Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Les Incendies

<clank> <clank><ring>
<clank> <clank><ring>
<clank> <clank><ring>
<the sound of metal dragging…and a rush of air>

He stood at the anvil, his hand wrapped around the end of the tongs while white heat turned the darkened steel the color of cherries. He lazily wiped sweat from his brow, a dark streak indicating the path from left to right just above his eyes. He stared into the fire, gauged the steel, and in one familiar motion lifted the hammer from the anvil’s face and replaced it with the glowing mass. The sounds repeated again. Each strike moving the now-softened metal around like hard butter. Each ring of the hammer on the anvil cleared the scale clinging to it, and resulted in a shower of sparks that rained upon the dirt floor. The few that stuck the smith simply went out when they touched the canvas of the kilt as countless other had over time. He worked intently, with purpose and care. He saw the end item in his mind, and the metal simply needed to be forced into the matching shapes through will and muscle as much as more subtle coercion. The form wanted to show itself, but the metal was coy.

She stood in shadows and peered into the building, leaning against the rough boards threatening her delicate skin.  She saw him at the forge, his shape dark against the raging fires, the sweat in beads on his flesh. She wanted him, but knew the stories. He was a monster, a devil. He slept while the sun burned, and drank the blood of his chosen victims under the blanket of stars. He used the dried bodies to fuel his infernal forge, within which he created things of great beauty or of great use. Rarely, the things were both – a plow blade adorned with filigree so fine that it seemed a shame to desecrate it with earth. When it was finally used, it cut hardpan as easily as it was beautiful.  This, from the hands of a monster.

She shifted her position to better see his chest as the hammer rang. Each pivot to the fire was flourished with a sway of the kilt. “This is no monster,” she thought to herself as her desire began to warm her body. “Tha’ats a man if I ever saw one.”

He stopped, but did not turn around. 

“Aye, lass.” He spoke, resting the cooling metal on the anvil’s face and placing the hammer beside it. There was a sudden flush in her face as she realized that she must have actually spoken aloud. She wanted to run, but her feet betrayed her. “But yer eyes ha’ent seen everything, ‘ave they? An’ yer such a wee thing. Come in. No need to stand in the shadows.”

As her heart beat against her chest, her feet stepped towards the heat of the forge, and him. “I won’t be bothering you no more, Sir. I just wanted to watch.”

“A’course you did…” He said, as he turned to meet her face and smiled into her eyes. She felt her desire building. 

“Oh, Sir, I… I… “ Her words faltered on her lips. “Oh…I don’t want to be of any trouble.” She could feel herself wanting him. She gazed at his face, his neck and shoulders, the curve of his arms, and hands. She wanted those hands all over her, she wanted this man or creature, or monster… whatever he was… she wanted him. Her body flushed with the heat of lust. It welled up inside of her and took over what little control was left. It came out of her, and it showed in the flush on her skin, the fullness of her breasts, the tip of her hips. She could feel the damp heat turn to a flood, it bristled inside her, clawing out and running freely across the inside of her thighs. She trembled against that desire, and was lost to it. She stuttered, and made soft noises as she came even closer. She began to circle the creature, running a finger over his flesh as though her were a statue in a museum.  “Oh, my. You are no man…” she circled and touched, tracing his muscles, his shoulders, the line of his kilt. “Please, I …”

She stopped in front of him, touched him through the kilt and began to kneel. She wanted that flesh inside, to pleasure it, to feel the creature tremble in her hungry mouth as she knew she could. He stopped her, forced her to rise, smiled again, and ran his hands up over her hips – steel and sinew caressed skin the color of fresh cream. The heat from the forge was no match for what she was feeling, and still he smiled as he lifted her to his waiting lips. She opened her mouth and felt him enter her, his tongue searching, his lips fanning the flames of her desire. She wrapped her legs around him, the rough canvas of the kilt contrasted against her butter-softness. She felt the rush of lustful nectar running down her thighs, across her ass, and his hands rubbing it in. She wanted this man more than she ever thought possible… and still he kissed her as though she had been his for all her lifetime.  

He crossed the shop with her wrapped around his body. She felt as though she was floating, alive for the first time, in love and lust. She ached to be full of his flesh. All of it.  She ground herself into him, and was surprised when she was placed deftly onto the bench, remaining between her legs. He pulled away as though she simply let him go. She hadn’t, but had no way to explain how it happened. It didn’t matter – she was going to give herself to this wanton thing. It was all she wanted. “Does this creature have a name, if you please?” she asked.

“Angus, my dear Kyla. I’m Angus.” He slid his hands up her legs, opening them and pulling her forward. She burned to kiss those lips, to taste his mouth. Angus moved to the belt, and the buckles on the kilt, and let it fall to the floor at His feet.  Kyla whimpered against her lust, and gave into the kiss that came hard against her mouth. He tasted of grassy hills, and of wide, blue-grey skies. He smelled of the earth and comfort, and something dark and forbiddenly luscious. Kyla gave heself willingly.

She felt him enter her as the the throbbing ache inside her soul spiraled higher. She was filled to the point of exquisite pain, and he stroked into her over and over. She bucked against the thrusts, his hands pushing at her and forcing her back onto the bench. He plucked the buttons on her dress with a sharp nail, and she felt her corset give way, her ample flushed breasts spilling out and into his waiting grasp.  Angus leaned down to kiss them, suckle them, and bite them. She was in ecstasy, and screamed his name as she climaxed, flooding the bench beneath her with her slick essence. He moved her effortlessly and lay her belly against the bench, her round, welcoming ass against those tense hips. She could hear her own voice screaming in pleasure, the moans, and the deliciously wet sounds… all of it continued to fuel her lust to a peak she never could have believed possible. Angus slapped her hard, as no other man did, nor would again. She screamed as he turned her ass nearly the same color as the steel he forged earlier. She was aching both for more of it, and for it to stop at the same time, but still he slapped her. She climaxed again, her body writhing as his hand grabbed her tender cheek and squeezed  hard. She squealed in pleasure and pain, giving into the waves as they flowed over and through her.

She felt herself being lifted and spun to face him. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his body and felt herself full once more. He lifted her ass, running hands over it and spreading the soft, tender  flesh as he slid her down again and again. She felt his mouth on her neck, in her hair, against her body… and as she felt the tension and his thunderous release inside of her, there was a sudden stillness.  A lingering kiss on her neck, and a spreading warmth. She dreamed of home, far and away. She dreamed of pleasures, and of eternity. And then the darkness called to her and she knew that she would never again see the light of a sunrise or feel the morning light upon her face.

Angus lifted His head, blood smeared on His lips and whispered…

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

The Woman I

Henry was unable to move. The Woman had bound him so tightly that his hands were filling with blood and his shoulders were stiff. She stood before him in her burning glory, leather and cream, her eyes filled with the hunger normally only associated with men. She lifted his legs, saw the fear in the man's eyes, and smiled back, obligingly.

"This won't hurt much, dear. Just you wait and see..." Her teeth bared, her eyes bright with lust. 

Henry clenched his hands together as he felt The Woman caress his thighs. She looked down at her strap-on, then back to his face. He felt her fingers, wet with lube, stroking his ass. she probed gently at first, then more forcibly. He winced as she pushed in, her eyes flicking up to meet his. 

"Oh, you're nervous. Don't you worry your little heart. I'll take good care of you." Her free hand stroked his cock, teasing it to life despite his nervousness. He felt her expert caress, her deft touch, and her lust. She leaned forward, pressing the head of her own cock against his flesh. It was wet and warm, and he was having difficulty deciding if he really didn't like the way it felt against him. 

The Woman leaned in more and he felt her begin to slide in. Immediately, Henry clinched against her, the reaction impulse more than anything. She smiled, reached down, and held the shaft in her fist. Without waiting for further discussion, she began to feed the black member into his ass. Slowly his flesh yielded, and he felt uncomfortable and full. He wanted her to stop, but she didn't ask. She pushed it in, his sphincter arguing his losing viewpoint. 

"Henry, I'm fucking you. Either relax and enjoy it, or it's going to hurt." The Woman said while looking at his face. "Be a good boy and open up. I'm going to get it no matter what you say, so you might as well give it to me."

Henry closed his eyes and felt her finish her first stroke. She was in and he felt it. Tight. Full. Uncomfortable. How many times had he taken a woman? How many times had he felt a woman's ass around his own cock? And now, he was taking one, and she wasn't taking no for an answer. "Yes, Mistress" he finally breathed. "Yes. My. Mistress."

The Woman pushed his legs up higher and began working her hips. Her rhythm was expert, her cadence deliberate. In and out, over and over, she stroked the thickness of her dildo into him. He felt her hands stroking his own shaft, felt his balls tighten as she fucked and fucked. Harder into him, then more gently, then harder again. He finally began to relax and stated to enjoy the sensations of her flesh in his, her skin in his, and her cock filling him, She smiled and worked, she was going to make him cum and there was no asking. She demanded it from him. She lifted his legs at a difficult angle, and leaned forward to fuck him harder, her weight on his hips now. she was grinding her thighs against the backs of his, she could get the entire length into him and pinned him to the bed.  She was glorious in her excitement. He gave himself to her lust, her hunger. In and out, deeper and harder, sweat forming on her shoulders and chest as she fucked and pulled at him. His orgasm was intense, thick streams of cum shot from his cock onto his own face and chest. She laughed out loud and gave a final gut-wrenching stroke before leaning back and slapping Henry's balls. His stomach churned with the strike, he cried out, and begged her to stop. She laughed at him, slid out of his ass and slapped his face, the cum spraying from underneath her stinging hand. 

"How was that, bitch?" she asked him as she stood up, wiping her cock with a towel.

"Thank you, Mistress. It was wonderful." Henry responded.

 She unbuckled the dildo and straddled him, grinding her soaking wet womanhood against his chest. Sliding up, she planted her weight on Henry's face. "Lick, bitch. Make me cum."

Henry could barely breathe, but pressed his tongue against her wetness. She pulled his hair, slapped his arms and head, and rode his face like a bucking cowboy. Her orgasm built, her body writhed and she came with the fury of a starving woman. Juices fell onto Henry's face, and he felt her flood spill into him. 

She rose, kissed him hard, and untied him. 

"You're done. Get out."

Friday, December 27, 2013

La Chair Tendre

The cool night breeze blew across her face, carrying the scent of the fields that it crossed before alighting upon her. She could smell the end of the day, hours old, and she licked at it eagerly. It filled her mouth, made passionate love to her tongue, and passed without resistance into her parched lungs. As it lapped against the shores of her lips, she smiled and closed her eyes again. It was good to breathe the night freely. It was delicious to taste the open sky once again.  Aurore lost herself in the moment, blissfully giving herself to the very darkness. There was nothing sweeter in the entirety of existence than the dark sky above, and the crisp air below.  She spun slowly on the balcony, the darkness illuminated only by the very stars, while her dress fluttered ever so delicately in the motion, her hands wide and far from her shoulders. The view was of the rolling countryside, as line of trees far off in the distance, and farther still the scent of a city bustling and burgeoning with chaos.

Then she stopped. Like a clockwork ballerina, her motion ended immediately and totally barring the remaining fluttering of her dress. The breeze followed in suit and she smiled again. "Va-t'en, créature. Je ne suis pas ici pour vous tout de suite."

"No. Y'aren't. But yeh' are still beautiful. An' yeh' are still mine."

"Le vôtre, je peux être. Mais pas maintenant. Laissez-moi respirer, diriez-vous?"

"Aye. For now."

She danced again, her feet seemingly not touching the stonework beneath them. She merrily skipped and threw her arms this way and that, moving to some unheard music. She spun and shook. She turned her arms into brushes and painted her very soul upon the dark air all around. She was alive with energy and she meant to rid herself of it all before letting the supple leather touch her porcelain skin again. Angus watched. He loved to see Aurore dance. He gave her space and time, and enjoyed gazing upon her frivolity from his vantage point just beyond the visible world. He loved her as he had the rest, but he was realistic about the extent of her commitment. She was here to taste power, nothing more. She was here to be commanded, as so many others had been before her, and as so many more would after her body failed.

Angus watched patiently, lovingly. He let the city beyond the trees linger only briefly in his mind before he cast it away, a spent child to be put into bed and commanded to sleep. He could hear all of the thoughts in that city as a constant stream, so many cattle to be taken, but he chose to be here, watching this body dance the night away. And dance she did. To and fro, here and there, up and down Aurore flew. She flailed and shuddered, There was a sinuous elegance to her, one that any mortal would lust after, one that might cost a mortal his life.

Aurore stopped at last, and turned to the hidden Angus. She panted, her body damp with sweat, and smiled, bowing her head. "Mon Maître, je suis prêt à être le vôtre."

Angus faded into this world, muscled and powerful, and returned her smile. "A'course y'are"


She felt everything change, and she knew it was time. In less than a breath, she was clean, scented, and standing in a tomb again. Angus stood silently and let his eyes take her in, capturing her, and making her feel as though she was the universe itself. He cocked his head slightly, gave no indication of emotion, and leaned forward into her air, breathing her in as a cat might expose it's Jacobson's organ to something unfamiliar. He inhaled a long breath, letting the delicate fragrances mingle inside of his body, exposing all of Aurore's flesh to his heightened senses. She was a flower, ready to be picked from the field and placed upon the table, her beauty immediate, but her moment fading. Angus delighted in her rebellious nature, he adored her independent attitude, and he allowed her these trespasses against her Master.  And he was, in the truest sense of the word, her Master. He made her what she was, and he commanded her as he wished. It was this way so many times before, and it would be again...

Her arms were raised and outstretched, the black leather tightly fastened to her wrists with gleaming chrome buckles. The straps extended into the darkness, as though they were not necessarily attached to anything other than the darkness itself. Her legs were bound together, another length of jet black strapping wrapped thrice around her ankles and extended into the floor beneath her glorious, naked form. Angus smiled from the shadows and measured her symmetry with a critical eye. There was beauty here, far beyond the woman suspended from the leather. Aurore licked her lips and he knew her eyes were closed behind the black silk that covered them. She welcomed this more than any other ever had, and this excited the Vampire as little else did.

Power flowed from his fingertips and he whipped them through the air in anticipation of the pleasures that awaited his Servant. "Mon maître, le plaisir ma chair avec vos caprices. Faire la douleur exquise et éternelle."

"Oh, tha'at I will, love" he replied as a thick black grip materialized in his closed hand. Tendrils of heavy leather, each tipped with a wide, flat spade, bore from the grip and quivered under his desire. He walked about her, circling and watching for motion of any kind. Aurore remained perfectly still, even as he dragged the flail across the stone loudly. He came to rest on her left side, faced her obliquely, then raised the flail and brought it down across her thigh as lightly as a dragon landing upon an archer. She screamed loudly, her flesh erupting into great red welts. Blood welled up against the skin and erupted through the exposed capillaries as though her body was weeping in pleasure, thankful for the blessing of pain. Angus moved to her right, changed hands, and mirrored the dispensation of punishment upon her other thigh. Again her body wept in delight.
"Merci, Maître. Mon corps est vivant avec les cadeaux que vous offrez. J'ai envie de plus, si vous êtes aimable et courtois." she muttered through quivering lips. Her breasts were flush with excitement and her quim began to throb visibly. She licked her lips again and lay her head back, and tightened her hands around the straps.
"Amazing." Angus thought to himself.
"Pas plus étonnant que celui qui a fait de moi, Maître" she replied silently to him.
Angus was thrilled.

He moved behind her, raised the flail, and delivered her flesh stroke after stroke of delight. Her back was painted in streaks of scarlet, and she writhed with pleasure with every kiss of the flail. She became more aroused as he went on, reaching orgasm after orgasm that racked her body. Her thighs glistened with her juices, and her sweat, and her blood, while tears of ecstasy flowed down her face. She was trembling and moaning erotically until she finally cried out "Maître, vous m'avez plu au-delà de toute attente! Ma chair ne peut pas supporter la joie de ce genre. Je vous en prie, laissez-moi votre gloire pour toujours."

Angus turned away, his arousal apparent. He bowed his head and she fell from the vanishing leather into a heap. His embrace was sudden and violent, yet loving. This was his crowning achievement. He had made this woman into his servant, and soon she would be aching to be out there, alone in the night, wanting to hunt for herself. She would want to find mortal flesh to pleasure, and to seduce. She would be free, yet ever his servant. She embraced her Master in return, and kissed him deeply. She ran her hands up his body, and down to that place where her fingertips could pull the seed from his lust. She stroked him, and nuzzled his throat, all the while letting her hands find a rhythm he would respond to. Angus allowed this, and took pleasure in his servant's efforts. He felt his own climax coming, and bared her neck to his mouth. As he erupted into her hands, and onto her wounded wrists, she pulled furiously at his flesh, tugging and stroking hungrily. He sank his fangs into her, and tasted her with that ancient ache. Her motion trailed off, and Angus pulled away. She licked his essence from her hands and bloody wrists, savoring the creature. He lifted her, turned her, and admired this beauty.

She smiled as the moved away, glancing over her shoulder. Angus nodded lightly, and quietly said "Mine"

She returned the nod and replied, "Bien à vous, Maître. Bien à toi."

Friday, January 11, 2013

Son Cœur Solitaire

Philip was alone again. He wiped the windows one last time, dropping the rag into the bucket and weaving through the office space to the janitor's cart. The office was dark, but the glow of the city warmed the space near the windows, enticing him back to the view. He stood, looking down at the city below. It really was beautiful. He pushed his forehead against the freshly-cleaned windows and imagined falling through the skyline, the neon vapors caressing him, cladding his nude form in glitter before splashing into the pools of reflected sky. He sighed, pulled back, and went to grab the rag.

He finished cleaning the space,  locked the door behind him, and opened the next office. That office. He saved this one for last every night, savoring the torture that tugged on his weary heart. Philip opened the door, pushing the cart inside. His heart skipped. The view outside was completely obstructed by the adjacent building, the dark windows.held a secret. They held the key to a man's heart. Philip closed the distance to the windows with the surety of a cat. He waited, checking his watch. Almost time. He watched the second hand sweep towards the 12, could almost feel the minute hand begin to move, and he held his breath.


A deep amber light.

Followed by the shadow against the window directly across the street. The silhouette of something beautiful, wrapped in the glow from behind.

Philip breathed out ever so slowly.

There he was.

And the game began. He could see the shadow turn, adjust the light somewhat, perhaps moving a shade or turning a gel of some kind. No matter what it was, Philip never could figure it out, the light dimmed some, and changed color slightly, brightening to something a bit closer to the early morning glow of the sun against the dark sky.

Philip's heart hammered in his chest. The form across the street was visible in the shadow, he could see the elegant style of the man. He was so very beautiful. Philip traced his form with his finger, imagining the feel of the man's skin. He was in love with a total stranger. He was completely taken with a man he had never actually met, knew nothing about except what he could see through the window, and didn't even know what his voice sounded like.

But Philip loved this stranger so.

He first saw him by mistake, he'd dropped the duster he was using and knelt down to get it, his eye catching the shadow in the window a few floors below. Philip worked hard to get other floors over the next months, lower ones. It was hard to arrange, but he pressed on. Every night, he would run to the window exactly at midnight. And there he was, in his glory. The love of Philip's life.  The love he never knew.  Eventually, Philip got the right floors, and the right offices, and the right schedule. When he got transferred to days for a few weeks, Philip thought that his heart was broken forever, that the stranger would move away or change schedules. He was terrified that he would never see that form again. And when he finally got his shift back, and ran to the window that first night back, his heart flew. When that form paused, and Philip could see that smile as those strong hands slid up and began to unbutton that crisp shirt, he thought his heart was going to stop right there. When those hands paused, and didn't move again until Philip himself mimicked the motion, well... it was the most powerful love anywhere.  Philip knew that it didn't matter if he never again loved anyone else. He knew this love, and that was enough.

Years passed. The game remained the same. And Philip's love never seemed to age, even though Philip had grayed some in the past years his love had not. They played, stripping slowly in front of each other across the street, each taking a turn, each relishing the moment when skin was revealed. Eventually, they were naked to each other, and Philip could feel those eyes gazing upon him, feasting on his skin. He was careful to always be in shape, but not too muscled... just enough tone to be beautiful in the mirror. His love was the model of a man, Roman sculpture framed in passion. Like no other on this Earth. And every night they bared themselves again and again. Month after month Philip waited and hoped and pleaded with the gods for an invitation, for  a beckoning, fuck, even just a lifted eyebrow. But it never came. The shape across the street would eventually turn away, glancing one last time before shutting off the light. Philip pondered what must be happening over there. He saw the imaginary wife calling from the bedroom for her man. The secret love they shared was unknown to her, and she would take him with lust and desire. He would carry his fevered passion to the bedroom and take it out on her flesh, all those hidden needs. Philip wondered if his love saw his face on his wife, wondered if that man would one day finally want him so much that it would overcome the need to save face with his society. Philip wanted him so badly, and he knew that his love must feel the same way. It was the only explanation.

Years of this and Philip never wavered in his devotion to the game, and was never disappointed, but never was his need for contact with this god fulfilled. Philips's heart was so achingly empty during the daylight, and only when the sun set did the hole begin to fill as anticipation made the pain bearable.  He dreamed of his lover calling him with a waving hand, saw them meeting in the lobby of the building. He could smell the wondrous scent and taste the succulent lips of this man he loved for so long. He had waited so very long. And in his dream, Philip and his lover stepped into the elevator, tension building as the floors swept past. There was the outside of the door his love walked through every night, there was the window they watched each other through. And then he was wrapped up in those strong arms, kisses drowning kisses, heat and desire and love making the wait worth every minute. He saw them making sweet love to each other through the night. All through the dream Philip wept with ache, and a love he might never know for real. Their bodies swayed against the sheets, and for the first time in his life, Philip was full with life and love. The dream continued on for eternity, their days filled with tenderness and cute reminders of what was. He saw his lover greeting him at the office when Philip brought him lunch, made just the way he liked it. He saw the flowers that his lover would have delivered to the offices where he worked.

It was everything he ever wanted.

Philip woke, tears streaming down his face. Reminders of what could be. Night after night, Philip resolved to go over there and simply knock on that door and profess his love. Night after night, he simply felt happy to play the game.


Philip was older now, so much older than he ever thought he could feel.  His muscles softer, his skin wrinkled and toneless. To the office workers who stayed too late, he was that old fag who cleaned the place. They left him alone, mostly, which was a godsend for Philip. His heart never stopped reaching out towards the window across the street.

But this night, Christmas Eve, Philip was very tired. He made his way towards the windows as his watch wound towards midnight. He stood with his head against the glass and felt his chest tighten as the hands crept slower than ever.  He placed his hand on his chest, ready to unbutton his shirt once again. The pain bloomed and spread, his breath hitched, and Philip knew this would be his last night at the game. His watch snapped midnight, but the light didn't come on. Tears, burning with a lifetime of loneliness poured down his face. The night he dies, he wouldn't see his love's face.

"You will see me, Philip" said a thick Scottish accent from just behind the dying man. "I'm here"
He turned around,  the pain in his chest now a train crushing him down. "You... I love you"

"I know. And I love you."  The man leaned in and put his forehead against Philip's. "And I, you"

With three words, Philip knew he'd lived a fuller life of wanting than he ever could have a life of having. "I waited. What is your name? I want to know your name before I die" His chest was heavy, but through all of it, he could smell cloves on this beautiful man.  His love smiled at him as the world grew gray and close. His love leaned in and pressed his lips on Philip's own, his breath sweet and luxurious. They kissed, for longer than seemed possible. A lifetime of aching washed away with one kiss.

"My name is Angus MacRae. I will remember you and your beautiful heart, Philip"

Philip could taste the kiss on him.

Angus held him close as he passed. "I'll remember you always"  He kissed this kind, sweet man again, feeling his weight change in his arms.  Close to an ear that stopped hearing, Angus whispered...


Saturday, January 21, 2012

Coeur Battant

     He watched the young thing dance between the rows of clothing, stopping to touch, to caress, to experience the particular garments that caught her eye. This skirt, that sweater, those stockings... each item stroked with the interest of a lover marking her prey. She gathered delights unto her, and pranced lightly towards the fitting room. For perhaps longer than she should have, she tried each piece on, alone, then in various combinations. Every metamorphosis being revealed before the mirrors placed about the secreted chambers. She emerged with her selections, made the purchase, and headed loftily out into the busy mall, her new shopping bag dangling from her crooked arm. He watched as she moved deftly through the crowd, and could tell instantly that she was a girl who lived in, or had spent a large amount of time in, a large city. She carried herself confidently, stoically, and did not yield herself to the oncoming swarm. She was magnificent, her curves as pleasing as a morning blossom to the eye, her scent fragrant and enticing. She held her head high, her eyes bright, and she smiled as she slithered through the outcropping of  browsing shoppers at the various kiosks.  He followed from above, his vision fixed on her form. He could sense her ease, he could taste her calm. She was interesting. She had energy to harness, and he meant to.

Angus closed the gap slightly. He was the barely-seen form working the narrow gaps, nudging elbows with such a light touch. He sought her scent, her lithe strides, and he again felt her ease. She was exciting, and she knew it. He could almost touch her heat from so far away, it was boiling up out of her and she knew it. This made Angus so very curious. Why was this mortal thing so confident in herself? What made this woman bleed  surety? He grinned, he licked his lips, and he hoped she would tell him. If not, he intended to find out for himself.

Lynn felt the weight, the warmth of the gaze. It excited her. It made her quiver. That gaze ran its finger up her spine, over her shoulders, and back down to her hips. She had always been sensitive to being watched. It had been proven years ago that blood pressure and temperature changed  when someone watched you. She knew it her whole life.  So here, again, in this mall, she felt the excitement of being stared at hard. And her body responded well. She moved her hips a little more expressively, and she straightened up a bit, stretching her limited height as far as she could. She'd always wore the tallest shoes she could, she learned young to be stable and calm in them, and at this point in her life, she could play basketball in anything up to about 6" platforms. The height of the heels accentuated her calves, and any man knows what it does for the rest of a girl's figure. So she wore them, and she didn't mind being taller than some of the men she hit on. It made her feel extremely powerful sometimes, towering over her date, watching him nervously try to stand up tall and straight. That alone made most men she dated more handsome. There was, to her, nothing worse than a man slouching.

Angus closed the gap further. She knew he was there, he could feel that. She knew and she wasn't nervous.  Good. She slowed her pace, intentionally as far as he could tell. Better.  And she smiled when he got close, his gaze fixed upon his prey. Best.  He felt her heartbeat quicken with her step as she sensed his proximity. He was close, practically within arm's reach. She knew it. She never looked back or sideways, but she knew.  Angus let his smile take over his face, at last, and it spread like an infection to others around him. Even unnoticed, the Vampire affected its surroundings.  He was smiling when she turned and gave a single flick of her eyes over her shoulder as she did. Suddenly she was alone in a long corridor. And in far less than a heartbeat, Angus was right behind her, stepping silently, slowing his pace to see what her intention was.

She could feel his breath. Her own met its pace, and she was very turned on. "I hope to hell he's not hideous" she thought to herself, just as she decided to risk being alone. She saw the restroom sign, caught the family restroom sign below, and turned into the dimmed corridor. As she did, she allowed herself one very quick turn of her head and let her eyes follow around. She saw ... someone... it was like a blur, a fleeting glimpse of a man. A shadow. She wondered if this was some kind of set-up, thought of all the odd reality-television shows on of late, and let it slide off. If this were a set-up, she'd let it happen. And she would let it happen with a spectacular twist. She made her way towards the door marked 'Family Friendly' and swung the door open. She spun as she went inside, and let it close behind her. But she did not lock it. She stood near it, listening. She noticed her face in the mirror, and she let out an involuntary laugh. She was damp with sweat, her cheeks and ears rosy, her eyes bright. She WAS turned on. And it showed. Footsteps outside, very quiet, very light. Could this be him? She hoped so... She turned the knob under her hand and...

Angus slipped up the corridor, saw her turn into the room, and slowed his pace again. He let her get inside, then allowed his footsteps to become heavier, making just enough noise to be heard. He approached the door, could hear her breathing and a laugh behind it. Suddenly, it flew open, her delicate hand reaching out to grasp him... He smiled that smile...Her hand opened, clawed at his arm towards his wrist as to pull him in. She caught...

"Only air? What the fuck? Where did he go?" Lynn closed her hand hard on nothing, She could feel his presence, could smell something decadent, and felt the heat rise farther in her, but caught nothing at all.  Her puzzled face told the tale of her heart, of her lust. She turned to close the door and actually use the room, her eyes caught for a spit second in the mirror. . . a shadow... As she turned, Angus was there, on her. He could smell her musk, he could taste every desire she had. It was powerful and lust-filled. She was a dynamo of sexual energy, and her surprise heightened his own desire. He kissed her hard, deep, and with unearthly passion. she responded, her own desires fully bloomed inside her. hungry lips hard on his mouth, tasting his subtle flavors, drawing from him a rapaciousness that no mortal could contain. She eased off, teasingly, and smiled herself. "Took you long enough" She slipped through her full lips. "What's your name?"
"Angus MacRae"
"I see, Angus MacRae. And why are you following me?" She kissed him between each word, lightly, her arms around his neck, her mouth moving to his.
"You're interesting, lass. I'd like to see why y'are so strong-willed. For a mortal, you've got something special" Angus whispered. Each sentence whispered into her ear, slowly, with that Scottish brogue. He mouthed her ears, lips on them, then off again, he traced her lobes, heavy with earrings, and he took them in his mouth, tenderly. A nip here, a long, sensual kiss there... it was intoxicating, and it was dripping with heat.
"I'm confident. Isn't that allowed?"
"A'course. But you knew I was there, and tha'ats something"
They kissed. Their hands roamed, and they kissed. It was sybaritism without limit, and it went on... She rolled her hips into his as she backed him against the sink. She felt the gift he held for her, hidden, and she wanted it. She wanted him inside of her, but he would not yield. Angus caressed her, hands under her shirt, inside her pants, he coveted her flesh, her lewdness, and he was loving the grand scale of the tease. 

She dropped to her knees, and kissed his tight belly through his shirt, feeling her own raging furnace of depravity go into overload. She HAD to have this man. Her hungry mouth began to taste the fabric of his pants, to seek out that object of her want. She fell down the dark hole, fueled with a licentious craving for this man, no, this beautiful creature to be inside of her, to fill her, to take her... She wanted to be rent useless and spent by this wonder of passionate debauchery... but he would not yield. he took her bodily, and he stood her up. She writhed and ached, she could not stop touching his skin.  Her pants were visibly soaked, the fragrant, sticky nectar in full view. Her fingers sought out the flesh, and she began to pleasure herself as Angus grinned and watched intently. Her face grew dark and furious. Her hands pressed hard into the seam of her pants, just below the zipper... She trembled and held onto his arm, her face dangerously close to his... and he leaned in as she climaxed, feeling her nerves working in and out of her brain... her heart beating harder and harder... He kissed her wanting mouth slowly as she trembled again. He tasted her, he smelled her, and he wanted her.

Instead, he kissed her lightly, and sucked the sex from her fingers. He held her, close, and let her heartbeat slow. He stared into her beautiful eyes, and Angus fell in love.  He placed his forehead against hers and let her see the universe for a split second. She widened her eyes, and asked without words...

Angus whispered two words into her hot, sensitive ear before he left that room.


He kissed her again, lovingly, and leaned close to her neck, his breath hot and thick...his hands on her face, drinking in her beauty...then ...



The Light On Broadway

     Snow fell in a hush as the brightly-colored lights danced off the dropping flakes. The streets were greasy black, frozen in the pre-dawn cold., and barren except for the scant few stragglers still out and about from the previous night's merry-making. The city was alive in its silence, and a lone figure moved gracefully from one streetlight to the next with an elegance unnoticed by anyone else. He was tall, broad across the shoulders, but with a classic form. He was ancient, and at peace with the night.  He was Angus MacRae and he was a vampire.  He had walked these streets for a very, very long time, and tonight he moved with a purpose.  He had a gift to deliver.

He stood at the door. It was plain and unremarkable for such a beautiful building. Angus loved 71 Broadway. It was built in 1897 and had remained largely unchanged since. Here now at his destination on the 12th floor, he slowed his breathing and smiled slightly, crookedly. He had done this so many times before, and each time he filled with joy. A simple pleasure for a kindness unseen.  Angus closed his eyes and stepped through the locked door.

The apartment was dark, illuminated only by the dim glow of the few colored lights adorning the thin tree standing precariously in the corner. He sniffed deeply, taking the scent of pine into his famished lungs, and smiled again.  Christmas was truly one of his favorite times of year.  One of the saddest, as well, but still, he held onto the memories of the previous gifts he had delivered so many times before on the Eve of the day celebrated by so many in the city.  He shifted, and turned to see her standing there, as they so often do. A tiny child, waifish and sleepy-eyed. The smile warmed on Angus' face, and his eyes beamed.  The child's bald head still had the marks from where the pillow had wrinkled and bunched against the tender skin. Her eyes widened slightly as she began to grasp at the possibilities of the situation. "Dear child..." Angus began, filling the girl with his Command Voice, heard only by her, and calming her entirely. "Come closer, my sweet..."

"Are you, no... of course not... he's not real..."
"Am I Santa Clause? No, dear. I'm not. I'm real, and I have a gift for you"
"What do you have for me? Mom said there would not be presents this year, that the treatment was too expensive..." the little girl absentmindedly touched her head, stroking a scar there...
"Oh, your mother was not entirely wrong, there won't be presents for her. But you, my love, YOU have one coming to you.  Would you like to have it?  I promise it will make your mother happy as well, even if she doesn't yet understand..." Angus allowed his mind to wander back to the first time he saw this little thing, and remembered her struggling to carry her tiny backpack into the hospital. He had seen her around the streets, her illness taking its toll, and her mother struggling more and more to make ends meet as the disease progressed as resisted treatment after treatment.  He listened in when the doctors told her mother that the prognosis was not positive, and treatment could realistically be suspended at any time in order to improve her quality of life.  Her mother had wept, hard. Night after night Angus heard the tears streaming down her face, over her tender skin.  He chose this young girl this year, simply because he wanted to.  She deserved this gift, and her mother would be able to finally begin healing her broken, work-weary heart.

"Yes, please.  But who are you?" the girl asked, her eyes clearing of the Voice that Angus placed there.

"My name is Angus MacRae. I am a Vampire. I am here because your mother asked for help, pleaded for it, and when I asked her if I was welcome in her home someday, she said I was as long as I could help her.  So here I am. I am going to give you something very special.  You will not understand it for a long time, but I am going to ask you one time my dear, and only one time.  Would you like to never have to go to the hospital again?"

The girl started, and looked puzzled. She had many questions, but the most important one came out first, "You are really a vampire?"

"I am."

"And you want to help me?  Don't vampires want to eat people?"

"I do not need to explain further than this is my choice" Angus replied, firmly, but not in anger. He'd heard this before, and anticipated the next question. "And no, I am not going to make you a vampire like me. I will change you, for certain, but you will not need to feed upon the blood of innocents or any such nonsense."

"Are you English?"

The question actually caught Angus off guard.  He grinned again, laughed a bit, and said "No, my dear. I'm Scottish"

"So what will you do to me?  Kill me?  Kill us all?"

"No. And again, do you want this gift?"

The girl shifted her weight from foot to foot.  She looked down and said "Of course I do..."

Angus was on her in a flash. He drew her soul to the surface, staring into her eyes. He felt her drift away, falling helplessly into the black behind her eyelids. He opened his mouth, and sunk his fangs into her neck, the skin so soft and delicate that he had to be very careful of the wound lest he tear her open completely. He drank deeply, feeling her approach death, feeling her heart struggle to beat against his will.  He allowed the gift to begin, felt the power in himself, felt the light in the girl's soul. He waited for the moment and then released the power from his grasp, felt her shudder and die. And he smiled again.  Woefully, he remembered his first love, dying and helpless at the time.  He felt the warmth of a thousand fires fill his own spirit, felt the joy of giving swell inside him.  He carried her limp body back to her bed, and covered her to the neck.  He placed a small bell near her head, and left, silently, as he had come.

This year, this child would be spared from death.  Her mother would wake to find a whole being, rather than a sick and dying one.  This year, a mother would find faith in her prayers, and would never again weep tears for the death of her child.  And years later, that beautiful child would grow and remember one very special Christmas.  She would never tell anyone of the vampire, and would always carry a love for that dark creature until she parted this lifetime.

And when she did, Angus was there again. Holding her hand.  Allowing her to remember each and every Christmas from their first meeting to their last. He would celebrate her lifetime, one he made possible with that wondrous gift so many years ago. He would embrace her, an ease her passing with a kiss and a single word...


And the vampire would weep again.

(Originally Published 12-19-2011)

Le Ciel Regarde

The Creature lay under the stars, the snow burrowing its cold deep into the long-dead flesh.  Stiffly, Angus turned his head, looking first West, then East. The horizon was just taking on the first hints of morning, but he was not afraid. He returned his gaze to the sky directly above, ancient light upon an ancient creature. And Angus MacRae wept. It was long since he had, longer than he cared to remember. It was cold then, too. Her body placed in the ground and the sky was there, watching along with him. The sky was there the night that Angus buried his first love.

When the dawn began to creep farther into the darkness, and the stars began to fade, Angus rose, took one last breath of night air, and seemingly melted into vapor. He moved quickly, faster than any human could imagine, and made his way back to the darkness beneath the ground. He found the tomb where he was laid to rest so very long ago, and slept fitfully through the day, his dreams haunted by the memories of so many loves, so many lovers. Angela was the one who remained in his mind when his eyes opened, and he waited patiently for the sun to finally fall behind the horizon before once again returning to the world of flesh. He was hungry again. And he had a one-track mind tonight...


She had been soft, yielding to his touch. She smelled of jasmine and  lotus flowers, and wore her dark hair as so many others he chased had - long and flowing against their neck, soft over her shoulder. It was hair that could be used, savored, held fast. Her eyes were strikingly hazel, and her skin pale and nearly translucent, her veins visible in strong light.  Angela. She had fallen across Angus while he flirted with a waiter, enticing the young man into the alley behind the nightclub. He was leaning in close, ready to give his victim something to really shout about when Angela stumbled into the alley and laughed, her face bright with the sweat of a dancer, and her smile telling of someone more learned than her innocence let on.  She skirted the pair of men, one obviously in control of the situation, and sized them both up. Angus decided she was no threat, that she might even be something interesting for dessert, and leaned in to the victim excitedly. Again, she laughed.  It was then he caught on to her boldness, her hunger. He commanded the young man to stay, turned to the elegant woman before him, and asked her plainly in his brogue "What the fuck do you want?"

"Me? Just here for the show," she replied, her expression unchanged.
"An' just what is it yeh think you'll see here?"
"Looks to me like a couple of guys getting it on. Did I get that wrong?" she leaned back to the wall as she answered, her attitude swelling in her voice.
"Aye, lass.  Tha'at yeh did," and Angus was on her, hard and fast. She didn't see him move, didn't see him wrap himself around her, pinning her to the wall.  He was everywhere and yet invisible to her. She went out without a fight, and when she opened her eyes sluggishly, she was bound.

There is an elegance in bondage. There is grace and beauty. Her supple form strapped to the years-worn timber with dozens of fine silk scarves. From head to toe, her body restrained and supported by silk and a cavernous space beyond the circle of candle light echoed her every movement. She knew instinctively she was alone. And she was helpless. The angle of the timber rising from the stones beneath was awkward, jilting off at an angle in two directions and causing her to be slightly on her right side, feet down, leaning forward. Had she gotten free from her bindings, she would very well have fallen over onto her face. She could not touch the floor, though she tried so very hard to wriggle out of the restraining silk.  The candles wavered in an invisible current, as a cold breath spilled over her from the shoulders down.  "Tired of fightin' already?" Angus chided. She could smell something rich, like damp earth, mixed with something that was unfamiliar, but exciting. It blossomed in her sinuses and her nipples went erect at the first hint of it.  Her mind launched into a whirlwind of reasoning, she was feeling warmth rising and wanted to press it back, bury it inside of her.  It felt wrong to want him, the thing that captured her, but she did.  She wanted this creature like no other woman wanted another. Angus grinned and stepped around in the light. He reached out, grazing her rigid flesh with the back of his hand so very gracefully. She shuddered involuntarily and licked her lips. Raging desire swelled up beneath the red scarf holding her hips firmly to the timber. It clawed its way to the surface, and Angela's breathing changed.

She was not usually the type to be tied up. She never liked the feeling of giving up control of her body and would argue that point back to the dozens of partners who tried to convince her that it would be hot.   It never was. But this, being taken, it was different. She should have been terrified, should have been screaming, but she was simply excited. There was an air about this thing in her presence. Calming, enticing... Sensual. Yes. There was something inside her sinuous and reptilian trying to get out. Lust... hunger... craving.  It welled up inside her and ran down her thighs. It snapped at her insides and made her beg for release - both from the scarves and from her desire. The creature came close to her, looked longingly into her eyes and kissed her. She felt forever in his lips, felt an eternity in his probing tongue. She strained into him as he pulled back, his breath sweet and thick in her mouth. She wanted him more than she ever dreamed she could. She was here, helpless, wanting a stranger who claimed her from the land of the living. She was willing to join him in the darkness forever. Angus felt this, saw it, and denied her.

Instead, he took her. He stripped away the binding scarves from where he needed to gain access to her flesh, warm and waiting. He took her as no mortal, but as a Creature of Darkness. She was driven to the brink of madness, aching for the thrusts against her wet, weakening flesh. Her desire fanned the fires within, she struggled hard against the silk, but it would not relent in its grasp of her body. She had contact with her hellish lover only where HE chose to make contact, and that maddened her further. She wanted control back, she wanted to command HIS flesh.  But he never gave it to her. He kept that control for himself, savoring it. Finding the succulent cream in every corner of her being and tasting it. He lay against her, his body hard and damp, and she screamed and moaned and begged to be let out of these god-awful scarves. He brought her to the brink of release again and again, only to back away suddenly, leaving her empty and wanting even more. Over and over he delivered to her a gift of velvet, so luxurious and thick, and over and over he took it from her. Time after time she thought she would finally gain the physical and emotional release she wanted, no NEEDED, and the build-up continued. Until he simply stepped away and left her teetering on the precipice. The shuddering in her body took what felt like an eternity to settle.  But he did not return for quite a while. She was lost in thought, in desire, in exhaustion. She slept for a time, but could not tell how long. When she awoke, he was there, a single candle burning between them. His grin told her that he meant business, and his touch confirmed that inference.

Angus came to her, and with the most delicate of glances, stroked her wanton flesh with knowledge and purpose. He entered her again, leaving her bound and numb against the timber, and thrust with such care, and such longing that her flesh responded in just a few strokes. Her skin puckered and bristled, her body unable to respond as she wanted, but her sex wet and hungry - so ready to move forward regardless of her mind's need for control. She lost herself in the creature. She looked into his eyes and found what she needed there, rather than in his flesh. It exploded inside her first, then it found its way out - wave after wave of passion and desire. The creature smiled knowingly, and continued. She soaked him, her sexual essence raining down from her in every way imaginable - It seeped from her very pores. She writhed with every wave, every stroke, every tremble. She felt him build, then release, again driving her over the edge. She discovered that she could relax her body entirely after this, letting the silk take her weight and releasing her from the constant strain.  It was welcome, and comforting to be able to let go. It was new.

Angus smiled at her. He led her soul off to slumber as though dead, and when she awoke, she was standing in the back alley, with a red silk scarf around her neck.  She would come to stand here, in this spot, many times, and she collected quite a number of scarves in her lifetime. She would eventually see the creature for the last time, just before she closed her eyes on this world. He had come to her window and watched until she nodded him in. He spent her last night by her side, holding her hand, allowing her to remember her life as it was - wonderful and rich. He showed her memories of her nieces and nephews, showed her the wonders of the years she spent on this planet. He leaned in close to her and let her smile at him. He kissed her cheek, and whispered one last word to her as she released her final breath.


Angus MacRae stood in the shadows of a tomb when they lowered her into the ground, and stood over her grave that very night.  He looked up at the sky and let a tear roll down his cheek.

And the sky stared back, unblinking.

(Originally Published 11-20-2011)