I like to think that I do it well.  But it is difficult to be that tough supporter for those I care for, love while I starve myself.  The needs of the many and all that.   My life is micromanaging the undefinable, and making it work is all that much harder, and I manage while balancing that fine line between function and fulfilment.  Existing in a loud, large bubble is no way to live.

He told me that he was going home to check on the animals and to put gas in the car.  It would have been believable if it weren’t for the fact that it was quite difficult to drive without the keys to the vehicle,  and he hadn’t asked for them since he tossed them into my purse when we arrived. He had planned to drink. Again.

Tonight, after the community bonfire that we had no choice but to attend, I saw him there in the shadows of the commissary. His eyes were full of brimstone and bite, lustfully gazing on the youthful wife of our Mayor with his dick in his eyes.  I saw how she undulated slightly when her eyes met his, and the way she changed position with a gasp before excusing herself with a small smile and a flush.  His eyes followed her all night, with his hand rubbing at his crotch absently and his tongue tracing his lips over and over, likely wishing they were hers, while I stood there embarrassed and growing angrier.  It didn’t matter, because  I wasn’t there, or rather, was and would be invisible until she turned him away.  It was all about her.  I thought he’d cum in his pants when she brushed against him, and I watched her hand brush against his erection with a smirk in my direction.  Whore.

There they are; they think that they are hidden from view they way that they’re greedily groping each other.  The Mayor’s wife and the librarian’s husband, who would’ve thought,  wanking one another off in full view of anyone with eyes. “Does he have it on him?” a low male voice mutters in my ear, startling me out of the morbid mental happy place that I was in and I feel the smile spread across my lips. The warm meaty hands on my ass make me want to vomit but I nod and shudder when those thick fingers graze the sensitive skin on my inner thigh.  I can’t do more than nod.

The cock that Rodney is so proud of is out for the night, twitching in the cool night air and I can hear the crackle of wrapper from here.  He shoves her to her knees and slips the rubber from the package and over his dick. “Keep quiet this time, Deena.  I didn’t get to finish last time,” Rodney growls and plows into her with a laugh. Last time. He bucks his hips into her and she moans loudly then squeaks when he falls against her in quickening paroxysmal convulsions. The man behind me chuckles and his large hocks squeeze my ass once more before moving away with a suggestion that I make myself scarce. What a chicken shit.

Rodney lies jittering on top of Deena,  his overly swollen glans trapping Deena as much as his dead weight does and she can do little more than pant shallowly when I step quickly into the light of the fire and again into the darkness of the commissary shadows where she writhes in the dirt. “Please?  Help me! I’m sorry.  Can’t be seen.  Here.  Like this,” and I laugh to myself at the tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. Her cupid bow lips fall open in shock and dismay when Rodney bucks and blows snot into her chestnut hair.  “Rodney! Dammit, get off of me!  What the fuck did you do to your dick? It hurts!”

“Shut up whore.  He didn’t get to finish last time, didn’t you hear?  How lucky for you that he gives a shit enough to tell you that you don’t matter.  Hear that?  You were so anxious to have him inside you that you blew him in public where anyone could see you.  I did.  Your moans need work by the way.  Not believable in the least.”  The first voices of the other attendees are getting louder and I titter darkly from around the corner, remembering to stay out of sight. Rodney gasps again, choking bile onto her shoulder and she sobs like a twelve-year-old with a rash.  He’s not dead. What a pity. He whined into my ear often enough about how he was trapped living with me.  Now he is truly trapped. by the pussy he couldn’t live without.   Perhaps he should have looked closer at the wrapper.   His are purple, latex free.

“Hey Deena,”  I chuckle as I spy the first flashes of lanterns headed this way, “I found this old video on the web.  Robin Bobbin? Original.” Closer still and I crouch closer to whisper “Soon everyone else will know what you are too. Virgin bride, my ass.”  Deena’s pretty eyes close in submission to fact and I dart from my safe place to spit into her pretty, filthy face,  and this time I kick her in the side of the head.

The first lantern bursts through the darkness just as I make my escape and the horrified shouts of the Mayor and his entourage reach my ears much like an applause track in one of those old sitcoms.  The next morning the paper from the towns in the surrounding areas will tell the tale of the Mayor’s not so virginal bride, the Mayor’s Right Hand Man and the Missing wife.  Such a small town scandal that won’t soon be forgotten.

As for me?  I was paid handsomely for my participation and one never knows what the next sunrise will bring.

©MelanieMcCurdie2016

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Get your copy of The Hurt Chamber by Foggy McCorrigan
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La petite mort de la Folie

I didn’t mean to kill her.

They,

they were paintings on the wall, just collateral damage;

She, Folie, with those bottle green eyes,

I meant to kill her and with intent.

It wasn’t intentional, more like a premeditated mistake –

an unplanned surgical strike.

She begged for rebellion and Folie followed the shadows

With her unflappably bright smile that fiercely shone

from her heartsblood stained lips.

Everyone said she was tasty,  an irresistible sweet treat,

and they were correct.

Writhing, she tasted of wine

Whining, she just tasted dead, and

Folie, with her green eyes shining, laughed,

no she didn’t cry out when the shadows caressed her,

but she sighed with an inferno in her late smile

and promises Hell and more when I returned to her tonight

©MelanieMcCurdie

Marley

There she sits, this Goddess
in a Marley t-shirt and plain black panties
The way the shirt is plastered to her small frame
it accentuates those perfect breasts
the chill in the room as plain as the
nipples poking through the thin fabric
Supple, slim, my hands itch to touch
The smooth porcelain of her flesh
and feel her long legs quiver under the
Flats of my palms while they travel down, then between
All that is nonexistent in the regard
To the eyes that stare holes in my soul
This Goddess creature dressed in commoners skin
I forget that she shuns the comparison
Beauty believes she is the beast

©MelanieMcCurdie

The Clangers

Truly, I wasn’t sure he was real at first. Those wide guileless eyes, so full of truth; oozing sweetness and youthful innocence. Full to the brim with unfulfilled potential that it makes me ill. That alone is suspect. The confused cocked head, much like a disoriented puppy married with a glazed gaze that is meant to convey stupidity does the exact opposite. No one is really that naive, not in this century anyway. How could one remain so when a world of debauchery and horrors can be found at the simple click of a mouse?

I think he is so much prettier than she was and that annoys me for some reason. Why that is I’m not sure, nor do I care. Maybe I care a little. It’s that stuffed toy expression, or the fantastic lack of personally that somehow fits perfectly with the former; I could rattle his chains some, enough to cause him to drop the act. Perhaps it’s all just one of those things not meant to be explored. Jesus, that blinking blankness is unnerving me and he knows it. Calculating bastard; you can almost see the wheels turning behind those false front soul windows of his.

He’s obviously intelligent; that, paired with the devastatingly handsome features is a heady mix and a dangerous one too. Lucky bastard. I’d be jealous, if it weren’t expected effort that I can ill afford to expend.

Such a high maintenance exposure as well and for what? To put myself in the forward momentum of a killer, whose cradle of purpose is solely to separate Spirit from Soma. I wonder if Siobhan Clanger had had any idea about the monster that she gave herself to. I wonder if it was a wiling sacrifice.

“Why did you mutilate that lovely young woman, Frankie?” I ask offhandedly, tapping my pen against the metal table top In a less than legal beat. In some circles I’d be lynched already.. Across the table, Francis Oliver Marrs narrows his oddly coloured eyes and frowns slightly. Point for me. There is no response, and I chuckle under my breath. “We found your fingerprint Frankie Boy. You’re clever, I will give you that, but not that clever. Dr. Jeckle down at the morgue is a bit of a strange duck, but his experiments work. Says he found your print on her eyeball. On her eyeball Frankie? What kind of sick malarkey is that?”

The room is quiet but for the steel fan that keeps us from dying of the heat, and the occasional squeal of a belt that desperately needed replacing. Francis sits still, his eyes on mine with no expression on his smooth features. I got plenty of time. My wife left last year, took the kids and the dog and left me in an empty house. I haven’t bothered to replace the furniture or the woman but I do miss my kids. I can wait all day, as long as there is a pot of Joe on the brew.

“C’mon Frank. We have your print, her blood was on your hands and on your underwear. I still can’t understand that. What kind of sicko are you? You cut her up and then wet your willie? Huh Frankie?”

“Please stop with the pen.” I’d been tapping it insistently on the table top during this whole one-sided conversation, knowing full well it irritated him. I don’t stop.

“Answer the questions, and I’ll think about it.” Marrs just sits quietly with his head down while I up the tempo into an epileptic beat that I can see is irritating  him as much as me, but his fists are clenched tightly on the table and his jaw is too. Another point for me. A knock on the door breaks the tension, and he laughs just a little under his breath. “Funny stuff eh Frankie Angel? You like banging dead twirls? Like it when they’re not fighting you anymore huh? WHAT?”

image

Someone is still rapping at my chamber door and it’s a seriously inopportune moment. The door opens just a crack and a voice full of femininity and fight asks to enter. “Relax kiddo. Let me see what’s what and I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere no, hear me Francis?” Stupid bitch, interrupting me when he was about to break. Closed doors mean do not disturb, everyone knows that.  There is a stunning blonde at the door, complete with a vacant smile and tearful doe eyes that would make any man weak in the groin. She is the spit and image of that  dead ginger, Siobhan, the one that Marrs and I are discussing, complete with the beauty mark below her right eye and that monumental rack. Jesus, I’d give my right nut to face plant between them.  I can hear Francis fidgeting behind me, and the small clink of the chains that he is in. A quick glance shows me that he is thrown off kilter as well.  Good; maybe this is a blessing in dusguise

“What can I do for you sweetheart? We’re kinda in the middle of something here.” Her smile is angelic, sweeter than a surprise visit to the candy shoppe Sunday morning instead of church, and admittedly my zipper on my pants is getting a little tighter. Maybe after this is done – “C’mon beautiful, I got work to do. What do you need?”

“Your keys, Detective, and one … more … thing.” Her hand  on my crotch and incredibly warm as it squeezes and releases.  Taken by surprise at her boldness, I back into the room with my hands in her hair  and sporting a throbbing whistle like I haven’t experienced in since my wife left   Francis is sitting with his mouth hanging open, no longer pulling at the shackles but open mouthed shock. “Just one small thing, Detective, and you can get back to work,” she whispers in my ear with a painful nip on the lobe that somehow makes me harder

“Yeah, what’s that? I don’t mind an audience, honey, and he’s not going anywhere.” Blondie just smiles and keeps playing rub and tug.    I can’t help myself and make a grab for her luscious melons while attempting to pull her close with the other  in hopes of getting my hand at that snug skirt    She is bare underneath, judging  from the lack of lines on her ass, and this is something I intend to make use of.  Holy Hannah,  this woman has no inhibitions and spreads her stems enough for my fingers to slip between her ample thighs. The squeak of the fan makes this all the more unreal but it’s been too long since I’ve gotten my wick wet and she is ready to make the scene. “Detective, that one other thing,” she gasps as my index finger slides into her moist warmth, then another “before we continue.”

“It can wait.” Her body is a playground and my hand is having a ball. I can feel her small palm sliding along my shoulder as her hips move hard, and the wet sound of her pleasure is almost louder than that stupid fan. Francis is quiet, but I can hear his short aroused heaves when I push her against the wall and cover her mouth. Her hand is fumbling at my belt and I shove it away, releasing the beast with ease. It’s been so long since I’d felt this burning and she is so near, I can’t help myself from shoving he skirt over her hips and impaling her onto the wobbly warhead.

She quivers as I pound into her body, the soft sighs making the familiar sting of close climax ache at the nape of my neck, like it does every time it’s very good. Her legs are strong, crossed over my ass and pulling me deeper with each thrust and that burn is almost too much to bear. It’s agony in my head and in my balls when she screams against my hand and I unload inside her tight cavity. It’s heaven and then hell. The burn isn’t backing off, as it always does after, and my knees aren’t holding me up either. What the hell… I pull out of her as my body hits the floor. The burn isn’t pleasure but breath stealing pain and all I can do is lay on the floor and stare at her beautiful face while she yanks her skirt down with a smile.

“Sorry Detective. You are a very good lay. It’s a shame that we won’t see each other again, but I know Francis appreciates the opportunity to continue his work. My sister, Siobhan, was an experiment, and no great loss. You underhand, don’t you? My name is Gwen Clanger, by the way.” I can see a long drip of my seed making its way down her thigh as she stands over my face and takes my keys. “The knife won’t yield any fingerprints but yours. I took it from your pocket. How sad for your family that your death will be unsolved. And in a police station too. Tsk tsk.”

Francis is on his feet and rubbing lightly at his wrists. Gwen smirks at him then kicks me hard in the ribs before stepping away and out the door with a laughing Francis in tow. I can’t breathe enough to call out for help, the pressure is like an elephant on my chest. All I can do is move my hand to tuck my shame back into its place, and am doing just that when someone shouts in horror at the door.

image

©MelanieMcCurdie2016

http://www.melaniemccurdie.com

Proof of Death

*from the upcoming book,  Stories from the Slaughterhouse, coming soon to digital and paperback*

The thunk of the gun on the table in front of me holds such a finality that I am stunned into stammering.   Had I truly come to a point in my life where all my troubles could be bought away by the uttering of a name and the pulling of a trigger? Apparently so – I had to consider my situation carefully and had relatively no time to do it. “That’s the deal, sweetheart. One name, and one bullet.” The man behind the weapon wears a smile that seems more predatory than genuine. It’s odd how predatory fits  best with those pointed teeth of his.  The smile is not reassuring in the least.

“It all sounds a little too good to be true, and you forgot about the lifetime of guilt and nightmares,” I snark back, more out of fear than anything else. A big hand lands like a wet blanket on the butt of the gun and I realise that I was lashing out at the one person who was willing to give me what I needed. No one ever said that I was smart.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wolf. I suppose that I’m nervous. This is a big decision to make, you know?”  The hand vanishes as quickly as it came and I inwardly sigh relief. “So who is it? I need the name before I turn you loose. It’s one of the rules.” Who, indeed? There really were so many I could choose from, but whose death would everyone’s world best benefit from? “You already know, don’t you?” I shake my head, because I did and I didn’t want to admit it. I’m a horrible person. A monster.

A monster, but I don’t mean to be, and I try so hard not to be. “Yeah. I know who, and you won’t be needing that gun, either, thank you. I could use a priest and maybe a team of exorcists though, if you know of any.” A bullet will do no good and so the gun is useless, unless I want to blow my own brains out my ear with it. If he takes it with him, It’s sure to happen to him; I am not ready to die, yet,  and I’m positive that he isn’t either.  It’ll happen, though.   It has before.

I am unwell, or so they say and I would normally agree but my point of view has changed drastically.  There are  some things that one simply cannot unsee  or pretend they are untrue   Last summer, while I was in a bad way, I  voluntarily did a short stint in the local mental hospital.  What my family called a sanity sabbatical.  I met someone there, a strange and wonderful man who shared so many of the same things in common that for the first time in my life, I began to be happy right where I was.

His name was Piotr and he made me feel like a normal woman, someone with worth, worth the time and I fell in love, hard. From the moment I saw him, he became hypnotic and all-encompassing.  Our romance grew in the shadows and in empty doorways, finally resulting in the consummation of our love late on the 13th of June.  We found each other in the darkness of the abadoned north wing and on a bed he had thoughtfully set up for our first romantic endeavour he took the only thing I had to give.

There was something – a presence – about him that made me drool with desire every time he came near. The intoxicating scent of the one I adored was more delicious than anything else and my head was full of him when he peeled my clothing off and spread my legs. He kissed me, there, then, and I shivered when his tongue began tracing its pattern; up and down and round and round. My slit was wet but I wanted him in my mouth first and then between my legs, but he refused one and laid me back onto the thin mattress.

I could feel the hot throbbing head of his sex against my virgin opening, and it probed deeper as his tongue did my mouth. There was so much pleasure that I forgot about the pain and spread my legs wide, begging him to pierce my maidenhead and then fuck me til I screamed. No greater pleasure experienced in one’s life than that first time and so it remains the greatest pleasure of my years. The stars in my eyes masked the truth in reality and though he was everything, I had forgotten about the chains of responsibility that come with rapture.

Weeks later, I learned that I was to be a mother, on the very day that I was to be released from my sanctuary,  torn away from Piotr and dumped back into hell. I had written him a note after repeated failed  attempts to pull him into a private corner to tell him the news. The nurses thwarted me at every step, and I finally resorted to paper and pen; my love left bleeding on paper and handed to a trusted friend to deliver after my departure.

My room remained the same as it had when I was a child, thus relegating me to the child they saw me as.  I hated it,  chafed at the social collar that I was forced to wear.  The only saving grace is that when Poitr was finally free, it would l be easy for me to slip out of the window and into his arms. For a time, it was easy, for maybe a month or so after I received word that he gained employment and was living in a rooming house nearby. The first time, we planned to meet at the gazebo at the local park. It was our first public meeting, and I was a nervous wreck, with my hand caressing the slight bump of my belly as though I would a talisman.

Poitr appeared on the path leading up to the partial secluded building, his eyes on the ground until he reached the stairs; then, nothing existed for a while but our bodies and hearts meeting and beating together. The sound of his knees hitting the wood and the feeling of his soft lips on the slight bump of my belly was more erotic than I ever imagined. The sensation of the hardest part of him resting against my ready slit and then sliding forward was delicious and I arched my back with a groan. I remember that, but the rest is lost in a haze of my own making. It’s for me.

We met that way as often as time would allow, with me climbing from the bedroom window and shimmying down the drainpipe to walk half a mile to the gazebo. It was perfect until I was unable to see my toes, and then we knew we needed to find another way. Piotr proposed on a Friday, in our gazebo. It was raining and the world was draped in mist from the river. The baby kicked hard when he kissed my inner thigh and produced a beautiful small diamond. Of course I said yes and we lay together on a blanket he had brought with him, his hand on my belly and his lips on my ear, telling me about how it would be when we were married and our little one was here. He made it sound so plausible.

“Is it safe? Nadia? Is it – if we -” He was so nervous and I nodded against his neck, nipping my teeth along his collarbone when he growled. “Easy, Poitr, you must go easy,” I gasped when he shoved me onto my back and flipped my skirt up over my hips. I hadn’t worn panties, as he’d requested and his fingers were stroking my already ready slit in a rougher manner than I’d experienced before. “Poitr,” I whined, trying to push his hand away but he chuckled and slipped three of his thick fingers firmly inside my tunnel, wiggling them in a manner that made me squirm in pleasure and discomfort. Baby was active and seemed to be struggling inside of my belly.

An enormous agony tore through my back and up my spine when my juices drenched his still thrusting fingers, easing with the first shriek from Piotr and the frantic wriggling of his hand deep inside of my body.  The world stopped, and for a while, so did I, lost in a fog of numbness and the shrieks of the man I loved.

When the mists had cleared, Piotr was gone; his eyes had flies in them and  his hand was gnawed away, through to the stub of white gleaming in the red.  My belly was empty, and  felt empty too, until I felt the warmth of two tiny hands st my breast and the sharp nip of pointed teeth.   I was a mother. My son’s first meal had been his father.

That was six months ago   Piotr was found shortly after our son wax born by an off duty officer on his morning run.  There were no suspects and the papers said it was an isolated animal attack  He’s an animal alright, of a sort, my fallen angel who sleeps now in his toddler bed nearest the window.  He will wake later so that he can sit up and admire the moon.  He’s grown fast, feeding while I sleep and crawling beside me warm and content as the sun rises each morning, waking me the same way he did the day he was born   His teeth are sharper.

I miss Piotr, dreadfully.  Our child looks so much like him that it makes me ill.  I can’t look at him anymore, especially not now   He is rapidly losing his grip on what little  humanity he’d been born with.  I knew that it would happen anyway but I’m frightened by how soon it has occurred.

What brings me here, at this point in my life?  Two nights ago  I found a man in my house.  I just stood in the doorway stunned at seeing a nude stranger it my bed, and the sweet face of my should be infant boy buried hairline deep in his guts and grunting like a boar.  The man was still shrieking in agony when I crept away from the open  bedroom door and drove away.  I haven’t been back.

“Hey beautiful, what’s the word? Going to give me that name?”  I really detest this asshole, but he is exactly what I need to get the job done.  Raising my eyes to his, I smile and push a folded scrap of paper towards him, and brush the cool metal of the gun in the process.  “Gideon.  There is the address. I’ll wait for the call.”  Mr. Wolf scanned the information I’d carefully  printed on it and refolded the paper, placing it in his left breast pocket.

“Okay Ms. C.   Give me 24 hours and I’ll have good news for you.” He traipsed away without a care, and never glanced back once.  I’ve  been waiting for that call, the text, something with the proof of death to secure my freedom for almost 48 hours   That is a full day longer than the amount of time that he committed to, but I am loathe to leave yet.  This is my child, after all, my son that I’m awaiting word from after all.  I afraid that things went terribly wrong.

©MelanieMcCurdie2016

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Carnival Cuisine

It’s all that she can think about; the memories of that night after the carnival are redolent,  like spider webs and herb.  Nothing had tasted so good

His name was Eliott White and he won her a black unicorn that she promptly christened Stabbty and kissed him soundly in thanks.  He was giddy afterwards, when she walked home in the dark with him, stopping here and there to kiss and let their hands roam.

Remembering his touch keeps her awake reliving the experience of him warm at her side, inside her, over and over. Her hand tingles with a needly sting and it is almost the same warmth as holding his.  She knew that he was thinking the same thing;  she felt it when he held her tight against him, and then pulled her into the tall grass beside the path. 

His, her, hands. Lips, skin raised, warm, then warmer. The verdure hid their rendezvous and the scattering night birds frightened calls hid her peals of pleasure, not that she made any effort to conceal them.   Eliott  joined his grunts to her softening coos and they filled the air while he filled her emptness with him until she could bear it no more THEN bore him further into her convulsing and shivering wetness.

Groaning and speaking in tongues, Eliott  jittered as she sighed.  She really did mourn when he died; his sweetness gone when she rolled him aside, giggling while she sobbed.   The demon inside her spat the mangled tissue away with a muffled moan and a lustful smacking noise that turned her stomach. Bit the fragrance of his barely scratched soul was more than she could bear

Later, after her meal, after a joint and in the shower, she thought as she rinsed, “every night is a one-night-stand.”  The soap made her lady bits slick and the demon swirled its nail studded tongue around her soapy fingers as thought to ask for more.  Shrugging, she let the pink tinged suds drains away with a smile, “I guess I can’t complain – At least I’m getting laid.”

image©MelanieMcCurdie2016

The Lonely Succubus

Yes.
I want to feel your hands and lips
Fingertips
I want to ride you like a bike I stole
Hard and fast as I can
You think you could keep up?
Many have attempted and failed
I doubt you’d survive
I do wish you’d come closer though
It gets so lonely on my side of hell
Trapped here in need of warmth
And companionship
Someone to share my fire
Dare you, handsome
Dare you to try

I’ll bleed you dry

©MelanieMcCurdie2016

Author_Melanie_McCurdie

A Grim Affair

The bubbles crackle like the fresh falling snow
on the fire burning out of control just across the road and
this she replayed in her mind as she watched the fire dance
sparkle with the shadows on the ceiling of the bathroom

oh the sensation of flying, so sure she is flying
the sensation of pleasure so intense that she bites her hand
he’s gone but his hand is her own as he fucks herself
she writhes against it in abandon shouting his name

no shame
– no nothing but the need fulfilled then she cries in silence
at the storm inside because she knows it’s only her mind
and not his hand not him, it can’t be ever again. he’s gone

he’d left her
abandoned in a new definition
she is alone and for always

but she swears she can smell his cologne on her pillow
feel his hands on her hips
lips on her lips
hips
tongue

it feels like him and she can’t help but moan in protest
he’s dead she still wears his blood on her hands and her face
he promised she grinds alone in her mind she stutters
paces in places well-worn in her padded visceral cell

but his tongue in her, cobwebs and cunnydust
and his fingers scrabbling like creatures
full and gushing eyes shut tight riding the waves

denial
desire
vernal
carnal

then a new a fullness, a new warmth, a tsunami
but he’s gone and sunk deep in pieces where I left him
while her body dies over and over
she sighs over and over

axe then chainsaw
I cut him
it’s he
him

She smells his blood
sex, earth and hell

oh my god
what the –
no
get off
get out
it hurts

it hurts but delicious
his movements are vicious and he’s dead but inside of her

the swell and the ocean
his groans
animals feasting

she remembers the reason she feels him so close
then she laughs out loud with release

I ate him

Girl 2

© MelanieMcCurdie2016

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Satisfaction

I hit him. I balled up my fist and hit him square in the sniffer. I’ve always said that if I had the chance,  if I were ever in the perfect time and at the perfect place, I would punch Billy Sharp just once and make it count for everything.  It didn’t happen that way, though, and you know what they say; once is never enough.  I wish I could say it was only twice or thrice but no, it was many, many more than that.  I regret nothing.

It was bad enough that I was in certain company and that tossing a table,  attempting to murder what would appear to be an innocent man with my four-inch stiletto would be entertaining, but poor form. Still, the moment alone in my head with a mental movie of him screaming in agony with my Jimmy Choo treasure sticking out of his left eye and the toe of my shoe keeping time with his tuneful yelping was almost hysterical. I actually fought the urge to laugh out loud lest it give the douche the idea I was happy to see him.  Yet there I was, with a spoonful of crème brûlée frozen halfway to my lips and that motherfucker standing there in front of me smug and sporting a smirk.

The crème brûlé needed work, but it dampened the dangerous tinny gall that filled my mouth. Wiping my lips delicately on the cloth napkin, I stood, giving the fellas to each side a glance at the skull-and-roses embossed nylons I wore on what my besties call da pinz. They didn’t match my business attire but c’est la guerre.  I didn’t care what they saw as I returned Billy’s smirk with a grin,.  I didn’t even mind the feather touch of a warm palm sliding along my inner thigh as I stepped around to the other side of the table and punched that dicksicle in the face with every ounce of coiled rage I possessed.  One punch. Make it count. I rang his bell hard enough to make him stagger.

The first hit hurt my hand and broke his nose. I felt it crunch under my knuckles like eggshells, and admittedly, I liked the way Billy squealed in surprise. Like s stuck pig. Fucker didn’t see it coming and how could he? He was so busy watching himself in the reflection of the coffee shop window to realise my fist was hurtling towards his handsome face.  I could hear the muted voices of several of my cohorts, ranging from stunned gasps to aroused horror.  I liked it.  He collapsed to the ground like a sack of hammers and I landed as hard on his chest with my fist still pumping like a piston.   I liked that too.  The horrified sounds made me hotter and the melon thunk of my fist in his face fed that ragefire in my stomach that I couldn’t drown except to smother it in this current activity.

So I did it again. And again. And again. And again. Billy’s squeal of shock turned into a dismayed cry, then became a choked  moan that punctuated each wet smack. He begged mushily for me to stop and I did, for a few seconds; for a fraction of a heartbeat, and in an intake of breath, I actually considered ceasing, dropping my fist to my side while he sobbed my name and squeezed my ample tits with a gurgly chortle.  Another old but apt principle,  an object in motion stays in motion; my arm swung forward and my favourite red stiletto heel was stuck into his left eye and it did in fact slap in time with the gyrating and writhing Billy was doing.  It was an oddly tuneful song that I didn’t find offensive in the least.

I know what you are wondering and the answer is no. I felt nothing more than absurdly horny and that carnal hunger intensified every time I heard that thud. I should have felt something, in retrospect, other than the urge to get myself off on his bruised and battered lips. Considering who he was, it’s ridiculous that I even registered that desire.  Still he was good for something, at one time, in some way. At least at the start, the sex was unfuckingbelievable. Billy was heroin and I needed a fix. I wanted him constantly and he was more than capable of providing, then.

But after the newness rubbed off, his wandering eye came alive and was down the cleavage of every woman from late teen to fiftyish. If not there, then his virtual hand was down the gusset of each said female he made contact with.  Even with me stand there feeling the fool.  That son of a cunt practically panted when the neighbour’s nubile seventeen year old granddaughter came to visit and to cut the lawn.  He stood at the side window rubbing at his crotch and sweating while he watched her push the mower in her short shorts and bikini top. Then the punishments for crimes I hadn’t committed began again. Finally, through some kind of divine intervention or because I suddenly grew a set of balls and a backbone, I ran from him and emerged from Hell into freedom and into a new kind of fear. Battered, I had to rebuild the temple of Me from foundations. I survived and vowed that one punch. Once for all.

My hands hurt badly, and they throbbed like my starving sex for relief. His face is a pulpy patchwork of blood, eyes and teeth and shoe. He’s quite repulsive and my desire to fuck him while cutting his throat had mostly passed. Thankfully. One place Billy Sharp will never be is inside of me again.  In any way. The voices are louder now and I sense another male close but far enough out of reach of my one track mind and aggressive fists.  “You’ve proven your point.  End it or compose yourself.  They are watching,”  a familiar voice stated in a cold, understanding tone that contrasted sharply with the heat of fingers playing along my spine like a xylophone.  He was right and from my boot I pulled a small handled, sharpened spoon that had been a gift from an old friend.  I made it dance in front of his remaining frightened eye.

“You loved seeing me suffer didn’t you, fucktard? Guess what Billy? I’m sharing the favour. You’ll never have a woman again, unless she’s blind.”

Oh he knew then and bucked his bulk around under me hoping to knock me loose, or judging from his hardon, trying to ram his dick up inside of me.  He couldn’t even decide between sex and self-preservation. What an idiot. I have very strong thighs and he failed. I did however extract my pound of flesh, so to speak, and composed myself while bidding my colleagues adieu.  His eye I left floating in the glass of bourbon he had been sipping when I made good on my vow. Sadly for Billy, no amount of skin grafts can fix the ugly face that now matched his ugly soul.

That was five years ago today. I’ve been in hiding since the jury exonerated me and for good reason. His family resents me and this I comprehend their reasoning, sort of. I’d feel worse if I didn’t know the apple was rotten inside long before it fell from the tree. I  had a long hard laugh over my coffee this morning when I read that he that he had blown his head off in the night during rush hour traffic. What a fucking drama queen.

“My goodness people are crazy in those big cities!” Ginny, my waitress exclaimed as she refilled my coffee cup, “I feel sad for him though Eloisa. He must have been miserable.” She smiles into my eyes with her innocent glazed stare focusing on my own with a fire I hadn’t seen in a long time. She would make a sweet treat for my tounge later.  I feel my smile widen and I chortle with delight at her stunned and pleased expression as my hand slips under her uniform and strokes the cleft of her perfect ass,  “I hope so Ginny darlin. I sure do hope so.”

Ah. Sometimes you can get some satisfaction.

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©MelanieMcCurdie2016

The Burbs cover art by Palko Designs LLC
The Burbs cover art by Palko Designs LLC

Listen to The Burbs here

Available now
Available now

Quietude

Shhhh
No talking
Voices spoil the reality
Passion brought us here
Let’s not waste words discussing
A not so secret desire
Human, you are so warm
Close enough to taste the salt of your skin
So just kiss me and again
So I can feel something
Feel anything but this gnawing disquiet and
The distance that grows wider
With each lecture on prowess
Each pointed verbal finger
That highlights the reasons why
Guilt should be paramount
I don’t care about the reasons why
Rather, I care about the closeness
The flesh contact and eye grip
Instead of the sinking depths
That come under the definition
Of Love

12311285_10153669923140851_5453216581517975899_n©MelanieMcCurdie2016

Body Bliss

Suggested Musical Accompaniment

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SiK3YH4k1p4

I stand at the window, the opaque red curtains blowing in the night air, pressing their meagre weight against my bare flesh, moulding against it. The breeze is delicious, like chilled hands running over my body, teasing my nipples til they stand taut. The fire burns inside me, throbbing like a wounded beast striving for its end, making me gasp as I run my fingers against my clit. I’m thinking of you, the images conjured behind my eyes bringing a jolt of pleasure with each passing moment, slow moments pushing me closer to release. I can almost feel your breath on my neck, the implied warmth of your body rising a wave of pleasure that screams through my veins. I feel the release as it breaks, my muscles thrumming as wetness bursts forth when you touch me. I’m afraid for a moment, I thought I was alone, and find I like it, and crave more.

You rub my shoulders, your rough hands soothing as they travel down the long length of my spine, moulding them to the form of my ass before sliding back up, and around to cup my breasts. The touches ignite the small flame into a roaring fire animal, clawing its way free. Pinching my nipples as your lips caress my skin, stopping to linger on the tattoo on my shoulder.

feeling-of-lust

Still sensitive, I shiver and attempt to pull away, an effort halted before it begins. Your hand finds my throat, gripping it firmly, the other hand slipping down my abdomen and across my mound of Venus pushing my hand away and settling on my clit. You aren’t gentle, turning into a demon with the sweet somethings you are whispering into my ear, all the things you wil do to me, making me gasp for air, in pleasure and anticipation as you strum the tender nub.

I lean into you, placing my arms over my head and around your neck as you pull me hard against you, breath heavy on my neck as your hand finds my sopping pussy, roughly shoving two fingers inside me and hammering as I hoped you’d do with your dick soon. I rock my hips against your hand, breathing fast as I begin to shiver. I cum in an explosion, monaing as I drench your fingers. Your grip on my throat relaxes and I gasp as your pull your digits free.

Turning around, I press my self against you, and feel your arms close around me as I stare up into your green eyes, barely visible through the soft cotton mask you wear. “Hi. You’re back early,” I whisper, reaching up to lick your lips and you shake your head, leaning away. You point to the floor and I raise my eyebrow, a slow smile curving my lips as I shake my head and take your hand. You follow without a word, openly watching my progress with blazing eyes that move all over my back and behind. I stand you in front of the lazyboy, and push you backwards into it, before placing my knees on either side of your hip, raking your hair with my nails.

I can feel your arousal through your jeans and wriggle against it, relishing the way its length feels against my fold. Still you don’t touch me and I feel a frenzy building in my centre as I lean down , my long hair covering our faces and take your lower lip in my teeth with a low growl. I feel you twitch beneath me as I begin to suck on your lip, my tongue tracing the inner length and probing to gain entry, desperate for your touch and becoming frustrated. I lean back and stare at you, before smiling and sliding off of your lap, letting my breasts trail down your chest and feeling the jersey of your shirt tug at my hard nipples. Pulling your belt free, I tear open the button and slide the zipper open, placing my hand over the swaddled erection and hear your sharp intake of breath.

Sitting back on my heels, I invite you to unsheath your beast and you snarl at me, coming at me from your seated position and grabbing my throat kissing me hard, while yanking down your pants. I grasp in my fist, fingers overlapping but a little and begin to move my hand up and down and feeling it grow harder yet in my hand. Your hand finds my hair and you pull it gently, tilting my head back and biting at my colllarbone. Lightening bolts of pleasure send shivers through by body as I feel your lips on my breast, sucking hard on the nipple and making me gasp. I hold your head tighter to me as I increase speed on my movements. “Stop.” and I do at the tone of your voice, a little afraid and exhilerated as well.

You rise to your feet, still with your hand in my hair, and pull my towards your member, forcing it into my willing mouth with a groan. It’s hot length makes my mouth water and I devour it, tightening my lips around the shaft as I take you deep. while gently massaging your balls and scratching lightly. Dragging my teeth along the shaft I pull back, I flatten my tongue against it, the feeling of it slide and pull slightly along the contures until your tip is just inside my lips. Back and forth, in and out, I lick and suck your raging arousal like a lollipop and your moans of pleasure do litle more than encourage, relishing the way you are fucking my mouth with abandon.

“Stand up” I flick my eyes up to you, and bite down slightly, enjoying the fleshy feeling between my teeth. You yank my hair, forcing me to my feet before scooping me up in your arms and striding to the bedroom. THe room is dark, the red walls look like they are bleeding in the candlelight as you place me on the bed and tear off your shirt. The look in your eyes excites me and I back up slightly as they narrow, your tongue slipping out to lick your lips with an expression that makes me feel like food. Slowly you climb on the bed, your hands running up my thighs to my waist and pressing hard against the small of my back, pulling me closer before dipping to lap at my pleasure centre, making me shiver. I feel my lower lips swelling with the fluids of my desire as your tongue dances along my folds, and you delve inside me, once, twice and all the way in as i draw in a breath before pulling your head tighter against my honeypot.

I writhe in your hand, rocking my hips against your mouth as you torture my clit ruthlessly, and insert your fingers inside me, fucking me as you lave my sensitive button until I scream and cum, and fill your mouth with my pleasure. You don’t stop and my body begins to shake as you tease my ruder spot with your thumb as you thrust harder, nearly violently, growling as you pinch my clit. “cum. Now” You snarl, biting down gently and inserting a third finger inside. I explode again, my breath gasping in my lungs as you give a final thrust and pull your hand away.

A chuckle from under your breath draws me out of my bliss and I open my eyes to find you looming over me, caught by the intense green gaze as you lift your hand to peel off the mask. I shake my head, wrapping my long legs around your waist as I wrap my arms around your neck, “leave it on,” I whisper, rising to nip at your throat, “I like it.” Agreement comes as you push your prestigious rod into my hollow, making me squirm in delight at the feeling of it caressing my inner walls, making them flutter as it fills my emptiness deliciously. I rise up against you, feeling your arms around my waist bringing me closer as you bury yourself inside me to the hilt, resting in my sheath.

Tenderly, you press your lips to mine, holding me close as you withdraw from my core, the wetness gushing from my folds as you nearly pull out and drive forward again, and again, your arms holding me tightly. I feel a crescendo building, each time you thrust into me I feel it rise, and I use my nails to claw at your back, digging deeper each time. Each entry is full force, and you let go of me and grasp my nipples, pulling hard and making me scream in pain and pleasure. “Stand up” your voice is rough and full of gravel as you tear off the mask, causing a silver tingle of delight as I slide off the bed and stand before you, my inner thighs glistening in the moonlight. You lead me to the couch, and fold me over the edge before holding my hips and impaling me yet again with your member, hammering hard and fast. Moaning I tease my clit, feeling my climax rushing at me like a cannonball as you pummel my body, I feel you stiffen, and your hot cum bounces off my inner walls. It’s more than I can bear and I cum moments later, screaming your name as I grind against your groin, desperate to ride it through.

I stand up, with you still inside me, and shaking from the force of the orgasm as you kiss my neck murmuring promises of more, and I smile as you grow hard within me once again.

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Books available on Amazon for Kindle and in Paperback
Books available on Amazon for Kindle and in Paperback

Black Orchid

Draped like breathing silk

Ivory skin, ivory keys

Raven tresses decoration

Play me, she whispers

Eyes averted, nervous

Black Orchid

No shrinking violet, she shivers

Speak her name

Watch her fracture, smile

A heady concoction

Igneous she burns

Your hand, Eruption

Detonation: Ground Zero

Her eyes

·

@MelanieMcCurdie2015

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The Message

The skulls waver in whispery rattles

Dead snapdragons along the white picket fence, speckled

Dusted here and there with a garish red that could only be real

I can hear her in there struggling, fighting to breath and survive me

I admire her commitment, truly I do

But it’s all in vein, all over the floor…she lays living near the door

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And I sit smoking another joint, bloody and naked

In plain sight of the surveillance camera at the gas station across the street

Knowing full well it can see me, I spread my long legs wide

Exposing my intimate place to the world and making good use of my fingers

Stroke myself off slow then fast, bringing a sober and joyless orgasm flooding

A slight breeze in the face of gale winds, euphoria and elevation reached

Legs slam shut, roach stored for later and I sigh

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Inside, my lover awaits, bound to a chair

At his feet, as before a King she lays trying as she lays dying

His expression torn between lust and desire arousal evident as he squirms in his bonds

Horrified as I dispatch her quickly and am engulfed in her sticky discharge

It tastes salty and hot, coating my face, dripping thickly down my breasts

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In his restraints, he became a beast, roaring in anger and mewling in pain

Groaning around the ballgag I straddle his lap and sink his cock deep

Rocking my hips and scratching my nails across his chest,

It doesn’t take long before he’s ready

Growing larger still as he strains, head thrown back and gag slick with spit

I slice his throat, the skin rolling back, a secondary orgasm he cums blood

Open mouthed, splattering and gurgling

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They’ll find him there, till in his chair, still in his throes

Death and pleasure, I left him naked

Her resting at his feet like a sacrificial lamb

His tongue shoved deep in her snatch

His flaccid shrivelled dick in her mouth

Rope removed, a note nailed to his chest

I missed a few times leaving embedded marks

Like the last one

@MelanieMcCurdie2015

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Majesty – Metamorphosis

The television mutters in the other room, white noise in the back ground to fill my mind as I fulfil my needs, feed my tendencies.  I find it surprisingly easy to forget my humanity here, in this place.    To let the demon that lives in me breathe, spread her wings and destroy.  The Reaper has been lurking near these past few days,  his steely eye on mine whenever I allow him to catch it.  Grim is a bad sport, I’ve found.  I’d really don’t fucking care that his schedule is thrown out of whack by my extracurricular activities.  A girl has to live after all.

The newscaster has a delightfully sonorous voice that sets my nerves on edge along with my teeth. He is speaking of yet another body found, this time in pieces each encased in a balloon and left at the bottom of a public pool. Police have no suspects. Oh look, a composite drawing of the victim.  Morons, they got the eyes wrong. They always do. Ingenious plan though, even if I do say so myself.

My current friend is coming out of her unconsciousness like a champ. She is very strong. I chose well this time, the fight she puts up refreshing to the mewling whining the others have given in response.   “You bitch.” Her muffled voice is low and mean, full of killing passion. I smile as my mouth fills with water, pouting my lips slightly. “Music to my ears. Welcome back.”

Her golden honey brown eyes glare at me, sparkling with dagger dripping fury that  fly in my direction. “He’ll come for me, and you fucking know it, he’ll KILL YOU,” she spits at me, baring her teeth at me in a snarl so deep that I could see the delicate lining of her upper lip, pink as a virgin’s folds. Her rage ebbs slightly as I stride across the room to where she sits on the floor, squatting down and spreading my knees, making my small skirt slide sensuous up my thighs. “You’re a whore,” she bites, “you think I want to see that?” lifting her chin to gesture towards the bareness I’d revealed.

“He’ll come and then we will see won’ t we darling,” I chuckle, running my fingers along the smoothness of her throat to the shelf of her chin, and pull  my hand  back quickly as she snaps at them with her strong white teeth. “I don’t care if you don’t want to see. You’re free not to look, yet you did..” I laugh at her, rising to my feet on my 3 inch heels and pulling on the chain that bolts her to the wall, making it rattle like a metal maracas.  She begins to sob, and desperately pull at the silver collar that surrounds her neck, her body wracked with the force of her fear and grief. I stand for a moment, watching her and finding myself disgusted with all this emotion. “You can stop crying. Your tears mean nothing to me. You were warned, I did so on several occasions. As you can see, patience is not one of my strongest Virtues.” She looks up at me, regarding me with dawning horror, finally understanding and knowing I was right.

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A knock at the door disturbs our discussion, and I excuse myself to answer the insistent ringing of the bell. Apparently Patience isn’t my visitor’s strong suit either. I can hear muttering and grumbling from the other side, a fist pounded against the heavy wooden door. A male voice I recognise, in a snit it sounds like.  How wonderful, we can begin, I think as I open the door and am nearly bowled over by the force of his embrace. His hands are everywhere as he pushes me backwards, pinning me between his body and the wall with a lip bruising kiss as his hand finds its way under my skirt.

“You changed the locks you bitch.”  I can hear her gasping for air and trying to scream his name as he ravages me, his fingers finding my wetness and driving deeply as he bites my throat. My hand finds his hair and I grasp a handful, pulling hard as my orgasm breaks, unable to stop the groan that escapes my lips. “Turn around,” Zander says, reaching to spin me to the wall as I step smoothly away, straightening my skirt with a smile.  He can wait. “No. I have something to show you. Come in here and see.” He smirks at me, and I gloat inwardly, wondering how I could possibly remain with this fool    He has no clue as to what I’ve done and saunters my way, full of self-confidence, reaching to stroke my still hard nipple through the thin silk of my blouse and making it harder still.  I slap his cheek and shove him away, not speaking but pointing towards his latest conquest.

She whimpers his name, her hand out and crying as he roughly pinches and twists my nipple, enjoying how I flinch slightly at the pain.  And smile, flicking my eyes to her.  His own smile fades from his eyes as he takes in his lover, her hair in disarray and nose running snot down her chin and turns back to me with a narrowed expression.  “This is why you wanted me here?  What am I supposed to do with her now?”   I shrug, indifferently, not really caring what he does with her now that the excitement was gone. It wasn’t new anymore, and I’d frankly lost interest.

The newscaster was back with a special bulletin, The police had a lead and I laughed out loud. What buffoons they were. I’d been operating under their noses for months and they didn’t have an inkling. All the better for me, I think, hearing scuffling and the minute tinkle of the chain hitting the floor. A strangled scream follows and I spin around to see Zander thrusting his hips with abandon into her open drooling mouth. “Fuck Zander, You couldn’t wait until I was out of the damned room?  Let her breathe. She’ll suck better,” I throw over my shoulder before leaving. I didn’t need to see the person I’d chosen to spend my life with fucking his whore, it was bad enough to know about them. This one came to me to gloat over their dalliances, to our home.  I snapped, having had quite enough of the rumours and confessions. Five women in two weeks had come to me, one knocking at my window at 3 am, photo evidence in hand to make her point.

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Reaper is lurking in the shadows, his bony hand wrapped around the handle of his Scythe as he watches the sideshow behind me.  Perhaps he will take them both and make my job slightly easier.  I fee his gaze on my face as my eyes flick up to the ceiling, spying a stray drop of blood that had escaped my notice until now. I’d been so careful, or so I thought. It holds my attention, that one drop of blood, the one thing that stands between me and detection.   “You bit me you bitch!” Zander roars and I chuckle under my breath. Men are stupid, I think as I stare at that one drop of blood. The one thing that could ruin everything. I’d left my specially concocted cleaner and a clean rag on the bookshelf, forgotten in my exhaustion following the last bloodletting.  Grabbing what I needed and carrying the small ladder, I place it underneath the offending evidence, and climb the first three narrow steps.   The solution is eye wateringly astringent, and I cough as I spray it on the rag.   Balancing on the narrow step, and reaching until I was on the balls of my feet,  I wipe it away.  The evidence destroyed,  I take a step down, noticing vaguely that the whimpers and choking sobs have stopped. She didn’t last long, Lightweight.

A rough inhale behind me alerts me to Zander’s presence, his teeth on my side a moment later tear holes in my blouse and nip  at my flesh as his hands roam across my body. I glance down at him, feeling the wetness of his tongue through the thin fabric and grab his hair, pulling his head back with a snarl. “Really Zander?  I’m done being anyone’s sloppy seconds thanks.”   Using the handful of his hair in my hand for balance, I step down from the stool and release my grip.  “I didn’t fuck her,” he mutters, taking my hand and leading me to the stairs, “lets go upstairs.” I laugh at him, yanking my hand away, “Hardly.  We have a mess to clean up soon.”

“We? What mess? You need to figure out what to do about her.  Is this my punishment?” he snaps at me, pointing his finger at the prone body lying on the floor, “You refuse me because of her? Change the locks?  What did you expect Jes.  You’re a cold-hearted cunt and a man needs a little warmth.” It’s all true, every word, and still I don’t give a fuck.  I didn’t suck off every guy who came my way, where he took every opportunity to bury his dick in whatever warm hole made itself available.   A soft whimper and crude mutterings from his toy serve only to irritate me further.  “You want it so bad? I’m sure that will accommodate you.  I’m going upstairs, alone.  Don’t bother me.”  I knew I was pushing him closer and closer to the ledge, pushing the buttons and baiting him deliberately.  I planned to make him pay for his choices and none of those payments included me.

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“Don’t you walk away from me.”  Zander’s low tone screams danger, and I turn my back to him as I climb the first few steps towards the upper level.   “I’m coming up with you, and if you play nice, then we will take care of that, together. Or I could fuck you and make her watch, then cut her throat.”  So inelegant, without foreplay what is death, to cut her throat would end the careful work I’d done to insure that her end would come at a snail’s pace.  I turned to gift him with some biting remark, probably about his manhood, as that has always made him burn faster to find him in my space.  “Why must you torture me? You get off on it…..God you’re sick.”   He knocks me to the floor, his tongue invading my mouth as his hands continued their earlier courses,  like independent beasts seeking to slip under my skin. He was nearly ruthless as he pushed himself into me,  daring me to bite and scratch.  I did; I fought like an animal until I couldn’t fight any longer.  Human biology being what it is, I couldn’t help my body responses, and met his every  angry and frustrated thrust with one of my own.    When he’d had his fill and subsequently filled me with his seed, he fell limp, as was also the norm.  “Get the fuck off of me.  I have things to do now.  Go make sure you didn’t damage her.” I quickly climbed the remaining steps and turned back to look down at him, laying there watching me as I moved away. “Please,” I smiled, relieved to see his smile in return.  He’d never know what hit him.

I descend the stairs, wrapped in nothing more than my skin, already thinking ahead to the tasks ahead.  The air is scented with the smell of blood, salted copper,  and I hesitate.  I could rip out his throat with my hands, being unarmed is no concern. The complete and utter silence was.   The bottom floor was dark, only the drifting movements of the tattered robes Grim insists on wearing change my surroundings. Slowly I continue down, my ears tuned to any sort of noise that might alert me to what awaits me in the dark.  My hand finds the switch on the wall where I’d had my fun for the evening chained and am nearly blinded as it flares into life. That mother fucking imbecile.  I was going to hurt him badly and with delight.  She sits staring at me, her eyes bulging from the chain that had obviously cut off her air supply when he’d hung her from the heavy-duty hook I’d had installed by the back door.  Her lips were swollen and her bloodied tongue protruded from between them, as through she were mocking me.  The back door is banging back and forth in the night breeze. I assume the asshole left that way and stalk to the door, giving the body a hard kick in the gut as I pass, stepping through with no care who sees me.  “Goodbye.”  The world explodes in a flurry of white screaming light as I drop to the ground, all strength gone and feel my breath as it escapes.  “Zander….” I barely am able to whisper and he smiles, the same smile I fell in love with and it carries me away.

seeds

I wake in hospital surrounded by police and nurses, wired for sound and extremely pissed off.  The sheriff informs me that I’d been injured and was now in good hands, fully aware of the first fact and still I debated on the second.  I simply nod,  rather than speak and run the risk of my tone betraying me, and so I sit and stare, waiting for the real reason he was at my bedside.  “Do you know why you’re here?”

“I do indeed.  I came downstairs from the shower, presuming I was alone, as I live alone.  I had a boyfriend but I kicked his ass out and changed the locks recently.  I came into the kitchen and found that poor woman  when I turned on the lights.” “You were found unconscious beside her.  Your fingerprints were collected from the collar and the chain around her neck.  Care to explain?”  I pause, allowing the tears of rage and frustration to come flooding from the corners of my eyes.  He bought it.  “I tried to lift her but she was too heavy.  I tried to get the chain from around her neck but…” I didn’t try at all.  But he doesn’t need to know that,  I did touch the links nearest the bruised flesh, and ran my hands up the cool metal that was slipped over that hook.  “Do you know who did it?” the Sheriff asks, as he looks out the window to the parking lot below, then down at his hands before meeting my eyes.  He knows who did it.  “Yeah, I do.  I saw him after he hit me.  The bastard tried to knock my brain from my head with a fucking hammer. A HAMMER. What kind of person does that?” The son of a bitch.   Not only did he steal my kill but he did it so inelegantly, and left me to clean up his mess.  I’d have his fucking head for this.

“You’ll be released tomorrow.  Do you have anyone we can call for you?” I shook my head, suppressing the smirk that threatened to spread across my lips.  Reaper stands at the door, his fingers tapping on the symbol of his Office, making me distinctly nervous.  “I’ve  no one.  Can I go home?”  asked quietly, keeping my eyes on my lap.  Perhaps one day I would have sisters to call my own, fabulous bitches to share my secret world.  For now, I had only the one who was not reachable in her travels.  I’m sure she will be most unhappy with my chosen recreation.  No matter.  She’d adjust.  He nods and hands me a heavy envelope.  “This was left for you at the desk.  Looks important to me.  I’ll be in touch.”   I tear into it the moment my door closes, and smile at what I find inside.  If I ever see Zander again I’ll cut him to pieces.  For now, my path calls me forward.

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@MelanieMcCurdie2014

Liaison

Smoke a bowl with me
Lay down in the blankets
Let the world disappear in each other’s arms
A passionate pas de deux
Dancing in the bed sheets
Hands read rising flesh like Braille
Stripping away the masks and disguises
Revealing true self to desirous eyes
Words like melted chocolate drizzle
Intellectual Intercourse, foreplay
Movements timed to the percussive throbbing
Hearts and bodies as one
Minds intertwined,
Here is tue intimacy
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