Stalk: The Carving



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Oh, mercies above, help me….he is on top of me and my rage is boiling over. The plastic-covered wire on my wrist is slick with blood and I do not feel it as I twist and pull. I must get away…

I traveled thousands of miles to….to what? To vacation, I think — and so inspired by the sights and sounds of the beautiful country I had slipped into, and remembering he lived in the middle of all this beauty, I had captured the notion to capture the Keeper and wake him from his slumber of numbness. That must have been a mistake. How could I think I could return home, after, and nothing would go wrong?


FUCKING HELL he is staring into me…can he hear what I think? Why is he staring so deeply into my eyes..?
No emotion displayed, he cut the ties on one of my hands and my hopes soared. I thought I would grab at him but no…his fingers clamp over my wrist, tightly, squeezing.
I see his intent as he leans closer to kiss me. Motherfucker…no you won’t…
He grunt as I bite down on his lip. His blood pours down, so much blood — did I bite so ferociously..? It appears I did and before I can draw breath or speak, his mouth is covering mine and his tongue is attacking me, gagging me. The coppery taste floods my mouth…blood…his blood. I can feel him shaking ever so slightly and a growl loosed deep in his throat as I respond. Stop it, stop it….stop kissing him…I cannot stop and he pulls away with a disdainful glance at me even as I lean forward for more.

My face feels flushed and hot and I tremble with rage, this time directed at my own weakness. His blood is smeared on my lips and chin and I can feel it drying. I am so angry, so unbelievably angry. THIS IS NOT HAPPENING.



He cuts the ties to my other wrist and there is my chance — I lunge for his throat. If only I could get away I would never bother another soul ever, the thought courses through me and I swear blind to myself that I will not “help” this way, ever EVER AGAIN and… oh God… he has blocked my attempts and his long fingers have wrapped around my throat and… I can’t breathe…
Oh, I hate you, Crimson Quill — I hate you so much…I fucking hate you...
The room is swimming as he applies more pressure and I can feel the beginnings of bruises on my neck. My back arches because how did he know this was not hurting..? ohh…no I have to stop responding to him this way…you fucking bastard…oh you motherfucking bastard…


Every word as clear as day. She plays deeper into my hands with each flicker of consideration. It is as though she invites me inside her, her thrashes are ultimately mere lies as I know she wants this. More than oxygen. I hold the cards here, any guilt was knocked out of me back in the academy of life. She sees not beyond these eyes.


I slide my tongue south through her trimmed thicket and straight into the jaws of her Monster, licking all apologies away. Her floral bouquet fills me up as the tip of my nose jostles into her labia. Saturated between her blushed lips it nuzzles inside, pulling instantly back out and proceeding to trace back to her asshole. At this point I release another restraint, setting free her left leg this time and flip her straight over awkwardly. She grunts “You fucking bastard. I hate you” and I feel a delicate flutter in my roll-cage, releasing pollen into the chilly air.


Every fit of rage is an invite which I gladly RSVP with a grateful bite of her edible rump. This damaged delicacy houses another abrasion, on her right cheek. I lick and lacerate its frazzled circumference with incisors that twinge with outlandish delectation. Fuck, I’ve never seen it like this before. My monster threatens evacuation and the top button of my denims fritters away to afford some breathing space. It breathes…congested nasal growls emanate from the taut shaft in grizzled yaps as it cites its rancor.


Our peepers reacquaint and, despite the words “Demon” and “Cunt” are trickling from her oral cavity I’m sure I catch her out. She glanced right there, I caught her pupils post-dilation as her eyes froze in the glare of my muttoned Medusa. “It is my monster which feeds this night Stalker” encourages a yelp as fear takes precedence just fleetingly. Her lip shimmies and she swiftly turns, plunging her face teeth into the pillow.


Another invitation, again accepted. Now fully submissive, I take it upon myself to dominate. My jaws clamber up her malleable back tissue, swinging left to right…right to left…as they navigate with gnawing arrogance. There shall be new additions in her gallery before the night is through, the first of which I intend on fashioning now.


I reintroduce the glimmering blade, already dusted in cruor and prod it into her sternum, just sufficient enough to pinch. Surveying briefly for the pulse within, it gulfs within the pelt around her cavity, drinking in two conjoined vertical lines and then a slightly offset third. “You shall remember me stalker…I set you free this night, just as you did.” My words are delivered with icy cold intent and stuffy warmth as I reposition the metal, carving horizontally in two swift motions.


A…T…with steady hand I have made my first mark, one which provokes a howl of inked pleasure from its recipient. Some piece of art, her pelt parts so beautifully for me that I shiver through to the marrow at the prospect of tasting this sweet, sweet honey. Hunched over, I clench both jaw-floors into the surrounding skin and climb her chest until faced with her strapping nipple.


“Chow Keeper…bite me!”  My stalker really is the gift that keeps giving and my response is lightning fast. “Don’t mind if I do” is my rejoinder and…I do. Grazing its roughness but not breaking it down, I tug the mammalia to breaking point and release, causing ripples through her right breast. She supplies audio to the tune of “Do it…Don’t” and I muffle her prose with my searching tongue, hauling myself topside so the two sets of lettering bleed into one another.


A…T…I feel their sharpness cutting through my rounded initials and we let out analogous rasps of desire. This in turn encourages both tongues to take their shots and mine nestles onto her taste buds, so as to leave its sour insignia. She reciprocates this and, in that second, we synchronize souls.


No amount of brevity can muzzle what just transpired. I saw through my Stalker…and she mine. The time is nearing for our Monsters to scuffle, it is going to happen and it is a union she shall recount many years from now on her death-bed. It is a mere box-ticking exercise from hereon in, or so it would appear. However, Keeper of the Crimson Quill comes prepared this night like a cocky boy-scout.


I have devoted time, in advance of our soiree, to sculpting a tool. It has the rusted appearance of a medieval torture instrument but has been meticulously chiseled to bear a stamp of sorts. It is behind the curtain so I leave her bound as I ghost past the log burner to reclaim my toy. My stalker makes no effort to untie the cables shackling her ankle and lays in recovery position as she awaits with child-like awe and asphyxiating dread for my return.

Read The Scalding




Sin is for sharing,


Keeper of the Crimson Quill

Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014




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