Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
I love that show! It's addicting, but I love it, especially SVU.
Thyri's humble little shack out back
- Thread starter Annisthyrienne
- Start date
I love that show! It's addicting, but I love it, especially SVU.
marauder13
a lecherous old bastard
- Joined
- Mar 8, 2009
- Posts
- 7,322
If we were ever to do a thread together, Thyri, I think this one would be it. I think a lot of fun could be had with it. The interactions between the two could be interesting, challenging and as said before, a lot of fun.
But if you do it with someone else, then like VT, I would be reading along regularly.
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
Thank you for saying so. I always try to write down the ideas when I remember them, even if I'm not quite ready to write the story itself yet. And as always, my ideas are not exclusive. I would be honored for any talented writer to take the idea and run with it. Even if I still chose to do it later, the stories would no doubt turn out differently, and each be interesting to read.
But yes, the possibilities for this story are amazing, especially with the twist I have in mind.
Hmmm, talking about different takes on the same idea has given me a new idea for a writing challenge, something like Britwitch's image prompt challenge, but using the same basic plot idea and seeing how different teams of writers handle it. Or even solo writers, for that matter.
marauder13
a lecherous old bastard
- Joined
- Mar 8, 2009
- Posts
- 7,322
Vail, do you remember the author's name?
VampiricTouch
Cold Selfish Bitch
- Joined
- Dec 18, 2008
- Posts
- 3,895
marauder13
a lecherous old bastard
- Joined
- Mar 8, 2009
- Posts
- 7,322
Wow, Vail, that's a great disguise there. You came across just like VT. Can you look and sound like anyone else?
The_gladiator
Avatar of Fantasy
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2007
- Posts
- 24,510
oh you should know my friend the power of a Comma fucking with you is different than fucking, with you... you know its the difference between helping your uncle jack, off a horse, and help your uncle, jack off a horse. just sayin... grins
The_gladiator
Avatar of Fantasy
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2007
- Posts
- 24,510
dumps off a present for Thyri
pardon the pun.
Dearest Thyri,
I hope you had a merry christmas. Message me soon, so we can continuing brainstorming for our story. I am so excited you asked me to write with you finally, grins.
Love,
Glad
pardon the pun.
Dearest Thyri,
I hope you had a merry christmas. Message me soon, so we can continuing brainstorming for our story. I am so excited you asked me to write with you finally, grins.
Love,
Glad
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
SweetYuuki
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Nov 12, 2012
- Posts
- 128
Hello. Just thought I'd drop by and say hi.
So...hi!
So...hi!
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
Hello and welcome, Yuuki! Sorry I missed your visit this time, but hopefully I'll be here when you stop by again.
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
Writing excerpt: DairyWorld - Addiction
Annalyse was hooked. She needed it bad, and it was time for her fix.
She stumbled slightly as she picked her steps down the alley, carefully stepping over the homeless bums that sprawled gracelessly on their stacked cardboard lounges. She tried not to look directly at them, but she did notice certain details out of her peripheral vision; their grey-beard grizzled mouths, the dingy teeth, their parched, cracked lips, even their roughly calloused hands with knuckles swollen from arthritis.
And she knew they stared at her too. She could feel it; feel their burning gaze on her legs, only thinly concealed by her stockings. It was as if their stares crawled up her thighs like ants, taking the measure of her, right up until the hem of her short skirt. Beyond that they'd have to let their imaginations take over. That is, unless their low sprawled positions afforded them the chance peek higher. If so, they might just catch a glimpse of her bare sex. She shunned panties when she was this desperate.
Or maybe their preference was higher, their bleary, bloodshot eyes roaming over her 'modest' DD cup bosom, proudly showcased by her underwire corset, leaving the upper swell of her full breasts to be partially covered by her halter top. Did they know? Did they hunger for her?
Annalyse's 4 inch heels scuffed over the asphalt of the alleyway, making a pock, pock, pocking sound that echoed from the building walls in the narrow space as her purposeful stride carried her along. She was making her way towards the little cafe on 43rd street. There she'd find what she was looking for, what she needed so very badly.
As she approached, she could see that there were patrons at the cafe. Yuppie couples occupied the seats at the little bistro tables, sharing the shade of the umbrella canopies and sipping their lattes or frappes or whatever their beverage of choice. She hadn't imagined that she'd have privacy, and in fact there was a little part of her that was glad they would see. Was it self loathing? It was only mid-morning - the sidewalks were heavily trafficked with people still on their way to their jobs - and yet this was already her second time today.
She stepped closer to the station, glancing around a little hesitantly. Her fingers trailed over the bared upper rise of her breasts, absently acknowledging the fullness she felt within. She gave no thought to how much she actually produced anymore. It didn't matter to her. Maybe she even surpassed some of those celebrities who were hailed for how much they could make. But it wasn't fame she sought.
She slid into the plexiglass booth and straddled the motorcycle styled padded seat, facing the machine. The now familiar words, 'Manhattan Bureau of Human Services' were stenciled on the console just above the operating instructions. But she didn't need to read them anymore. She knew what she was doing. Her hands rose to the nape of her neck, tugging loose the strings of her halter top as she glanced around once more at the people enjoying their drinks only yards away. A few of them watched her curiously, though it was a common enough sight these days to see a woman donating her milk for the homeless and indigent.
Her slight blush of modesty barely showed pink upon her cheeks as she let her top drop in front of her and leaned into the machine's pneumatic pressure cups. Her hands cranked the control knobs, adjusting the cups to the perfect distance and orientation apart for her breast before leaning in close. She cupped her breasts from underneath with her hands, allowing the brief touch of her thumbs to rub over her already leaking nipples. Her turgid buds were still a little inflamed and sore from the last time, just earlier this morning, but she needed this now, and wouldn't wait. She guided her plentiful mammaries into the pressure cups, and then fine tuned the controls for the suction bulbs to center over her areolas and nipples. When she'd adjusted the attachments to her comfort, she pressed the button to activate the process with a wistful sigh.
The machine whirred to life, initiating the pre-sanitizing process first. She let her eyes close as the warm sting of the sanitizing lavage flowed over her breasts within the cups. In her mind she imagined the sensation as the warm saliva of a hungry mouth licking her flesh. A flash image of the grizzled mouths of the homeless bums crossed her mind's eye. Deep down inside Annalyse knew that the milk she donated would likely find its way to a shelter, and perhaps those same transients she saw on her way here would be drinking her milk. Images of the white secretions trickling down those grizzled bearded chins as they greedily guzzled her essence brought a quiet moan to her lips.
Next in the process was the compression of the receptacle cups. The pneumatics of the machine would inflate the cups around her breasts, like the automated blood pressure checking machines used to do, only this pressure would alternate between high and low, rhythmically milking her, encouraging her milk ducts to let down her precious fluids. She adjusted her position as she felt the vibration of the pump motor located under the seat. The vibration could just be felt through the padding and she leaned forward a bit more, tilting her pelvis to take advantage of the powerful vibration. She heard the switch engage that routed the air to the inflation cups and they closed around her breasts, forming a secure clasping fit.
At the same time, the suction created by the pumping mechanism was routed to the suction bulbs she had carefully fitted to her areolas and nipples. The wetness from the sanitizing lavage helped to form a complete seal and the suction began to elongate her nipples. It drew the blood forth to engorge her raspberry sized nipples almost painfully erect.
With a low throaty moan she felt her milk let down, and leaned in to embrace the machine more snugly. The moan that escaped her carried over the muffled sound of the pumping machinery to the ears of the nearby cafe patrons, who couldn't help casting curious glances her way. They had to wonder about the unusual sound coming from the woman who was engaged in so routine a process. Surely relieving the pressure felt good, but not that good.
Annalyse's eyes opened just a slit to take in the sight of the people watching her. It was part of her need; to be seen like this. Her eyes gleamed with the knowledge that these people were watching her get milked. And once again, she imagined the suction on her nipples as hungry mouths, suckling from her breasts directly. So dirty! So taboo!
Now the pressure cups began their oscillations, first inflating, then deflating -squeezing, then releasing, only to squeeze again. It was the strong knobby hands of the homeless bums grabbing her tender breasts, milking her, forcing her milk ducts to release her liquid soul. She rocked her hips forward a little more, bringing her bare clitoris into contact with the dull throbbing vibration coming through the seat. Reaching up to the dial for the pressure cups, she increased the setting, making the machine squeeze her breasts tighter. Likewise the suction bulb controller. The sharp increase in suction pulled and tugged at her throbbing nipples; an insistent, relentlessly hungry mouth taking from her!
Her head rolled on her shoulders, her eyes opening once again, this time taking in the sight of the gathering crowd come to watch this spectacle. She wrapped her arms around the control console, embracing the machine like a lover. It was the hungry mouth of her child, her lover, her family, her people, drinking from her, taking her liquid soul through her nipples and into their mouths! She moaned louder, now rocking her hips to the rhythm of the pumping apparatus under her seat. The same rhythm milked her relentlessly, taking all she had to offer. It would drain her breasts dry, even as she saturated her cunt.
The pump seemed to increase of its own volition, the noise of the machinery seemingly louder in her ears. But not quite loud enough to drown out the astonished murmurs of the on looking crowd. They were all watching; watching this woman give of herself, and get what she so craved in return. Her breathing was rapid now, eyes rolling languorously, making sultry contact at random with those who watched this show. They all suckled from her now, in her mind. She was feeding them from her very essence as a woman. She was mother to them all, lover, and nurturer.
It was close upon her now; that quickening feeling. As the suction bulbs drained the last of her milky essence from her breasts, the suction ramped up momentarily, like the way a vacuum cleaner jumps in pitch when you put your hand over the hose and nothing more can be sucked. It caused the feedback for the pump to increase the RPMs in a last ditch effort to get a little more of her.
That's when it happened.
The suction bulbs stretched her nipples taut, as if trying to swallow them! The vibration of the higher RPMs rattled to a crescendo between her legs! Her pussy contracted once, in synchronous concert with the breath that caught in her throat in one last gasp! And then.........she came! Oh, glorious ecstasy; she was cumming....and cumming! It seemed like it wouldn't stop! She cried out in her bliss! Even after she soaked the padded seat, the machine still sucked her, relentlessly, incessantly. It wanted more! She melted inside and her soul flowed through her nipples and from her cunt! But still the machine wanted more. The hungry mouths -so dirty to suck on her breasts directly - wanted more...More.....MORE!
But the machine detected no more milk was coming, and the process shut down. The suction was released; the pressure likewise, letting her go. She shuddered one last time, then lifted her head. Her hair fell back from her face, letting them all see her post orgasmic flush. The hot shame of her blush rose in her cheeks as she saw their stares. One or two of the bolder onlookers offered a crude comment. One even began clapping, applauding the show. The machine processed her donation, testing it for impurities or disease. The quality alert chime sounded, just as she knew it would. It never failed; her milk was pure, suitable to feed the multitudes.
She rose from the seat, her breasts pulling free from the machine's residual suction with a moist sucking sound. She stood, not bothering with her halter top as she began to walk away. They could see it all. Her breasts were red, her nipples and areola inflamed and swollen, puffing out still from their engorgement. Her hair was tussled. Her cheeks burned nearly scarlet with her blush.
She strode through the gathered crowd, already calculating in her mind where the next relief station was, and how long it might be before she felt that tingling pressure building within her again.
It was her shame.
It was her addiction.
*******************
This piece has some biographical elements to it, in the sense that it focuses on several things that are real turn-ons for me: machine stimulation, public sex/exhibitionism, breast milking/lactation.
Annalyse is addicted to the potent combination of these things that get her off so strongly every time. She has pursued this addiction to the point of near self abuse. Because she uses the donation stations so much, the demands she places on her body for milk production might cause her to actually exceed the output that some of the DairyWorld celebrities are famous for. But she is no celebrity, and no one will ever know exactly how much she produces, because each time she donates it's at a different public station.
In addition, as she is fantasizing about the suction of the machine actually being the hungry mouths of the onlookers, and even the bums she passed in the alley, she is finding the arousal of the cultural taboo of direct mouth to breast contact. This is considered unsanitary in DairyWorld, especially for public milk donation or consumption. So in Annalyse's mind, it's 'dirty'. It only adds to her her stimulation. And yet, the irony is that it speaks to her desire to nurture and feed from her breast, which is the most natural thing in the world, now made unnatural and perverted by the society in DairyWorld. In a way, the feeling she has is tapping into the mothering instinct that most all women feel at one time or another. Her fantasy about feeding them all from her breasts hints at the 'All Mother' aspect of women in society, almost a spiritual thing.
Annalyse was hooked. She needed it bad, and it was time for her fix.
She stumbled slightly as she picked her steps down the alley, carefully stepping over the homeless bums that sprawled gracelessly on their stacked cardboard lounges. She tried not to look directly at them, but she did notice certain details out of her peripheral vision; their grey-beard grizzled mouths, the dingy teeth, their parched, cracked lips, even their roughly calloused hands with knuckles swollen from arthritis.
And she knew they stared at her too. She could feel it; feel their burning gaze on her legs, only thinly concealed by her stockings. It was as if their stares crawled up her thighs like ants, taking the measure of her, right up until the hem of her short skirt. Beyond that they'd have to let their imaginations take over. That is, unless their low sprawled positions afforded them the chance peek higher. If so, they might just catch a glimpse of her bare sex. She shunned panties when she was this desperate.
Or maybe their preference was higher, their bleary, bloodshot eyes roaming over her 'modest' DD cup bosom, proudly showcased by her underwire corset, leaving the upper swell of her full breasts to be partially covered by her halter top. Did they know? Did they hunger for her?
Annalyse's 4 inch heels scuffed over the asphalt of the alleyway, making a pock, pock, pocking sound that echoed from the building walls in the narrow space as her purposeful stride carried her along. She was making her way towards the little cafe on 43rd street. There she'd find what she was looking for, what she needed so very badly.
As she approached, she could see that there were patrons at the cafe. Yuppie couples occupied the seats at the little bistro tables, sharing the shade of the umbrella canopies and sipping their lattes or frappes or whatever their beverage of choice. She hadn't imagined that she'd have privacy, and in fact there was a little part of her that was glad they would see. Was it self loathing? It was only mid-morning - the sidewalks were heavily trafficked with people still on their way to their jobs - and yet this was already her second time today.
She stepped closer to the station, glancing around a little hesitantly. Her fingers trailed over the bared upper rise of her breasts, absently acknowledging the fullness she felt within. She gave no thought to how much she actually produced anymore. It didn't matter to her. Maybe she even surpassed some of those celebrities who were hailed for how much they could make. But it wasn't fame she sought.
She slid into the plexiglass booth and straddled the motorcycle styled padded seat, facing the machine. The now familiar words, 'Manhattan Bureau of Human Services' were stenciled on the console just above the operating instructions. But she didn't need to read them anymore. She knew what she was doing. Her hands rose to the nape of her neck, tugging loose the strings of her halter top as she glanced around once more at the people enjoying their drinks only yards away. A few of them watched her curiously, though it was a common enough sight these days to see a woman donating her milk for the homeless and indigent.
Her slight blush of modesty barely showed pink upon her cheeks as she let her top drop in front of her and leaned into the machine's pneumatic pressure cups. Her hands cranked the control knobs, adjusting the cups to the perfect distance and orientation apart for her breast before leaning in close. She cupped her breasts from underneath with her hands, allowing the brief touch of her thumbs to rub over her already leaking nipples. Her turgid buds were still a little inflamed and sore from the last time, just earlier this morning, but she needed this now, and wouldn't wait. She guided her plentiful mammaries into the pressure cups, and then fine tuned the controls for the suction bulbs to center over her areolas and nipples. When she'd adjusted the attachments to her comfort, she pressed the button to activate the process with a wistful sigh.
The machine whirred to life, initiating the pre-sanitizing process first. She let her eyes close as the warm sting of the sanitizing lavage flowed over her breasts within the cups. In her mind she imagined the sensation as the warm saliva of a hungry mouth licking her flesh. A flash image of the grizzled mouths of the homeless bums crossed her mind's eye. Deep down inside Annalyse knew that the milk she donated would likely find its way to a shelter, and perhaps those same transients she saw on her way here would be drinking her milk. Images of the white secretions trickling down those grizzled bearded chins as they greedily guzzled her essence brought a quiet moan to her lips.
Next in the process was the compression of the receptacle cups. The pneumatics of the machine would inflate the cups around her breasts, like the automated blood pressure checking machines used to do, only this pressure would alternate between high and low, rhythmically milking her, encouraging her milk ducts to let down her precious fluids. She adjusted her position as she felt the vibration of the pump motor located under the seat. The vibration could just be felt through the padding and she leaned forward a bit more, tilting her pelvis to take advantage of the powerful vibration. She heard the switch engage that routed the air to the inflation cups and they closed around her breasts, forming a secure clasping fit.
At the same time, the suction created by the pumping mechanism was routed to the suction bulbs she had carefully fitted to her areolas and nipples. The wetness from the sanitizing lavage helped to form a complete seal and the suction began to elongate her nipples. It drew the blood forth to engorge her raspberry sized nipples almost painfully erect.
With a low throaty moan she felt her milk let down, and leaned in to embrace the machine more snugly. The moan that escaped her carried over the muffled sound of the pumping machinery to the ears of the nearby cafe patrons, who couldn't help casting curious glances her way. They had to wonder about the unusual sound coming from the woman who was engaged in so routine a process. Surely relieving the pressure felt good, but not that good.
Annalyse's eyes opened just a slit to take in the sight of the people watching her. It was part of her need; to be seen like this. Her eyes gleamed with the knowledge that these people were watching her get milked. And once again, she imagined the suction on her nipples as hungry mouths, suckling from her breasts directly. So dirty! So taboo!
Now the pressure cups began their oscillations, first inflating, then deflating -squeezing, then releasing, only to squeeze again. It was the strong knobby hands of the homeless bums grabbing her tender breasts, milking her, forcing her milk ducts to release her liquid soul. She rocked her hips forward a little more, bringing her bare clitoris into contact with the dull throbbing vibration coming through the seat. Reaching up to the dial for the pressure cups, she increased the setting, making the machine squeeze her breasts tighter. Likewise the suction bulb controller. The sharp increase in suction pulled and tugged at her throbbing nipples; an insistent, relentlessly hungry mouth taking from her!
Her head rolled on her shoulders, her eyes opening once again, this time taking in the sight of the gathering crowd come to watch this spectacle. She wrapped her arms around the control console, embracing the machine like a lover. It was the hungry mouth of her child, her lover, her family, her people, drinking from her, taking her liquid soul through her nipples and into their mouths! She moaned louder, now rocking her hips to the rhythm of the pumping apparatus under her seat. The same rhythm milked her relentlessly, taking all she had to offer. It would drain her breasts dry, even as she saturated her cunt.
The pump seemed to increase of its own volition, the noise of the machinery seemingly louder in her ears. But not quite loud enough to drown out the astonished murmurs of the on looking crowd. They were all watching; watching this woman give of herself, and get what she so craved in return. Her breathing was rapid now, eyes rolling languorously, making sultry contact at random with those who watched this show. They all suckled from her now, in her mind. She was feeding them from her very essence as a woman. She was mother to them all, lover, and nurturer.
It was close upon her now; that quickening feeling. As the suction bulbs drained the last of her milky essence from her breasts, the suction ramped up momentarily, like the way a vacuum cleaner jumps in pitch when you put your hand over the hose and nothing more can be sucked. It caused the feedback for the pump to increase the RPMs in a last ditch effort to get a little more of her.
That's when it happened.
The suction bulbs stretched her nipples taut, as if trying to swallow them! The vibration of the higher RPMs rattled to a crescendo between her legs! Her pussy contracted once, in synchronous concert with the breath that caught in her throat in one last gasp! And then.........she came! Oh, glorious ecstasy; she was cumming....and cumming! It seemed like it wouldn't stop! She cried out in her bliss! Even after she soaked the padded seat, the machine still sucked her, relentlessly, incessantly. It wanted more! She melted inside and her soul flowed through her nipples and from her cunt! But still the machine wanted more. The hungry mouths -so dirty to suck on her breasts directly - wanted more...More.....MORE!
But the machine detected no more milk was coming, and the process shut down. The suction was released; the pressure likewise, letting her go. She shuddered one last time, then lifted her head. Her hair fell back from her face, letting them all see her post orgasmic flush. The hot shame of her blush rose in her cheeks as she saw their stares. One or two of the bolder onlookers offered a crude comment. One even began clapping, applauding the show. The machine processed her donation, testing it for impurities or disease. The quality alert chime sounded, just as she knew it would. It never failed; her milk was pure, suitable to feed the multitudes.
She rose from the seat, her breasts pulling free from the machine's residual suction with a moist sucking sound. She stood, not bothering with her halter top as she began to walk away. They could see it all. Her breasts were red, her nipples and areola inflamed and swollen, puffing out still from their engorgement. Her hair was tussled. Her cheeks burned nearly scarlet with her blush.
She strode through the gathered crowd, already calculating in her mind where the next relief station was, and how long it might be before she felt that tingling pressure building within her again.
It was her shame.
It was her addiction.
*******************
This piece has some biographical elements to it, in the sense that it focuses on several things that are real turn-ons for me: machine stimulation, public sex/exhibitionism, breast milking/lactation.
Annalyse is addicted to the potent combination of these things that get her off so strongly every time. She has pursued this addiction to the point of near self abuse. Because she uses the donation stations so much, the demands she places on her body for milk production might cause her to actually exceed the output that some of the DairyWorld celebrities are famous for. But she is no celebrity, and no one will ever know exactly how much she produces, because each time she donates it's at a different public station.
In addition, as she is fantasizing about the suction of the machine actually being the hungry mouths of the onlookers, and even the bums she passed in the alley, she is finding the arousal of the cultural taboo of direct mouth to breast contact. This is considered unsanitary in DairyWorld, especially for public milk donation or consumption. So in Annalyse's mind, it's 'dirty'. It only adds to her her stimulation. And yet, the irony is that it speaks to her desire to nurture and feed from her breast, which is the most natural thing in the world, now made unnatural and perverted by the society in DairyWorld. In a way, the feeling she has is tapping into the mothering instinct that most all women feel at one time or another. Her fantasy about feeding them all from her breasts hints at the 'All Mother' aspect of women in society, almost a spiritual thing.
The_gladiator
Avatar of Fantasy
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2007
- Posts
- 24,510
damn Thyri you're a good writer... I really can't wait to write with you. I hope to jumpstart my muse after the holiday.
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
Story idea: Opposable thumbs
A young woman is captured by a group of Orcs who worship a very strange intelligent giant wolf. They prepare the girl as a sacrifice to their wolf-god, and offer her in a ceremony to appease him. Part of the preparation is that they cut the tendons in her legs so she can never stand upright or walk again, only crawl on all fours.
Secretly, the wolf is really a shape changer who has been stuck in his wolf form through some accident, curse, or magic. He is as much a captive of these Orcs as the girl is. He accepts his sacrifice, taking the ropes that bound her to the alter in his mouth and leading her as if on a leash, back to his lair. This is new, since always before the ceremony of the sacrifice has brought out his beast side more than his rational mind, and he has slain his sacrifices. This time the orcs know the girl is something special since their god has chosen to keep her, making her his mate.
In reality, he has formulated a plan to escape the orcs in some of his more lucid moments, and has determined to use the girl to help him.
The orcs keep him in an underground cavern chamber and there is a small tunnel leading from the sacrificial chamber back to his actual den/lair. The tunnel is only big enough to crawl through anyway.
The girl is drugged to make her compliant during the ceremony, but the drug wears off the next day when she wakes in the wolf's den. To her horror, she finds herself the unwilling 'mate' of this huge wolf that the orcs worship. But she soon learns by the way he treats her that he is not just some dumb beast. She realizes he is intelligent, and eventually learns to read his body language and nonverbal communications. Eventually he makes her understand that he wants her to help him escape. When she does, she will be a cripple on the outside world, and helpless to function. But in the time they spend together in his lair and trying to escape, he becomes fond of her and loyal, and ends up caring for her and protecting her even after they escape.
A young woman is captured by a group of Orcs who worship a very strange intelligent giant wolf. They prepare the girl as a sacrifice to their wolf-god, and offer her in a ceremony to appease him. Part of the preparation is that they cut the tendons in her legs so she can never stand upright or walk again, only crawl on all fours.
Secretly, the wolf is really a shape changer who has been stuck in his wolf form through some accident, curse, or magic. He is as much a captive of these Orcs as the girl is. He accepts his sacrifice, taking the ropes that bound her to the alter in his mouth and leading her as if on a leash, back to his lair. This is new, since always before the ceremony of the sacrifice has brought out his beast side more than his rational mind, and he has slain his sacrifices. This time the orcs know the girl is something special since their god has chosen to keep her, making her his mate.
In reality, he has formulated a plan to escape the orcs in some of his more lucid moments, and has determined to use the girl to help him.
The orcs keep him in an underground cavern chamber and there is a small tunnel leading from the sacrificial chamber back to his actual den/lair. The tunnel is only big enough to crawl through anyway.
The girl is drugged to make her compliant during the ceremony, but the drug wears off the next day when she wakes in the wolf's den. To her horror, she finds herself the unwilling 'mate' of this huge wolf that the orcs worship. But she soon learns by the way he treats her that he is not just some dumb beast. She realizes he is intelligent, and eventually learns to read his body language and nonverbal communications. Eventually he makes her understand that he wants her to help him escape. When she does, she will be a cripple on the outside world, and helpless to function. But in the time they spend together in his lair and trying to escape, he becomes fond of her and loyal, and ends up caring for her and protecting her even after they escape.
Luna_Wolf72
CinnaWolf circa 2023
- Joined
- Mar 27, 2003
- Posts
- 43,982
A jewel colored bird flutters through the trees, carrying a small card in it's beak. Once it reaches the heart home of an Elf, the bird releases it's card with a shrill peep and flies North.
The card flutters Earthward and lands upon a rock.
The card flutters Earthward and lands upon a rock.
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
She'd been a hunter for her tribe. And she'd been a good provider, keeping the little cubs fed even when game was scarce. She'd had a name among her own kind, but that was a different life, seemingly long ago. Now the fat human who kept her chained up called her only 'Breed'. He feared her now, but it wasn't always like that.
She'd been captured while hunting for antelope. It had been a lean season, and water was growing scarce. The herd animals had been on the move, seeking better forage. It was not so easy to move the tribe. So she'd had to range farther and farther afield to find game. On this occasion, she'd followed the trail of a buck she'd wounded with her spear. The blood trail had led into a narrow boxed canyon, and she was closing in, the sign fresh. She found it then, lying there, still kicking in its final death throes.
Quickly putting the animal out of it's misery, she paused to give thanks to it's spirit for the sacrifice to feed her kind. A sudden snap of a nearby twig alerted her to the approach of danger. The breeze was still, and no scent strong enough to rise above the blood smell made it to her sensitive nostrils to warn her of the enemy she couldn't see.
Suddenly a sharp pain in her side, like a thorn pricking her, made her jump and snarl. She grew weak, her vision blurring as the rush of her pulse sounded in her ears. The last thing she was aware of were the nets of the humans being thrown over her.
***************
She awoke in a different place, dark, like a den, but smelling of misery. The air was hot and stifling. She could hear voices, speaking in the human tongue, but the words were meaningless to her. The place she was in swayed and rolled, pitching her body one way and then another. Her head reeled and throbbed as her awareness climbed to the surface of consciousness.
She tried to move, and it was then that she felt the heavy iron chains binding her. She sprang up in panic, hitting her head on whatever darkness held her prisoner, and yowled in anger and frustration, trying to pull free of the bindings. The sudden movement tilted her stomach crazily and she retched, losing what little food she'd had, and leaving her tasting the sour bile.
The voices of the humans laughed in response to her outraged cries and growls, but it was only the first of many indignities she would endure.
***************
As an exotic, she was one of his favorites. She was beautiful, with her athletic, muscular form, and the striking pattern of the spotted rosettes on her tawny fur. Just having her leashed in his chambers had earned him many comments from visitors. And he was a man who reveled in the admiration and envy of others. So many had offered to purchase her, ridiculous sums, but he had turned them all down. She was his alone.
She was magnificent, an exotic beauty. It had taken time to make her understand that she was his slave and could not leave. It took even longer to make her understand his commands. But he persisted, and the answer came from an unexpected source. There was another slave in his harem, a concubine from the elvish race who knew a language spoken with gestures of the hands and expressions of the face. She taught the creature how to communicate, and in time he had learned too, though he would never admit there were things a mere slave could teach him.
As an exotic but prized pet, Breed was perfect. But she was an animal, right? He never considered the notion of fucking her until she came into season. But her incessant chirruping and squirming, the way she held her tail to one side, presenting her pink gash to clear view, the almost musical mewling and cries in the night......well, it was all too much to resist. And he had never been a strong man, never able to resist the baser urges of his nature.
He came to her when her need was greatest. She was nearly mad with lust, with the urge that had to be sated. It didn't matter that he was not of her kind. He was pale and pink, furless like a newborn kitten, oversized and all out of proportion to her. But he was male, and his musky scent attested to his ability to slake her needs. In the near madness of her season, that was all that mattered.
She received him, though it hurt her. He was brutal in this final and complete possession of her. His pet, his plaything, his. By the gods, if any one of his envious rivals knew what he was doing to her right then..... He thought his domination of this magnificent creature was now complete. He had her. He could have her, completely, anytime he wanted.
Or so he thought.
Of course they were not compatible, not really. The ancient sorcerers who had created her hybrid race had never intended her kind as breeding stock for humans. What civilized human being would lay with an animal, after all? That her kind were not completely the same as beasts, that her form was more the sleek curvy shape of a humanoid female was not taken into consideration. And the age of civilization that had spawned the magic it took to create her race was long over. A new rise of man had come, and they were not the same as before, they had not risen quite as high.
She nursed the hurt he'd caused and remembered it. Her need had been quenched with that act, though his seed had not taken hold in her. And when he tried to come to her again, tried to force his way into her, she fought him. Outraged that she dared to resist his advances, he tried to beat her into submission. But teeth and claws against bare pink flesh are more than a discouragement, despite the punishment that muscle and pounding fist can deliver. Each of his blows only served to enrage her more instead of cowing her. He barely managed to get out of her reach with his manhood intact.
But his wrath was great. He sent four men in to subdue her, and they nearly beat her to death before he ordered them to stop. No longer a tame pet, no longer an exotic plaything for his pleasure; he had a different fate in mind for her now.
*******************
They made her vicious. Cruelty and maltreatment saw to it. They taught her to bite and scratch and rend, anything to shred the flesh that fell under her claws and teeth. And when they threw her into the pit for the first time, she learned it was to kill or be killed. Mercy was a concept she no longer knew. Flesh was flesh, and blood was blood, it didn't matter what race or creature she was pitted against. All that mattered was who crawled out when it was over. The fights had begun to wrack up, some were slaughters, some much closer affairs. None were without pain or blood.
Soon it would be time to fight again, she knew. Soon they would tilt up the cramped small cage and dump her into the pit, no longer daring to try to handle her. And soon she'd feel the sensation of meat being ripped apart under her claws. Soon.
She'd been captured while hunting for antelope. It had been a lean season, and water was growing scarce. The herd animals had been on the move, seeking better forage. It was not so easy to move the tribe. So she'd had to range farther and farther afield to find game. On this occasion, she'd followed the trail of a buck she'd wounded with her spear. The blood trail had led into a narrow boxed canyon, and she was closing in, the sign fresh. She found it then, lying there, still kicking in its final death throes.
Quickly putting the animal out of it's misery, she paused to give thanks to it's spirit for the sacrifice to feed her kind. A sudden snap of a nearby twig alerted her to the approach of danger. The breeze was still, and no scent strong enough to rise above the blood smell made it to her sensitive nostrils to warn her of the enemy she couldn't see.
Suddenly a sharp pain in her side, like a thorn pricking her, made her jump and snarl. She grew weak, her vision blurring as the rush of her pulse sounded in her ears. The last thing she was aware of were the nets of the humans being thrown over her.
***************
She awoke in a different place, dark, like a den, but smelling of misery. The air was hot and stifling. She could hear voices, speaking in the human tongue, but the words were meaningless to her. The place she was in swayed and rolled, pitching her body one way and then another. Her head reeled and throbbed as her awareness climbed to the surface of consciousness.
She tried to move, and it was then that she felt the heavy iron chains binding her. She sprang up in panic, hitting her head on whatever darkness held her prisoner, and yowled in anger and frustration, trying to pull free of the bindings. The sudden movement tilted her stomach crazily and she retched, losing what little food she'd had, and leaving her tasting the sour bile.
The voices of the humans laughed in response to her outraged cries and growls, but it was only the first of many indignities she would endure.
***************
As an exotic, she was one of his favorites. She was beautiful, with her athletic, muscular form, and the striking pattern of the spotted rosettes on her tawny fur. Just having her leashed in his chambers had earned him many comments from visitors. And he was a man who reveled in the admiration and envy of others. So many had offered to purchase her, ridiculous sums, but he had turned them all down. She was his alone.
She was magnificent, an exotic beauty. It had taken time to make her understand that she was his slave and could not leave. It took even longer to make her understand his commands. But he persisted, and the answer came from an unexpected source. There was another slave in his harem, a concubine from the elvish race who knew a language spoken with gestures of the hands and expressions of the face. She taught the creature how to communicate, and in time he had learned too, though he would never admit there were things a mere slave could teach him.
As an exotic but prized pet, Breed was perfect. But she was an animal, right? He never considered the notion of fucking her until she came into season. But her incessant chirruping and squirming, the way she held her tail to one side, presenting her pink gash to clear view, the almost musical mewling and cries in the night......well, it was all too much to resist. And he had never been a strong man, never able to resist the baser urges of his nature.
He came to her when her need was greatest. She was nearly mad with lust, with the urge that had to be sated. It didn't matter that he was not of her kind. He was pale and pink, furless like a newborn kitten, oversized and all out of proportion to her. But he was male, and his musky scent attested to his ability to slake her needs. In the near madness of her season, that was all that mattered.
She received him, though it hurt her. He was brutal in this final and complete possession of her. His pet, his plaything, his. By the gods, if any one of his envious rivals knew what he was doing to her right then..... He thought his domination of this magnificent creature was now complete. He had her. He could have her, completely, anytime he wanted.
Or so he thought.
Of course they were not compatible, not really. The ancient sorcerers who had created her hybrid race had never intended her kind as breeding stock for humans. What civilized human being would lay with an animal, after all? That her kind were not completely the same as beasts, that her form was more the sleek curvy shape of a humanoid female was not taken into consideration. And the age of civilization that had spawned the magic it took to create her race was long over. A new rise of man had come, and they were not the same as before, they had not risen quite as high.
She nursed the hurt he'd caused and remembered it. Her need had been quenched with that act, though his seed had not taken hold in her. And when he tried to come to her again, tried to force his way into her, she fought him. Outraged that she dared to resist his advances, he tried to beat her into submission. But teeth and claws against bare pink flesh are more than a discouragement, despite the punishment that muscle and pounding fist can deliver. Each of his blows only served to enrage her more instead of cowing her. He barely managed to get out of her reach with his manhood intact.
But his wrath was great. He sent four men in to subdue her, and they nearly beat her to death before he ordered them to stop. No longer a tame pet, no longer an exotic plaything for his pleasure; he had a different fate in mind for her now.
*******************
They made her vicious. Cruelty and maltreatment saw to it. They taught her to bite and scratch and rend, anything to shred the flesh that fell under her claws and teeth. And when they threw her into the pit for the first time, she learned it was to kill or be killed. Mercy was a concept she no longer knew. Flesh was flesh, and blood was blood, it didn't matter what race or creature she was pitted against. All that mattered was who crawled out when it was over. The fights had begun to wrack up, some were slaughters, some much closer affairs. None were without pain or blood.
Soon it would be time to fight again, she knew. Soon they would tilt up the cramped small cage and dump her into the pit, no longer daring to try to handle her. And soon she'd feel the sensation of meat being ripped apart under her claws. Soon.
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
Half baked story idea - The Wager
In a fantasy world where brawny males seem to dominate, a clever female (magic user or thief maybe?) comes into possession of a certain magical artifact that has a power that will profoundly change her life. She discovers what it can do and decides to put it to work for her.
One night in a tavern, while enjoying the flirtatious attentions of a he-man type adventurer, she makes a playful wager where they each put their bodies on the line. It will be worded to the effect that leads the muscle bound hero to think that he really can't go wrong because either way he gets to enjoy the girl sexually. (Something like, If I win, I get to use your body, if you win, you get to use mine.)
In actuality, it's the girl who stands to win either way, because the artifact she possesses has the power to swap their bodies and spirits from one to the other. No matter how the bet turns out, she'll get to be the big muscular hero male, though she'll have her own mind and personality, and he finds himself in the body of this sexy little slip of a girl, faced with being a girl in a burly man's world.
Hilarity (and probably sexual promiscuity) ensues.
In a fantasy world where brawny males seem to dominate, a clever female (magic user or thief maybe?) comes into possession of a certain magical artifact that has a power that will profoundly change her life. She discovers what it can do and decides to put it to work for her.
One night in a tavern, while enjoying the flirtatious attentions of a he-man type adventurer, she makes a playful wager where they each put their bodies on the line. It will be worded to the effect that leads the muscle bound hero to think that he really can't go wrong because either way he gets to enjoy the girl sexually. (Something like, If I win, I get to use your body, if you win, you get to use mine.)
In actuality, it's the girl who stands to win either way, because the artifact she possesses has the power to swap their bodies and spirits from one to the other. No matter how the bet turns out, she'll get to be the big muscular hero male, though she'll have her own mind and personality, and he finds himself in the body of this sexy little slip of a girl, faced with being a girl in a burly man's world.
Hilarity (and probably sexual promiscuity) ensues.
DeathsKnight
Harmless Teddybear
- Joined
- May 22, 2008
- Posts
- 8,620
-a clatter, like pans falling from a shelf, comes from outside, the clatter seems to have some sort of rhythm to it and grows louder until it stops just short of the door. A timid knock follows, the door gets pushed open, a few more pots falls from a shelf and a furry face peeks around the door. The round ears, black eyes, round face, stitched on smiling mouth and whiskers belongs to a teddy bear. The various scars all sewn shut with no skill at all belong on a teddy bear who has seen the worse side of ownership. He cautiously peeks around, then enters further, the falling pots revealed to be hastily made knightly armor. Clearly there to protect the soft, furry body under the hard, cold metal. He tries to sneak around, but with all the armor it is a practice in futility, yet he keeps on trying. From outside it sounds like two persons are using pots and pans to engage in a duel, while on the inside a curious teddy bear explores the clearly different interior. He stops at the sheet with ideas on them, his little beady eyes reading the lines of words and smiling happily at each of them, marking the ones he likes the most, he looks around further, only to end up at the still-open door. Wondering what to leave as souvenir of his passing, the little bear places his most prized protective device on the bench, his helmet. He proceeds outside, closing the door behind him as he wanders off, the rhythmic falling of pots following in his wake-
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
Dairyworld Idea
A young woman comes back home after many years away from the small farm her family had owned for generations. Maybe she'd been at college for several years, or maybe she had been trying to make it on her own in the big city.
In any case, she grew up back when the farm was a dairy farm, with real cows. When the switch to human milk came, she was in the city, and developed the attitude that most urbanites have about drinking from the breast. But back home, her mother has become the family's milk provider.
When the young woman returns home, she has to face the 'shocking' clash of cultures and deal with the feelings it invokes when she is faced with drinking her own Mother's milk.
And just to make it interesting, she has discovered a new part of her sexuality while she was away. She's at least bisexual, maybe lesbian, and maybe one of her deepest secrets is a fascination with the 'lactation prostitutes' in the city. Not that she would visit one, but she is intrigued by them and their life, and 'milk curious' perhaps. So the notion of feeding people from the breast is directly associated with sex/prostitution in her mind.
First she unintentionally insults her mother when she insists on buying milk from the store in a carton. Then when she and her mother eventually work through the taboo feelings of drinking breast milk, she begins to feel very strange when she finally agrees to try her Mother's milk.
Maybe her mother inadvertently sees her masturbating afterwards, and decides that it's better not to encourage her daughter to drink her milk. So the next time the daughter wants milk, the mother hands her a carton. Daughter feels like she's been rejected, and is hurt. Now she must confront her confused feelings about her mother too.
A young woman comes back home after many years away from the small farm her family had owned for generations. Maybe she'd been at college for several years, or maybe she had been trying to make it on her own in the big city.
In any case, she grew up back when the farm was a dairy farm, with real cows. When the switch to human milk came, she was in the city, and developed the attitude that most urbanites have about drinking from the breast. But back home, her mother has become the family's milk provider.
When the young woman returns home, she has to face the 'shocking' clash of cultures and deal with the feelings it invokes when she is faced with drinking her own Mother's milk.
And just to make it interesting, she has discovered a new part of her sexuality while she was away. She's at least bisexual, maybe lesbian, and maybe one of her deepest secrets is a fascination with the 'lactation prostitutes' in the city. Not that she would visit one, but she is intrigued by them and their life, and 'milk curious' perhaps. So the notion of feeding people from the breast is directly associated with sex/prostitution in her mind.
First she unintentionally insults her mother when she insists on buying milk from the store in a carton. Then when she and her mother eventually work through the taboo feelings of drinking breast milk, she begins to feel very strange when she finally agrees to try her Mother's milk.
Maybe her mother inadvertently sees her masturbating afterwards, and decides that it's better not to encourage her daughter to drink her milk. So the next time the daughter wants milk, the mother hands her a carton. Daughter feels like she's been rejected, and is hurt. Now she must confront her confused feelings about her mother too.
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
Writing Excerpt: Kindred Nights
(The beginning of an email story I started with my sister. One of the few times I tried to play a male character, maybe why it just didn't got too far.)
Well, that's it then.
Or at least it should have been. When you're a private investigator and you find out your client won't be paying, that should be the end of the case, right? And this client definitely wouldn't be paying more than the retainer. But I knew it wasn't over. I couldn't let this go.
I was standing among a crowd of nosy people, onlookers to a scene none of them will ever forget, every one a willing visual vulture to the carnage of some unfortunate's hapless demise. 'Hapless demise'; the cleaned up literary term meant to describe what I was seeing. Cleaned up because no decent words could be, should be, used to describe such a horror. And I ought to know about horror. I've seen a lot of things in my time. But this was even getting to me.
The blood was everywhere, and the smell of it was affecting me, along with about half the crowd, but not in the same way, I'd bet. To try to dampen the effect, or at least disguise the result, I held my handkerchief up over my nose and mouth. I probably looked like some kind of dainty, but it was better than the alternative. Given what I was looking at, I really didn't care if people took the wrong impression of me. It might be for the best, actually.
We were all standing in a typical suburban backyard, pressed as close as possible to the crime scene tape to get a good look. For most of the crowd, it was just morbid amateur curiosity. For me, it was professional curiosity. The victim was my client. She had come into my office three days ago, late in the evening, since I keep odd hours. Odd by most people's standards anyhow. Not so odd when you consider what I am. I don't mean my occupation, although that's part of it.
She wanted to hire me to find out who was after her. She thought she was being followed. Turns out she was right. But neither of us could have imagined it would turn out to be something this ominous. Most of her was lying on the crimson stained edge of her pool. The blood was already leaking down into the pool and staining the water pinkish. Funny how it doesn't take all that much to color a large amount of water. Must be how sharks detect it so readily.
I said most of her because the source of the blood flow was the empty stump of her once succulent looking neck. Now it was like a broken off faucet sticking out, leaking all over the concrete pool deck, the flow having slowed to a constant drip, drip, drip, that I could hear even from where I was standing. It was like it was taunting me, emphasizing my failure to keep her safe, to prevent this from happening. If I had found out who was following her sooner....
I shook off the thought. It's too late for her, but not too late to find out who did this. And I had to find out. There were good reasons why I couldn't just let someone get away with this, reasons that went beyond professional reputation. This was personal. They had made it personal by the way they did her. Like I said, most of her was lying in a crumpled heap in a pool of her own blood. Her head wasn't. It was lying several feet away, mouth opened, stuffed with garlic bulbs. And did I mention the body had a wooden stake forcibly violating the once creamy pale cleavage between two beautiful breasts? I didn't have to be a PI to notice those kind of details. I had been a man....once.
Somebody had made a real mess of her, but not just for sick kicks. This particular someone had seen one too many vampire movies. Or to my mind, maybe it was just enough of them. She had come to me for help. Three days later, someone slaughters her in a way intended to make sure she didn't get a second chance. Someone thought she might have a chance to come back, or maybe thought she already had. She hadn't. I didn't think she knew about me. But now someone might.
You wouldn't think anything would spook a creature of the night, but I had goose bumps, at least figuratively speaking. Someone had been following her. Someone may have seen her meeting with me. Someone may suspect what I am. Maybe they thought I got to her before they did. Maybe they were just making sure. Maybe they thought she was like I am, and maybe they'll think she got to me. Any way I looked at it, I didn't like it. I needed to find them before they found me. I didn't want to end up on the business end of some ash stake from some wanna-be Van Helsing determined to rid the world of another Vlad.
My thoughts were turned inward, my mind working even as my senses gathered and processed information. I noted the arrival of each squad car, the ambulance that would eventually take the body to the morgue, and even the van with the crime scene investigators. They all seemed as busy as ants in a stirred up colony after someone kicks the hill. As they scurried around doing their jobs, I couldn't help noticing the aura of the young Asian woman who began taking pictures of the body and the scene. She was encased in a bright orange aura.
Most humans were focused on things of their mortal lives, and their auras were usually reddish brown, the color of dried blood. The few spirit types I had seen had auras of yellowish to white, like a ghost around their bodies. But you could always tell the Kindred, the predators. Their auras were orange, and usually brighter, depending on when they had last fed, how strong they were, etc. This one was bright, powerful, but spiking to show her uneasiness at what she was seeing. Interesting that she was working with the cops. Usually Kindred of any sort tried to avoid official recognition like the plague. Okay, that was just a figure of speech, since most of us were immune to human diseases.
I was pondering what her angle might be when she looked straight at me. I almost had one of those movie moments when I wanted to turn around to see who she was really looking at, but when she raised her camera in my direction I forgot everything and moved....fast! My image doesn't always show up on film, but why take chances. If I could help it, she'd only get a blur for her trouble. It was time to get out of here. I made for my car, trying as much as possible to keep to the shadows between the streetlights. Most of the attention of the crowd was still on the gruesome scene at the pool. But I felt her eyes on my back the whole way.
(The beginning of an email story I started with my sister. One of the few times I tried to play a male character, maybe why it just didn't got too far.)
Well, that's it then.
Or at least it should have been. When you're a private investigator and you find out your client won't be paying, that should be the end of the case, right? And this client definitely wouldn't be paying more than the retainer. But I knew it wasn't over. I couldn't let this go.
I was standing among a crowd of nosy people, onlookers to a scene none of them will ever forget, every one a willing visual vulture to the carnage of some unfortunate's hapless demise. 'Hapless demise'; the cleaned up literary term meant to describe what I was seeing. Cleaned up because no decent words could be, should be, used to describe such a horror. And I ought to know about horror. I've seen a lot of things in my time. But this was even getting to me.
The blood was everywhere, and the smell of it was affecting me, along with about half the crowd, but not in the same way, I'd bet. To try to dampen the effect, or at least disguise the result, I held my handkerchief up over my nose and mouth. I probably looked like some kind of dainty, but it was better than the alternative. Given what I was looking at, I really didn't care if people took the wrong impression of me. It might be for the best, actually.
We were all standing in a typical suburban backyard, pressed as close as possible to the crime scene tape to get a good look. For most of the crowd, it was just morbid amateur curiosity. For me, it was professional curiosity. The victim was my client. She had come into my office three days ago, late in the evening, since I keep odd hours. Odd by most people's standards anyhow. Not so odd when you consider what I am. I don't mean my occupation, although that's part of it.
She wanted to hire me to find out who was after her. She thought she was being followed. Turns out she was right. But neither of us could have imagined it would turn out to be something this ominous. Most of her was lying on the crimson stained edge of her pool. The blood was already leaking down into the pool and staining the water pinkish. Funny how it doesn't take all that much to color a large amount of water. Must be how sharks detect it so readily.
I said most of her because the source of the blood flow was the empty stump of her once succulent looking neck. Now it was like a broken off faucet sticking out, leaking all over the concrete pool deck, the flow having slowed to a constant drip, drip, drip, that I could hear even from where I was standing. It was like it was taunting me, emphasizing my failure to keep her safe, to prevent this from happening. If I had found out who was following her sooner....
I shook off the thought. It's too late for her, but not too late to find out who did this. And I had to find out. There were good reasons why I couldn't just let someone get away with this, reasons that went beyond professional reputation. This was personal. They had made it personal by the way they did her. Like I said, most of her was lying in a crumpled heap in a pool of her own blood. Her head wasn't. It was lying several feet away, mouth opened, stuffed with garlic bulbs. And did I mention the body had a wooden stake forcibly violating the once creamy pale cleavage between two beautiful breasts? I didn't have to be a PI to notice those kind of details. I had been a man....once.
Somebody had made a real mess of her, but not just for sick kicks. This particular someone had seen one too many vampire movies. Or to my mind, maybe it was just enough of them. She had come to me for help. Three days later, someone slaughters her in a way intended to make sure she didn't get a second chance. Someone thought she might have a chance to come back, or maybe thought she already had. She hadn't. I didn't think she knew about me. But now someone might.
You wouldn't think anything would spook a creature of the night, but I had goose bumps, at least figuratively speaking. Someone had been following her. Someone may have seen her meeting with me. Someone may suspect what I am. Maybe they thought I got to her before they did. Maybe they were just making sure. Maybe they thought she was like I am, and maybe they'll think she got to me. Any way I looked at it, I didn't like it. I needed to find them before they found me. I didn't want to end up on the business end of some ash stake from some wanna-be Van Helsing determined to rid the world of another Vlad.
My thoughts were turned inward, my mind working even as my senses gathered and processed information. I noted the arrival of each squad car, the ambulance that would eventually take the body to the morgue, and even the van with the crime scene investigators. They all seemed as busy as ants in a stirred up colony after someone kicks the hill. As they scurried around doing their jobs, I couldn't help noticing the aura of the young Asian woman who began taking pictures of the body and the scene. She was encased in a bright orange aura.
Most humans were focused on things of their mortal lives, and their auras were usually reddish brown, the color of dried blood. The few spirit types I had seen had auras of yellowish to white, like a ghost around their bodies. But you could always tell the Kindred, the predators. Their auras were orange, and usually brighter, depending on when they had last fed, how strong they were, etc. This one was bright, powerful, but spiking to show her uneasiness at what she was seeing. Interesting that she was working with the cops. Usually Kindred of any sort tried to avoid official recognition like the plague. Okay, that was just a figure of speech, since most of us were immune to human diseases.
I was pondering what her angle might be when she looked straight at me. I almost had one of those movie moments when I wanted to turn around to see who she was really looking at, but when she raised her camera in my direction I forgot everything and moved....fast! My image doesn't always show up on film, but why take chances. If I could help it, she'd only get a blur for her trouble. It was time to get out of here. I made for my car, trying as much as possible to keep to the shadows between the streetlights. Most of the attention of the crowd was still on the gruesome scene at the pool. But I felt her eyes on my back the whole way.
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
*Scrawling on the wall, a thought......*
"Science is the religion of matter. It worships matter. The paradoxical paradigm of science is that the creation is all and the creator is nothing. Religion's paradoxical paradigm says that the creator is all and the creation is nothing. These two extremes are the bars of a prison cell. They prevent observation of all phenomenon as an interactive whole."
"Science is the religion of matter. It worships matter. The paradoxical paradigm of science is that the creation is all and the creator is nothing. Religion's paradoxical paradigm says that the creator is all and the creation is nothing. These two extremes are the bars of a prison cell. They prevent observation of all phenomenon as an interactive whole."
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
Writing excerpt: Call of the Wild
“I’m walkin’ on sunshine! Whoa-oh!
I’m walkin’ on sunshine! Whoa-oh!
I’m walkin’ on sunshine, Whoa-oh!
And don’t it feel good! YEAH!”
Abby emphasized how good it felt with a little fist pump in the air, highlighting her self serenade as she sang into the handle of her hairbrush/microphone. She was looking in the mirror, grinning so wide she couldn’t believe it. The happy woman in the mirror seemed to glow with excitement. That is the image of a woman in love, Abby thought, and she smiled and blushed at her reflection.
There was good reason to be so happy; she had a date….with an amazing woman! Melissa! Even her name brought tingles to Abby now. She leaned in closer, trading her ‘mike’ for the eyeliner pencil as the song played in the background. She reflected on how she came to be so ebullient as she applied her make up – just enough to enhance her features, but not enough to give her ‘raccoon eyes’.
She couldn’t believe how much her life had changed in the past week. She was falling in love with an amazing woman. Melissa was so confident, so in control of her life. She knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go for it. The memory of that first encounter came back to her vividly. Sure it had been a little…vigorous. Maybe even rough, Abby thought. But already, with the time that had passed and with the tender way that Melissa had held her afterwards, Abby’s memory of the event was somewhat altered, the rougher parts smoothed out, so that only the pleasant parts held sway for her.
It was so different from her past relationships. Well, if the dates she had had could be called relationships. All the others women she'd been with had been timid about it, shy almost, like they weren't sure it was okay to be with someone of their same gender. Abby had always had to be the one to draw out their inner lesbian. But with Melissa, it was the opposite. Melissa knew exactly what she wanted, and was confident enough to go after it. Abby found herself feeling like a little girl in love, being taken care of by her sexy girlfriend.
She smiled shyly, blushing again as she thought of how nice it felt to her. How natural it seemed to just give in to what Melissa wanted. They'd had two more work-out sessions since that first one, but these were during the open hours of the fitness club, and they had not been able to repeat their performance of that first night. What they had managed was some pretty hot making out in the locker room afterwards. And after the last time, when Melissa had asked her out so sweetly, almost like a kid asking her out to the prom, how could Abby say 'no'?
So now she was almost ready. It was just supposed to be dinner, and maybe a drink or two afterwards, but Abby was so excited! She didn't even worry that someone who knew her might see her out with a woman. She could just explain it as being out with a friend if it came to that, but if being seen was what it took to be with Melissa, she would risk it.
They were meeting at a nearby restaurant, not far from the park near Abby's townhouse apartment. A quick 20 minute walk would get her there, but she didn't mind. It was a beautiful night, the moon was half full, and Melissa would be there. Abby could hardly wait as she checked her look one last time in the mirror before heading out and locking her door behind her. She hoped Melissa would like her dress. She hoped Melissa would think she looked pretty. She really wanted Melissa's approval.
“I’m walkin’ on sunshine! Whoa-oh!
I’m walkin’ on sunshine! Whoa-oh!
I’m walkin’ on sunshine, Whoa-oh!
And don’t it feel good! YEAH!”
Abby emphasized how good it felt with a little fist pump in the air, highlighting her self serenade as she sang into the handle of her hairbrush/microphone. She was looking in the mirror, grinning so wide she couldn’t believe it. The happy woman in the mirror seemed to glow with excitement. That is the image of a woman in love, Abby thought, and she smiled and blushed at her reflection.
There was good reason to be so happy; she had a date….with an amazing woman! Melissa! Even her name brought tingles to Abby now. She leaned in closer, trading her ‘mike’ for the eyeliner pencil as the song played in the background. She reflected on how she came to be so ebullient as she applied her make up – just enough to enhance her features, but not enough to give her ‘raccoon eyes’.
She couldn’t believe how much her life had changed in the past week. She was falling in love with an amazing woman. Melissa was so confident, so in control of her life. She knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go for it. The memory of that first encounter came back to her vividly. Sure it had been a little…vigorous. Maybe even rough, Abby thought. But already, with the time that had passed and with the tender way that Melissa had held her afterwards, Abby’s memory of the event was somewhat altered, the rougher parts smoothed out, so that only the pleasant parts held sway for her.
It was so different from her past relationships. Well, if the dates she had had could be called relationships. All the others women she'd been with had been timid about it, shy almost, like they weren't sure it was okay to be with someone of their same gender. Abby had always had to be the one to draw out their inner lesbian. But with Melissa, it was the opposite. Melissa knew exactly what she wanted, and was confident enough to go after it. Abby found herself feeling like a little girl in love, being taken care of by her sexy girlfriend.
She smiled shyly, blushing again as she thought of how nice it felt to her. How natural it seemed to just give in to what Melissa wanted. They'd had two more work-out sessions since that first one, but these were during the open hours of the fitness club, and they had not been able to repeat their performance of that first night. What they had managed was some pretty hot making out in the locker room afterwards. And after the last time, when Melissa had asked her out so sweetly, almost like a kid asking her out to the prom, how could Abby say 'no'?
So now she was almost ready. It was just supposed to be dinner, and maybe a drink or two afterwards, but Abby was so excited! She didn't even worry that someone who knew her might see her out with a woman. She could just explain it as being out with a friend if it came to that, but if being seen was what it took to be with Melissa, she would risk it.
They were meeting at a nearby restaurant, not far from the park near Abby's townhouse apartment. A quick 20 minute walk would get her there, but she didn't mind. It was a beautiful night, the moon was half full, and Melissa would be there. Abby could hardly wait as she checked her look one last time in the mirror before heading out and locking her door behind her. She hoped Melissa would like her dress. She hoped Melissa would think she looked pretty. She really wanted Melissa's approval.
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
Writing Excerpt: Call of the Wild
(My amazing partner's response.)
Melissa leaned back in her chair, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. Dinner had been entertaining and the part of her that was still the "old" Melissa has enjoyed getting to know Abby. Before she had been bitten, she envisioned that the two of them could have even been friends, perhaps even very close friends and confidants. Perhaps she would have even disclosed her then closeted bi-sexuality to Abby. Perhaps, perhaps.
As they sat side by side at the end of the small quiet bar across the street from the little Italian place where they had enjoyed their meal, Melissa's hands kept wandering, touching Abby's knee, her hands as they rested on the bar, gently rubbing Abby's back as the clearly self conscious Abby had stood and excused herself to the ladies' room at one point.
Melissa sniffed as Abby moved away, leaned back and basked in the moment. Their arousal was mutual and Melissa knew now was the time to make her move. There was a park about a block or two away that was wooded and deserted at night. While considered safe, she had relatively few concerns about her or Abby's personal safety. Any predators, human or otherwise, that might consider accosting them would quickly discover their roles reversed.
When Abby returned, seeming a little flushed and flustered, Melissa casually suggested they go for a nice moonlit stroll down the street and through the park. Melissa was playing coy, doing her best not to seem overly interested so as to make the already squirming Abby pursue her further.
"I'm a little tired. I might head home in a little bit, but the half moon looked so beautiful tonight. Some night air would feel so good."
Melissa paid for their drinks and the two women made their way out the door and toward the park. The moonlit sky was free of clouds, the night air was warm and the street free of both pedestrian and automobile traffic. Even the nighttime animals and insects seemed quieter than usual, almost as if sensing the approach of something dangerous.
As they entered the park, Melissa reached out and took Abby's hand without looking over at her. She remained silent as they moved forward, entering the shade of the tree line. She could hear Abby's heartbeat quickening, feel her pulse race, smell her ever increasing arousal. Melissa's own body was starting to ache with desire now. She wanted Abby, wanted her badly!
Just as they passed the first row of trees, Melissa stopped, released Abby's hand and stretched. "Mmmm, I do love a good walk in the night air. It's so comfortable, but I have to confess, Abby. I feel like it would be nicer wearing a little less, don't you think?" Melissa casually lifted her thin top up and peeled it over her head, exposing her bra and perfect breasts to the night. "Mmmm," Melissa purred as she absentmindedly stroked the sides of her breasts.
Melissa locked her eyes on Abby's and drew closer, backing Abby into a tree. Without a word, she reached out and gently stroked Abby's cheek. Her eyes narrowed, hungry, yet begging for Abby. For the first time, Melissa had dropped her guard, her old self shining through to expose just how badly she wanted and needed Abby. It lasted only an instant, but it was enough.
Melissa's hands rested on Abby's hips and she leaned in and gently kissed her friend's lips. The kiss was warm, soft and lingering. It was gentle, like soft summer rain.
The kiss lingered and slowly became something more. Tongues, nibbling of necks and ears, warm breath behind the ear... it was all a blur to Melissa now. She was breathing heavier now, panting like a dog. Hands fumbled, Melissa undid her bra, slipped it off and quickly undid her jeans. "Pull them down! Pull them down now!" she urgently commanded Abby. God, she wanted to feel the night air on her nude body. The air - and Abby's wet kisses!
Melissa seized the back of Abby's hair as she bent down to slide off Melissa's jeans. "My panties too. Take them off." Seconds later the soft breeze of the night air washed over her bare glistening sex. Her need was now fully on display for Abby to see, smell, and taste.
"Lick," she growled. "Lick my pussy, Abby. Lick it now!"
Melissa didn't wait for Abby to act and thrust her hips forward into Abby's face. "You know you want to eat me, Abby. You're fucking starving for my cunt, aren't you, you little bitch?"
Her hips thrust again, more forcefully this time. Melissa snarled hungrily. "Lick, bitch, lick! You fucking want me? Then show me!"
Oh, this was fun! Melissa was equally turned on by the aggressive show of force as she was by the actual sexual act. Commanding Abby like this was a dark, twisted thrill. She had dominated other men and women before, but there was something supremely satisfying about controlling Abby because she was different from the others. Melissa's wolfen side had seeded her with its savage animalistic nature and the knowledge that this seed was growing and changing Abby, just as it had done to Melissa, made the prospect of dominating another of her kind seem... right. Like somehow it was Melissa's place to lead and Abby's to follow. That Abby would obey and serve Melissa's whims, desires and needs.
With another vigorous thrust, Melissa slammed Abby's head against the tree and pinned her face into Melissa's oozing cunt. Melissa threw back her head and growled a dominant howl-like sound as the first strands of coarse pubic hairs began to sprout against Abby's face and sharp fingernails extended from the hands holding the side of Abby's head.
(My amazing partner's response.)
Melissa leaned back in her chair, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. Dinner had been entertaining and the part of her that was still the "old" Melissa has enjoyed getting to know Abby. Before she had been bitten, she envisioned that the two of them could have even been friends, perhaps even very close friends and confidants. Perhaps she would have even disclosed her then closeted bi-sexuality to Abby. Perhaps, perhaps.
As they sat side by side at the end of the small quiet bar across the street from the little Italian place where they had enjoyed their meal, Melissa's hands kept wandering, touching Abby's knee, her hands as they rested on the bar, gently rubbing Abby's back as the clearly self conscious Abby had stood and excused herself to the ladies' room at one point.
Melissa sniffed as Abby moved away, leaned back and basked in the moment. Their arousal was mutual and Melissa knew now was the time to make her move. There was a park about a block or two away that was wooded and deserted at night. While considered safe, she had relatively few concerns about her or Abby's personal safety. Any predators, human or otherwise, that might consider accosting them would quickly discover their roles reversed.
When Abby returned, seeming a little flushed and flustered, Melissa casually suggested they go for a nice moonlit stroll down the street and through the park. Melissa was playing coy, doing her best not to seem overly interested so as to make the already squirming Abby pursue her further.
"I'm a little tired. I might head home in a little bit, but the half moon looked so beautiful tonight. Some night air would feel so good."
Melissa paid for their drinks and the two women made their way out the door and toward the park. The moonlit sky was free of clouds, the night air was warm and the street free of both pedestrian and automobile traffic. Even the nighttime animals and insects seemed quieter than usual, almost as if sensing the approach of something dangerous.
As they entered the park, Melissa reached out and took Abby's hand without looking over at her. She remained silent as they moved forward, entering the shade of the tree line. She could hear Abby's heartbeat quickening, feel her pulse race, smell her ever increasing arousal. Melissa's own body was starting to ache with desire now. She wanted Abby, wanted her badly!
Just as they passed the first row of trees, Melissa stopped, released Abby's hand and stretched. "Mmmm, I do love a good walk in the night air. It's so comfortable, but I have to confess, Abby. I feel like it would be nicer wearing a little less, don't you think?" Melissa casually lifted her thin top up and peeled it over her head, exposing her bra and perfect breasts to the night. "Mmmm," Melissa purred as she absentmindedly stroked the sides of her breasts.
Melissa locked her eyes on Abby's and drew closer, backing Abby into a tree. Without a word, she reached out and gently stroked Abby's cheek. Her eyes narrowed, hungry, yet begging for Abby. For the first time, Melissa had dropped her guard, her old self shining through to expose just how badly she wanted and needed Abby. It lasted only an instant, but it was enough.
Melissa's hands rested on Abby's hips and she leaned in and gently kissed her friend's lips. The kiss was warm, soft and lingering. It was gentle, like soft summer rain.
The kiss lingered and slowly became something more. Tongues, nibbling of necks and ears, warm breath behind the ear... it was all a blur to Melissa now. She was breathing heavier now, panting like a dog. Hands fumbled, Melissa undid her bra, slipped it off and quickly undid her jeans. "Pull them down! Pull them down now!" she urgently commanded Abby. God, she wanted to feel the night air on her nude body. The air - and Abby's wet kisses!
Melissa seized the back of Abby's hair as she bent down to slide off Melissa's jeans. "My panties too. Take them off." Seconds later the soft breeze of the night air washed over her bare glistening sex. Her need was now fully on display for Abby to see, smell, and taste.
"Lick," she growled. "Lick my pussy, Abby. Lick it now!"
Melissa didn't wait for Abby to act and thrust her hips forward into Abby's face. "You know you want to eat me, Abby. You're fucking starving for my cunt, aren't you, you little bitch?"
Her hips thrust again, more forcefully this time. Melissa snarled hungrily. "Lick, bitch, lick! You fucking want me? Then show me!"
Oh, this was fun! Melissa was equally turned on by the aggressive show of force as she was by the actual sexual act. Commanding Abby like this was a dark, twisted thrill. She had dominated other men and women before, but there was something supremely satisfying about controlling Abby because she was different from the others. Melissa's wolfen side had seeded her with its savage animalistic nature and the knowledge that this seed was growing and changing Abby, just as it had done to Melissa, made the prospect of dominating another of her kind seem... right. Like somehow it was Melissa's place to lead and Abby's to follow. That Abby would obey and serve Melissa's whims, desires and needs.
With another vigorous thrust, Melissa slammed Abby's head against the tree and pinned her face into Melissa's oozing cunt. Melissa threw back her head and growled a dominant howl-like sound as the first strands of coarse pubic hairs began to sprout against Abby's face and sharp fingernails extended from the hands holding the side of Abby's head.
