Category Archives: fiction

Freakshow


I ran away to join the circus,

thinking I might fit in better there.

But when I arrived,

the ringmaster looked at me dubiously

when I told him I wanted to be part of the Freak Show.

Clearly, he wasn’t able to see my obvious freakdom.

When I tried to explain,

he nodded, as if he understood.

He wrapped his crimson-clad arm around my shoulder and said,

“Let me show you something.”

He guided me past the bearded lady,

who sat combing her legendary whiskers into a intricate braid.

Past the snake woman,

whose glorious scales twinkled amber and teal in the sun.

I thought he would stop by the two-headed man,

whose twin faces smiled kindly at me,

but he seemed to quicken his step instead.

Past all the other human curiosities we walked,

until we were standing outside of the colossal striped tent.

Only then did he wave his white-gloved hand

toward the crowd awaiting to see such oddities.

He pointed to one man in particular;

a man who, after a first glance, not a soul would remember.

He was plain, and insignificant.

“That man beats his wife.

His second wife, now. He killed the first one.

That child there,”

The ringmaster pointed to an adorable boy about ten,

whose hair stuck out in mischievous tufts.

“He tortures small animals,

before cutting their heads off and burying them in a hole.”

He nodded toward a middle-aged woman,

her ridiculously-enhanced breasts threatening to expose themselves.

“She,” He said, almost affectionately,

“has been married four times.

All of her husbands dead from old age.

She now preys upon younger men half her age.”

My eyes had begun to open;

he continued.

“That girl there,” a young lady, very pretty,

“was raped by her cousin,

her uncle,

and her father’s friend.

She has told no one of her pain,

but will kill the next man who is unfortunate enough to try to touch her that way.”

He looked at me then,

his eyes searching mine, before he asked earnestly,

“How can you join the Freak Show when you’re already part of it, baby?”

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The Goose and the Gander


After a lovely day of bitching in the park and eating not-so-scrumptious wings at B-dubs with the lovely Cat Woman, I have decided to manufacture a silly little tale based off of our observations of geese and men today. So grab a bottle of Jack and have a seat.

Once upon a time, there was a gander (Sidenote: I have just discovered that a gander is a male goose. I do not know why a female goose is still called just a goose. Sexism at it’s finest.)

This gander was very handsome, and had a long elegant neck. (As geese tend to have.) He spent his day strutting through the park, honking lasciviously at the females of his species, and hissing arrogantly at any humans who deemed themselves fit to try and feed him stale bread and sunflower seeds. The only people he let get close were the ones who offered dill pickle-flavored sunflower seeds, which, unbeknownst to him, caused the gander to have wretched breath.

The gander was wildly narcissistic, and would spend long hours gazing into the man-made pond in the middle of town at the reflection of  his beautiful neck, sticking it out this way and that, and posing for the womanly geese that wandered past. There were a group of the females who fawned over the gander (as much as geese can fawn), but the gander would simply fertilize their eggs and then never honk at them again. (Sidenote: geese generally mate for life; another nature fact I have just learned.) The female geese were so busy caring for their fertilized eggs that they didn’t have time to warn other innocent geese of the gander’s shameful behavior.

One day, as the gander was doing a yoga-like pose as he peed, he caught sight of a goose he hadn’t yet pillaged. He stretched his long neck out while he finished his business, hoping the goose would notice how impressive and long it was (hee hee). He was so busy trying to impress the goose, that he failed to notice the naughty little boy who was running towards him. Before he knew what was happening, the gander found a grubby little fist wrapped around his prized neck, and he felt a yucky snap. He found himself looking down at the ground, unable to hold his little head upright, before the boy’s mother yelled at him and he was flung to the ground. The little boy ran off, and the gander was left honking and hissing, never even noticing the feather that was stuff in his nose hole, making him even more absurd.

From then on, the vain gander wandered through the park with a broken neck, which made his head to wobble unsteadily on his once-beloved neck, causing him to look a little bit demented.

The moral of the story: Don’t rubberneck at dames, you may end up without your most valuable asset.

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“Look At Me”


Earlier

 

Look at me,” he had said.

I looked, and was pleased.

Professor had introduced him to me only as Master, so that I might never make the mistake of addressing him otherwise. I did not know if it was his teaching he doubted, or my learning. After thinking on it later, I realized it was neither, but the stubborn streak in me he hadn’t had the heart to break that caused him to use such caution.

He had wanted me to look, and I did. For a moment, I did not think on rules and obedience; my eyes saw Master now simply as one would see a stranger. I saw from where I knelt first; his legs were clad in fine black suit pants, and my fingertips ached to reach out and feel the expensive fabric. Such forwardness would bring a merciless punishment indeed, but I tucked the thought away as I looked further. There was no hint of arousal from beneath the slacks, and I knew Master was indeed a man needful of being in control then. Above the Italian leather belt, there was no belly extended, but what I assumed was a well-taken-care-of stomach that was clothed in a rich blue button-down. Upon further inspection, I saw a hint of indigo within it, and mentally congratulated him on his fashion choices.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hand twitch, just barely. I turned my attention to it. This hand would treat me kindly, if I pleased him, or deal unmentionable discipline were I to rebel. The fingers were long, but not thick and calloused as Professor’s had been. Instead, these were slender, but not too, and looked to be incredibly soft. I leaned my face into them before I thought about it.

It seemed there was an instant when Master was caught off-guard by my action- just a second, before my chin was gripped roughly by the delicate fingers. My inspection was over.

“I believe the Professor allowed you too many liberties.” The statement was issued, and rightly. I’d known Professor granted me more favors than he should have, and I’d grown accustomed to them. “We will rectify that predicament soon enough.” His silken voice dropped. “Now show me what that old fool has taught you.”

I tried to ignore the comment, but I had never before had ill words spoken of a master, and it took great self-control. I swallowed the words that threatened to pour from my mouth and concentrated on my training. Without a steady pressure on my leash, I found myself out of sorts, and found it impossible to center my thoughts. I improvised.

I straightened my back, and my naked breasts brushed against the front of Master’s legs. My face was now level with his manhood, which was still clothed and of no evidence of even existing. I pressed my face into the zippered Y of his pants, and blew out the breath I’d been holding through my mouth. The heat of it met my face, and I hoped a little of that heat had made it through the extravagant fabric. I raised my hand from behind my back and slid the end of the leather belt through the clasp until it was undone. Master’s fingers exerted pressure on my chin, and I remembered what he had said. I looked up into his eyes and saw mild amusement.

I feared Professor’s teaching was of little use to me as I slid the zipper down on Master’s pants and undid the button at the top. The state of my nerves was glaringly apparent as I fumbled with it, and I tried to keep the frustration from my face. I pushed the offending pants down, too eagerly, and then the silk boxers. I recall now that they were plaid.

Master stood half naked before me now, and I put my tongue out and touched it to the tip of him. I ran my tongue up his considerable length, and felt him begin to stir. This was the encouragement I needed. I took in the icy blue of his eyes at the moment I took him into my mouth, and I saw his beautiful jaw clench as I began my art. My hands of their own accord found his muscular hips, and slid further back to grip his ass when I took the entire length of him into my throat. The feeling of it caused me to inadvertently make a sound.

Master’s hand had slipped down to my neck, but just then he placed both hands on the back of my head and buried his fingers into my hair as he thrust himself deeper into my throat again and again; his eyes never left mine as he spent himself quickly and withdrew himself from me. He stepped back with a look of disappointment.

“The old man is getting lethargic in his teaching. Or perhaps he just had too many feelings for you, hmm?” Master pulled up his trousers and left the room without a backward glance, leaving me unsatisfied and uncomforted as my leash trailed loose and taunting behind me.

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A Break From Monday


 

I began today with a to-do list of unending proportions. I have accomplished eight of the fourteen things on my list, (because I did, indeed, write an actual list for the day) and have decided that’s about enough work for now. So, as I logged into my blog account, I thought to myself, “Self! What better way to relax than to write some good old-fashioned smut?!”  What an excellent idea! I know I’ve said it before, but let me just give Mr. Grey and his Fifty Shades a run for his ill-earned money:

 

I remembered my training- how it felt when the cool links of the silver choke chain tightened around my neck, and how Professor’s massive hand spread across my exposed rear felt red-hot as he chastised me after I’d been too eager when I’d had him in my mouth. My refusal to stop fellatio had caused him to spend himself more quickly than he’d wanted, and I drank him in hungrily before he pushed me away. I saw the lust and indignation mingled in his eyes just before the leash connected to my collar was yanked forcefully forward, making my behind the perfect distance away for a good beating. The spanking wasn’t the reason I’d disobeyed him, though it was delicious in its agony, but what came after that I’d been insubordinate for. Professor always felt contrite after his punishments, and the severe hands that administered such harsh disciplines were as equally tender afterward.

That had been Professor’s flaw.

The chain around my neck was the same, a gift from Professor. He’d lowered it over my head that final day, and as the links fell cold around my collarbone, Professor had twisted the end loop around his meaty fingers slowly until it was cutting off my air. I’d hoped for one last time with him, a farewell, and my body responded as it had so many times before. Professor looked into my eyes, and I saw the almost imperceptible smile touch the corner of his well-formed lips. He knew his effect on me. He had taught me well.

He whispered in my ear, and his breath burned like fire on my skin, igniting an invisible trail of sensual gunpowder down the length of my body.

“Do not shame me.”

I would not. But the curiosity of what such brazenness would bring was always in the back of my mind. With my new master, I knew the chastening would be exquisite torture.

He stood before me now as I knelt, my leash lying loose in his hand. He saw me looking at it, waiting for his fist to close and the length of it to tighten, but instead, he dropped it.

No, this one would not feel contrition.

I think I made a small whimper when I realized it, which made him smile wickedly. Professor had said he was a venerable master, and I had not doubted it. I knew the satisfaction would be superb, but I could tell already that the waiting would be excruciating.

“Come here.” His voice was liquid-smooth, a deep sound that washed over me. I crawled forward, feeling a void at the end of my leash where a hand should have been. I kept my eyes downcast.

“Look at me.” His hand, the one that had dropped the end of my leash, cupped my chin and pulled it up until I saw his eyes gazing into my own. They were blue. The blue of an icy winter sky.

“You will look at me while you please me.”

This was new. A master had never before required such a thing. I did as he said.

 

 

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Doctor Zhivago, Frankenstein, Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde, and Little Dorrit


What a list of men this is! At least, that’s what I’ve heard.

With great shame, I will admit that ,while I own every book that these literary men originate from, I’ve yet to completely read any of their fictional biographs. I know the stories, sure, or at least those of Jekyll, Hyde, and Frank, but I was only required to read bits and pieces of their stories in high school, and while I pride myself on being a book whore, it is with great sorrow and guilt that I acknowledge my utter lack of knowledge about these stories. Let me explain why these are the men I have chosen to be my literary fodder for the next months.

Doctor Zhivago is known only as my Auntie’s most favorite movie of all time. Perhaps it is the storyline, or Omar Sharif’s delicious accent, I am not certain, as Netflix has decided to remove said film from their Now Streaming lists at the very time that I finally decided to watch it. All that remains now is a reissued version starring Kiera Knightly, who I greatly despise. Luckily, I acquired a worn copy of this book in an antique shop awhile ago, and so I will make an effort to see just exactly what it is that thrills my Auntie so.

Now Frankenstein, I have seen. And while Kenneth Branaugh is as low on my celebrity totem pole as Kiera Knightly, I must say that Robert DeNiro’s presence as Frank’s monster made me forgive Ken’s performance. Too, my best friend Delightful, who is much smarter than I, had to read and write a 20 page paper for school last year on the book, and so I must read it, so we have a great many literary things to speak of. (Other than all the other literary things we speak of already.)

Jekyll and Hyde are a pair that I am slightly more familiar with. I actually am not certain if I have read their entire story or no, because it was included in a high school lit book, and seemed much shorter than the actual copy I now own. This I will say- I do believe there are a Jekyll and Hyde in each of us. I am just accustomed to letting my hide out a little more often than the rest of you. (Heehee, did you see the play on words I did there? Brilliant, I say.)

Little Dorrit is a complete mystery to me, as I know not who he is, what he does for a living, or what it is that makes him so little. This title was one I came across on a more than regular basis when I worked at the Bookstore That Must Not Be Named, and as I greatly adore Charles Dickens and his writings, I picked up a copy, with the intent on reading it sometime in my lifetime. I believe that Dorrit may be the first in my Journey of Literary Men, as I am insanely curious to see why he is little.

I’m sure there are a great many fabled men I’ve yet to read about, but as I do not wish to be called a fiction skank, I’ll start with this little cultural gang bang. If anyone has any suggestions for future scholarly forays, let me know.

 

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I Am Now a Mermaid


Thanks to Pouring My Art Out.

Awesomesauce. XOXO

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Picked


Previously.

Just then, an immense being of a man bumped into Shaandi, not unintentionally, Isari noted. She also espied the irritated look that passed over the whoremother’s face before she turned to acknowledge her antagonizer with only a façade of purest pleasure.

“Jespin Fleura, you beast!” The name was spoken affectionately with just the slightest hint of erotic promise. “Mind you don’t ruin my shoes now! I had to fuck Barlavian three times before he’d agree to gift me with a pair from his new collection!” Though Shaandi was extremely tall for a woman, and towered over Isari, she had to crank her neck at what looked like an uncomfortable angle in order to make eye contact with the large man. Isari saw a bright flash of white teeth as the man smiled his own alluring smile before speaking. As he spoke, Isari felt the rumble of his  deep voice in her own chest.

“My utmost apologies, dearest woman! I was momentarily distracted by the wide assortment of lovelies here this year. I believe it is the finest Hocking Day in many years!” He did nothing to disguise his lustful gaze as he spoke to Shaandi. Isari made a disgusted noise in her throat, and the man’s stare drifted in her direction. At first, Isari wanted to laugh at his lewd observance, until he identically mimicked Shaandi’s earlier inspection of her. This time though, when his eyes skimmed over her chest, one huge paw of a hand reached out and squeezed one of her breasts. She felt her face redden with fury, and clenched her jaw, ripe with indignation.

Shaandi gracefully batted the man’s hand away from Isari . “Jespin, don’t be a boar! Can’t you see the girl’s not accustomed to such behavior? Leave your pawing until after you’ve made you purchases!” Isari lowered her eyes then, refusing to feel anything other than enmity for the woman, even if she did keep other’s hands from molesting her.

Jespin Fleur was not in the least deterred. He shook his hand in a dismissive manner and stepped closer to Isari, and she closed her downward turned eyes, waiting for another unwanted touch to occur.

“I’m Nikoli, sir. Do you see anything in this direction that might be of interest to you?” Isari’s eyes flew open in the direction of her new-found friend, and couldn’t keep the slightest smile from her face when she saw him putting one delicate hand on a slim hip and strutting about lasciviously. He spun around like the finest runway model and struck a pose facing away from the three, with his well-toned rear sticking out ever so invitingly. Jespin’s laughter roared loudly in response.

“I do indeed! I’m always looking for a fine young male specimen to add to my collection. Nikoli, you say? Are you always in such elevated spirits? ‘Tis something my other boys need to learn!” Jespin moved away from Isari, distracted for the moment, and Isari breathed a thankful sigh of relief. She no longer cared what Shaandi thought, who was standing beside her still, because she clearly could not keep her feelings about this day off of her face.

Before Nikoli could move from his fashion pose, Jespin’s massive hand landed a loud slap on Nikoli’s protruding rear. Isari winced when Nikoli yelped, but the boy was not to be so quickly dismayed. He rubbed his ass with a soft hand and turned to prevent a repeat action. Jespin grinned wickedly, and Shaandi shook her head, bored of the big man’s behavior.

“I am here to earn a fine coin for my family, no? I would think this thing would be easier done with an agreeable attitude, that’s all.” Isari saw how he tried to keep a pained expression from his face as he nursed his abused hide, and liked him all the more.

Jespin nodded his head and was about to speak before Shaandi interrupted him, clearly trying to get the man away from their company.

“Are you not going to admire any of the other playthings here, Jespin? As you said, there are a great many to choose from.” Despite how Isari felt about Shaandi, she couldn’t help but admire the way Shaandi’s voice carried a certain sensuous tone that made people want to do her bidding. She saw how it affected the piggish Jespin, and his dark eyes sank once again into the wanton stupor.

“Alright, alright. I will leave you to your choices for now, but do not think once the bidding begins that I will so easily be redirected.” He made once last barbarous gesture in Isari’s direction before laughing and moving away toward the other commodities. Isari watched his obscene retreat until she could not longer see him amongst the hoard of buyers, but she continued to hear his rumbling voice long after. She didn’t realize Shaandi was observing her closely as she did so. Once she did, Isari immediately dropped her eyes again, willing the woman to disappear.

“Ah, my dear,  I would never allow a prize such as you to go to such a bumbling oaf.” She clapped her hands together musically and leaned forward so that her face was only inches of Isari’s. “Now, I must pretend that other merchandise here is of interest to me, but I do believe I’ve found what I came here for.” Before Isari could respond, Shaandi’s lips were on her own. The kiss was charged with all the carnality that was Shaandi Necorian, and after she was far withdrawn into the crowd, Isari was reeling with the pure pleasure of it.

Nikoli waved one woman-like hand in front of Isari’s face until she met his eyes with a dazed expression.

“Now, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was a gratifying experience for you. Maybe being a whoremother’s slave would have it’s perks after all?” He winked at her knowingly, and she shoved him roughly.

“Shut up, you.”

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