Tag Archive | force

Week 2: 50% off Flash: A Collection, Wetware Dreams, Into the Dreaming City & Nephilim!

This week brings us Valentine’s Day! And, in the spirit of this sale, we’re going to celebrate Valentine’s Day the way I like to celebrate Valentine’s Day– with 50% off of some of my tastiest non-consensual erotica!

That’s right, readers: if you have a hankering for post-apocalyptic or modern and modern fantasy settings, if being forced to like what’s being done to you curls your toes, if you like your literary erotica to be explicit, then this is the sale for you. This week, until February 16th, I’ve set up a coupon on Smashwords.com for Flash: A Collection of Erotic ShortsWetware Dreams and its prequel, Into the Dreaming City, and Nephilim. 

Check out the descriptions below, and click on the covers to be taken to your naughty novella of choice!

Flash: A Collection of Erotic Shorts



 A TV anchorwoman is abducted and held captive by a mysterious man who professes feelings for her, but who seems to draw strength from her suffering. As the last days of high school trickle away, a geek gets lucky in the back of his friend’s car. Two strangers play a game of exhibition and arousal on a crowded subway train. A young wife pleads for her husband’s job with the manager of a taxi company, and ends up buying his cooperation with her own body.

Flash is a collection of four short stories, together totaling over 6000 words, that showcase erotic topics from sweet to spicy, pleasurable to painful. Whether you prefer to savor slowly or consume all at once, there’s something for everyone in this erotically charged collection.


Wetware Dreams


When Dorothy wakes from a dream of bonds, a laboratory and a frightening sexual tormentor, she thinks that she is safe from her own visions. Soon, however, the security of her suburban home is shaken by strange compulsions and erotic visitations. What kind of phantom stalks her unseen? Where does the dream end and the reality begin?

This story of almost five thousand words is filled with smoldering suspense, eerie eroticism and a world where nothing is quite as it seems– except for the searing orgasms.



Into the Dreaming City


Imagine a post-apocalyptic wasteland populated by ragged survivors. Morals have gone the way of civilization; when young Dorothy’s family encounters a band of desperadoes, poor choices on both sides lead to her being taken as a prize by the group. Afraid and overwhelmed by new experiences, exposed to events she’d never imagined, her survival hangs in the balance, dependent upon a decision made by the group’s leader– will she remain with them or will she be sold to the caretakers of The Dreaming City?

This novelette should be considered NSFW, and contains over 14,000 words with elements of violence, bloodshed, strong language, non-consensual sexual contact and group sex. Viewer discretion is advised!




“When men began to increase in number on the earth and daughters were born to them, the sons of God saw that the daughters of men were beautiful, and they married any of them they chose. … The Nephilim were on the earth in those days — and also afterwards — when the sons of God went to the daughters of men and had children by them.” 

(Genesis 6:1-2, 4; New International Version)

When a young woman awakens in a white room, without any memory of how she came to be there, she finds herself the captive of a cruel but strangely alluring man. Sam, as he calls himself, tells her that she’s the descendent of angels and that her heritage is the key to unfathomable power– if she has the strength to undergo the process of unlocking her abilities. That process tests both her body and her spirit as she is subjected to the highest peaks of pleasure and the most terrible pain that she can imagine. Through it all, as Sam stakes his claim to her very being, she has to struggle with one crucial question: is she being held by a madman or is she the Earth’s last Nephilim?

This novelette of over 10,000 words contains explicit adult material, including descriptions of pseudo-incest, knifeplay and dubious consent. If you can’t handle this brand of heat, stay well away or risk being consumed!


Christmas Delight: Forbidden Skin, a Collection of the Taboo now Available!

Forbidden Skin

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to my readers! I hope the season has been everything you’ve ever wanted it to be. If it’s lagging behind a little, perhaps this will be the boost you need!

For the holiday season only, I am offering my newly released collection of taboo and transgressive erotica to the eager public for the low price of only $3.99US. Here are 10 of my steamiest previously released tales, over 75,000 words in its entirety, collected together to curl your toes and chase holiday blues away. That’s right, 10 of my short stories, novelettes and novellas, for only $3.99.

Here are stories of the fantastic, of bondage, of rough sex, of romance. Here is forbidden love, harsh love, messy love, confusing love…and the sex that goes along with it all!

I hope you enjoy, dear reader. I did my very best to include a little something for everyone while making certain every story did its part to challenge the boundary of acceptable sexuality. They might not always approve of what we read and write, but as one of my geek heroes always said, “You can’t stop the signal.”

Catch it now, before it goes!

Forbidden Skin is available on Amazon.com (click the image above) and on Smashwords.

Included are:

  • Captivity
  • Nephilim
  • Alcmene Again
  • Love, Ink & Lycanthropes
  • Wetware Dreams 1
  • Wetware Dreams 2: Into the Dreaming City
  • The Nymphomaniac’s Pillow Book 1
  • The Nymphomaniac’s Pillow Book 2
  • Summer of Love (Previously “My Lover, My Brother”)
  • Sharing a Sleeping Bag (Previously “Camping with Daddy”)

Into the Dreaming City now available on Smashwords!

Into the Dreaming City

Edit: As of 2/10/13, Amazon has decided that Into the Dreaming City is inappropriate for their marketplace and removed it from the site. I apologize to those who were looking for it there.

Into the Dreaming City is the dark erotica novelette prequel to Wetware Dreams, also by Corinna Parr.

Imagine a post-apocalyptic wasteland populated by ragged survivors. Morals have gone the way of civilization; when young Dorothy’s family encounters a band of desperadoes, poor choices on both sides lead to her being taken as a prize by the group. Afraid and overwhelmed by new experiences, exposed to events she’d never imagined, her survival hangs in the balance, dependent upon a decision made by the group’s leader– will she remain with them or will she be sold to the caretakers of The Dreaming City?

This novelette should be considered NSFW, and contains over 14,000 words with elements of violence, bloodshed, strong language, non-consensual sexual contact and group sex. Viewer discretion is advised!

You can find it on Smashwords HERE.

Excerpt from “Into the Dreaming City”, prequel to “Wetware Dreams”!

Into the Dreaming CityInto the Dreaming City should be done in the next couple of weeks!

This is dark erotica meant to go hand in hand with story– in this case, a post-apocalyptic wasteland populated by ragged survivors. Morals have gone the way of civilization; when young Dorothy’s family encounters a band of desperados, poor choices on both side lead to her being taken as a prize by the group. Afraid and overwhelmed by new experiences, exposed to events she’d never imagined, her survival hangs in the balance, dependent upon a decision made by the group’s leader– will she remain with them or will she be sold to the caretakers of The Dreaming City?

The excerpt should be considered NSFW, and contains elements of violence, bloodshed, strong language, non-consensual sexual contact. Viewer discretion is advised!

Part One:

Dorothy’s brother Edmund came over the ridge at a run.  He half-jumped, half-slid down the near side in a cloud of dust.  Dorothy had been feeding blightweed to the rabbits in their hutch in the front yard.  She stood and watched as Edmund pelted towards the house, between the dead trees, her family’s hunting rifle bouncing on his back.

The front door was open.  “Papa, you’d better come out,” Dorothy called.

Dorothy’s father came quickly, followed a moment later by her mother.  Edmund was doubled over in the yard, hands on his knees and breathing heavily.  His hair hung before his face like broken stalks of wheat.

“There’s a car.  On the road,” he wheezed.  “Coming this way.”

Dorothy’s father frowned.  A chill pooled around Dorothy’s heart, at once frightening and bracing.  Other people were coming!  Her father had told her stories of the time before the blight, when almost all of the houses had people living in them and you couldn’t just force open the door and look around for things you might need.  He called it trespassing.  Now the houses were empty; Dorothy’s family seldom crossed paths with others, and such occasions were always tense.  You couldn’t help thinking about what the other people had, and whether you could take it.  Or whether they might take yours.

“Edmund, you get upstairs to the window,” her father said.  “Dorothy, douse the cook fire.  We’ll cover the greenhouse and meet you back inside.”

Dorothy hurried indoors, through the small entry and into the common room that her father called a den.  She knelt and heaped ashes on the logs in the fireplace until they sputtered out; the last of the smoke curled up past the stainless steel pot that her mother had suspended from a makeshift crane.  Dorothy heard the clump of her brother mounting the stairs to the second floor.  Would the chimney smoke clear before the people in the car saw it?  She thought it unlikely, but they had to try.  It was better when travellers passed by without knowing her family was there.

Dorothy waited in shadow.  A breeze caught the corner of the window curtain; it fluttered up from the bright screen, then settled again.

In the silence that followed, Dorothy could just make out the grunt and chatter of a car’s engine.  The sound grew louder, then suddenly louder still, and she knew with a clutching feeling that the auto had turned up their drive.  Her parents came into the common room from the back of the house, silent and pale.  The engine made the boards tremble under Dorothy’s feet.

Then it cut out.  Doors opened and closed.

“Hello?” a male voice called from outside.  Dorothy’s father put his finger to his lips.

“Well,” the voice said, “I guess there’s nobody here.  We should probably drive away and never come back.”  There was laughter from other men.

Dorothy heard heavy feet crunching over the dirt outside.  “Hey, what’s this?” the first voice said.  “Fuck me, rabbits!  Now how did these get here?”

Dorothy started reflexively for the door, but her father glared a warning at her and she lurched to a halt.

“Hello in there,” the voice called again, closer now to the house.  Whoever he was, he sounded a little exasperated.  “Look, we saw your fire.  We’re not leaving, so why don’t you come out and talk.”

Dorothy’s father sighed without a sound.  His face was like stone.  He looked at Dorothy, then her mother, then left the room.  The front door opened.

“What do you want?” he said.

“Hello to you too!” the voice said.  “My name’s Kyle.  What’s your name?”

Dorothy’s father said nothing.  Holding her breath, Dorothy crept to the window where the curtain still floated up from the bottom corner.  She sank to her knees, amid the folds of her patterned dress, and leaned forward until she could peek out past the curtain’s edge.

There was a silver station wagon in the yard.  It had off-road tires, and the bottom half of it was one long, caked smudge of dirt.  The front bumper hung loose on one side.  Two men stood by the car, and a third faced the front door where Dorothy’s father was.  The third man wore a battered, broad-brimmed hat with a band of animal’s teeth.  Both of the others had rifles.

“Do you want food?  Is that what you want?”  Dorothy’s father sounded resigned.  “I don’t have a lot.  It’s just me here.”

“Now that’d be neighborly of you, nameless friend,” the one with the hat, Kyle, said.  “And we’d like to come in if you don’t mind.  We’ve been on the road for a while.”
Dorothy’s father said flatly, “I do mind.  This is my house and I don’t want  your company.  You try to get in here and it’ll be trouble.  So why don’t you wait outside, and I’ll get you some of what little I have to eat, and you can take it for the road. Nobody has to sweat and nobody has to get hurt.”

The one named Kyle opened his mouth in surprise, then grinned.  He had a nice smile, and a young, handsome face that was only a little stubbled and sweat-slick beneath the slash of shadow cast by his hat.  Dorothy thought she saw him surveying the front of their house.  His gaze flicked from window to window, upstairs and then down.  And then he looked right into Dorothy’s eyes, peering out at him from the window corner.

Dorothy lurched backward onto her bottom, heart in her throat.  Maybe he’d seen the flash of her hair in the light; it was the color of ripe wheat like her brother’s, but softer, falling in pools around her shoulders.  She was almost certain they’d locked eyes, only for a moment.  Had they locked eyes?

She could’ve imagined it.  The sun was shining down on the window screen.  The room was shadowed.

Dorothy held her breath.

“Are you sure you’re alone here, nameless old man?” Kyle said in apparent good humor.  “No… womenfolk about the place?  For example.”

Dorothy’s father started to answer but was cut off by the crack of a gunshot.  Dorothy scrambled back to the window.  One of the men by the car had collapsed in a grotesque tangle of limbs; there was a red smear on the window and the door.

Then everything happened at once.

The other man dove into the dirt behind the station wagon, beside the crumpled body of the first.  Dorothy’s father staggered backward into the house, followed by Kyle; he tried to get the front door closed but the younger man threw his shoulder against it and both men tumbled inside. Dorothy and her mother ran for the small entry, and when they got there Edmund was coming down the stairs closing the bolt on the family rifle and in his haste his feet slipped and he slid down the last few stairs on his ass.  The gun went off; plaster dust glimmered down through sunlight from the open door.  Then Kyle was up and he had a hunting knife and he plunged the knife all the way to the hilt into Edmund’s stomach.

Dorothy’s mother screamed.  Then Edmund screamed.

Kyle backed towards the door, holding the bloody knife in front of him like a shield.  Dorothy’s father rolled onto his side and crawled the other way, to the back wall.  Edmund was doubled over at the foot of the stairs, whimpering.  Dorothy’s mother went and fell to her knees beside Edmund; her hands shook and fluttered over his head and shoulders, but she didn’t touch him.  Dorothy stood frozen in the passage to the den.

“Fuck!” Kyle shouted.  His eyes were wide and watery.  They swam from Edmund to his mother.  “Fuck!  Jesus Christ, why– James?”  Kyle stared at Dorothy’s father now, who looked back at him through narrowed eyes. “James!”  The younger man’s voice quivered a little.  There was no answer.

“Kyle?” called the man outside.  Terrified and trying not to show it.

“Ed, is James okay?” Kyle said, with forlorn hope.

“James is dead, man.”

Kyle swiveled the point of his knife from Edmund to Dorothy’s father, as if either one might suddenly lurch up and go for his throat.  His mouth hung open.

“Kyle?” said the man outside, uncertain.  “Kyle?  I said James–”

“I heard you, god damnit!”  Kyle’s handsome face contorted in sudden fury.  He looked down the knife’s blade at Edmund who lay shuddering in his mother’s shadow, then at Dorothy’s father.  Finally his gaze swung round and fixed on Dorothy herself.  Edmund’s blood dripped from the knife and pattered on the wood by Kyle’s boots.

Dorothy broke for the den, but Kyle’s arm was already lashing out, fingers fumbling for her. She felt them tangle in the wheat of her hair, and then her head jerked back and her scalp stung.  Dorothy gasped.  She was dragged from her feet and stumbled backward to keep from toppling, then fetched up against something hard and warm.  Kyle held her against his body; the knife was a cool, fine pressure on her milky throat.  A metallic tang hovered under Dorothy’s nose.  She tried not to think about it.

“It this why James is dead?  Huh?” Kyle growled, close to her ear.  “You thought we were going to do something to your little girl here?  So you’d just start shooting?”  Kyle’s chest rose and fell against Dorothy’s shoulders, and fear quickened her own breathing.

Her mother’s eyes went wide.  “Sir… please–”

“Shut up!” Kyle jerked Dorothy’s head back into the nook made by his chin and shoulder.  Her throat lifted under the knife.  She whimpered and shifted on her feet, trying to steady herself with back bent and chest thrust forward.  The blade prickled her skin and she went still, shivering.

“Shut up,” Kyle said again.  “I’m talking now.  Your husband is a big talker, isn’t he?  ‘There’s nobody in the house, just me.’  Just me and my faggot son with a rifle and my big-titted bitch daughter.”

As he snarled, Kyle shoved his free hand down the front of Dorothy’s dress.  Her breasts were large, so much so that he had to spread his palm wide to grope her through the pale satin of her bra.  Dorothy wanted to squirm but the knife at her throat kept her frozen; instead the fear and agitation filled her lungs until she was gasping for breath, making little frightened sounds.  Her chest heaved under Kyle’s rough fingers.

Her nipples hardened into tiny stones.

Dorothy’s father raised his hand, fingers spread in a gesture of calming or supplication.  “Kyle?” he said.  “Kyle.  I’m sorry.”

“I’ll bet you’re fucking sorry.”  Kyle tugged Dorothy’s breast up out of her bra; his fingers sank into her soft flesh.  “Now.  Now that we know you were lying.”  Stretched against his body as she was, Dorothy felt the man stiffen between the legs, against her bottom.  It sent a thrill through her, and not all of that thrill came from fear.  There was something else, something warming in her belly.


“Sorry don’t bring James back,” Kyle snapped.  “Fuck, was it worth killing a man so we wouldn’t see your girl here?  Was it?”


“That’s right.”  For a moment Kyle said nothing else.  Dorothy knew that he was shuddering, wound taut; the knife’s blade whispered over her skin.  “That’s right,” he repeated, to himself.

Dorothy’s father was watching the other man’s eyes.  Dorothy saw his face fall, saw seams of dread darken his cheeks and the corners of his mouth.  His lips parted but he didn’t say anything.  Impressions struck Dorothy’s mind like hammer blows: Edmund’s coiled body, her father’s fear, the strength of Kyle’s hand slowly kneading her breast.  That masculine bulge pressed against her buttocks.  They left her dazed, warmed inside by dark intimations that she didn’t understand.

Kyle said, “Let’s see what’s so fucking special.”


Kyle shoved Dorothy forward and she fell on her hands and knees.  He grabbed the back of her head, bore down with a stiff arm until she was forced to turn her cheek against the floorboards.  Her breasts were crushed beneath her and her full bottom was raised. Dorothy’s father started forward but Kyle put the knife’s point against the back of Dorothy’s neck.

“I swear to fuck old man, if you twitch again I’m going to make a red mess in here.  Do you understand?”

Dorothy’s father nodded.  Slowly, Kyle drew Dorothy’s skirt up her legs and pushed the bunched cloth onto her back.  The young woman’s thighs were soft, full and shapely; they shone in the sunlight.  White panties clung to her buttocks.  The seam between them was just visible through the satin.  Kyle touched the back of her thigh and the muscle jumped under his fingers, sending a quiver through her skin.  His fingers moved higher.

Dorothy couldn’t slow her breathing.  A strange and terrible heat pooled between her legs, as if something had stung her there.  She’d felt an ache there before and she knew that it felt good to press and rub where the lips of flesh came together, but she’d never experienced anything like this fierce, frightening sensation.  Her mother had warned her about the men they’d run across, told her to keep her distance from them.  That they would want to do things to her body that she would regret.  Her nipples throbbed against the wood.

“Please,” Dorothy said breathlessly, not knowing quite what she was begging for.  She thought of the look in her father’s eyes.  Then she said, “Please, not here.”  Whatever this was, it couldn’t be in front of her brother, her parents.

Kyle hesitated, then raised his voice and called, “Ed!  Get in here.”

The other man came in with his rifle.  Kyle said tightly, “Watch these people. I’m going in the other room.”

“Kyle… what are you–”

“I’m going in the other room!”

Dorothy’s mother started to sob, but before Dorothy could raise her head to look, Kyle had her by the hair again.  He dragged her behind him, on hands and knees, into the shadowed den.  The sound of her mother’s crying shifted, softened, and then she heard the rasp of her own breath, Kyle’s boots on the wood, the scuffle of her knees and the tops of her bare feet. Kyle pushed her head down again and knelt behind her.  “Don’t move,” he said thickly.  It was a threat, but the way his voice broke hinted at a plea.

Dorothy didn’t move.

The man pushed up her skirt again.  She felt him peeling the crotch of her panties aside, revealing the trim, even seam of her young pussy.  Suddenly something warm and wet squirmed against her skin. Dorothy gasped.

Kyle was kissing and licking her sex.

“Flash: A Collection of Erotic Shorts” now available on Smashwords and Amazon!

Flash: A Collection of Erotic ShortsIt’s finished! Whew! You can find it for sampling or purchase on Amazon.com or Smashwords now!


A TV anchorwoman is abducted and held captive by a mysterious man who professes feelings for her, but who seems to draw strength from her suffering. As the last days of high school trickle away, a geek gets lucky in the back of his friend’s car. Two strangers play a game of exhibition and arousal on a crowded subway train. A young wife pleads for her husband’s job with the manager of a taxi company, and ends up buying his cooperation with her own body.

Flash is a collection of four short stories, together totaling over 6000 words, that showcase erotic topics from sweet to spicy, pleasurable to painful. Whether you prefer to savor slowly or consume all at once, there’s something for everyone in this erotically charged collection.

Progress! Also another excerpt.

Guess what’s finished? That’s right! Flash is done! Mostly done, at least. I need to do some formatting work on it to figure out how I can add a table of contents without slapping on “Chapter One”, “Chapter Two”, etc., in front of each mini-story’s title. And then I’ll need to sneak that by the meatgrinder at Smashwords.

I can do this. I think.

Once I have that done, I can return to working on Sweet’s Dove, which is turning out to be less about dear Lucy meeting the laconic Sweet and falling in love, and more about Lucy’s own evolution, from the time she enters Judge Taylor’s household, to her joining the Boston bordello, The Graces. And then, hopefully, she will move out West to fall in love with Sweet, because stop hijacking my stories, brain. I had this one plotted out! Now you’re changing it!

On the bright side, it looks like this will mean a longer story and it also means I get to dip into some of my favorite erotic subjects, such as forced sex, attempts at forced orgasm, and dubious- and non-consent. Right now I’m in the middle of a scene where Judge Taylor has gotten his sweaty hands on some French tintypes to demonstrate to Lucy the proper oral technique.

Things are going to get steamy.

Seriously, check it out:

He held in his hands what looked like a large deck of cards. “I have brought you a present, Lucy.”

The Judge had only ever given me torment; I could only view any gift he might offer with wariness. So I remained silent and waited for him to fall on me. Instead, he sat beside me on the bed and spread the stiff cards so I could see their faces.

They were not cards after all but tintypes, wrapped in paper mats. The soft brown images were not the stiff portraits I was accustomed to seeing, but rather showed women in assorted poses, with varying degrees of nakedness. As Judge Taylor sifted through the pile, I was subjected to the sight of fleshy breasts, rounded bellies, gracefully curved and raised arms, with thick thatches of hair in the creases of each body.

I caught my breath and shut my eyes but he would not have it– I had not seen everything he wished me to see. His hand closed on my shoulder and pinched hard until I was forced to look again.

There, directly before my nose, was a different portrait. A man was standing naked below the waist, his shoulders and head cropped from the image. He possessed the same instrument my master had wielded on me, but his was inserted partially into the mouth of the girl who knelt before him, her hair unbound below her hips. Her eyes were closed, as I wished mine were, and there were words inscribed in the corner, fancy and flowing words. I, who could hardly read English, knew them to be in a foreign language. French, I supposed. It was known that the French were the most degenerate of the races.

“Do you see, Lucy?” The Judge shifted his hand from my shoulder to my chin, as if to help me direct my eyes. There was to be no glancing away; my entire field of vision was filled with that obscene coupling.

I thought I could detect, even in dull shades of sepia, the glimmer of moisture that her mouth must have left on that organ. I had never seen one so clearly and was grateful for the blurriness of the image– or I tried to be grateful. Beneath the thin cotton of my chemise, I could feel a heat gathering, the prickle of sweat or worse where my thighs pressed together. Traitorous body, to react to this. I could only hope that the Judge took my stiffness for disapproval.

“Do you see?” he repeated, and released my chin to seek the hands I had folded nervously in my lap. Seizing one, he pressed it to the buttons of his trousers. Before I could close my fingers against him, he had shaped my palm to the thickness that grew beneath. “Take me out.”

I knew better than to protest. Fumbling one-handed, I undid the buttons that kept the thin wool fastened and parted the layers of his underclothing to expose his flesh to the open air. And, because I also knew he expected it of me, I let my fingers curl loosely around his shaft. I tried to ignore the delicate weave of veins against my skin but every time he twitched with excitement, they printed themselves against my palm and fingers.

His hand returned to my shoulder and through pressure, made it clear he expected me to kneel as the girl in the tintype was doing. Oh God, I thought, save me from this indignity. Save me from this, and don’t punish me for the water filling my mouth. I cannot help it, please.

(See? I told you so. Look for Flash: A Collection of Erotic Shorts very, very soon!)

Chapter 1 of “Nephilim”, for your reading pleasure.

I came awake in a white room. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, all painted the same matte shade. The sheet tucked over my body was white. Even the bed’s headboard had been lacquered with white. The only break in the color scheme came from my skin. A moment later, I realized that the the gun-metal grey handcuffs broke the scheme as well. One was snapped around each of my wrists. My arms were spread wide, my hands pinned to the bars; I was naked under the bedclothes. There were no windows and only one door.

I had maybe fifteen minutes to myself, time spent panicking, kicking off the sheet and chafing my wrists, before the man stepped into the room. My kicking had left me exposed, which I immediately regretted.

He was carrying a tray and smiling at me in the way men do when they have a line of bullshit to feed you. Bullshit and oatmeal, apparently. The steam curling from the bowl on the tray smelled strongly of artificial peaches and cream. The cheap stuff that came in paper packets, its weight half flavor powder and half oats.

I tracked his progress to the bed. He sat on the edge, the tray across his thighs, and looked back at me. Bright as sunshine, as if I weren’t twisted awkwardly onto my side with one shoulder straining and my knees clamped together.

Good morning, pet. You slept well?”

Being naked in front of a stranger that increased my sense of vulnerability; I could only imagine that he’d planned just that. Even if I weren’t handcuffed and in a strange room with no memory of how I came to be there, I think I would have still wanted to remain curled up and motionless, protecting myself as best I could. He was dressed well; dark slacks, a buttoned up shirt with the sleeves rolled up onto well-muscled forearms. The contrast between us, naked and frightened versus dressed and comfortable, was chilling.

Where am I?” I squeezed the question through a throat gone tight.

He chuckled. “You’re where you need to be.”

That wasn’t good enough but before I could throw more questions at him, he reached for the spoon on the tray and scooped up a bite of oatmeal. It was presented to me. The too-sweet smell of it turned my stomach.

I set my lips against the offering and the man raised his eyebrows at me. Then he flicked the spoon and steaming hot oatmeal spattered against my hip, my thigh, my waist.

I screamed and bucked against the mattress, twisting my body to try to rub those burning spots against the sheets. It stuck to me like napalm and before I could scrape it all off with my contortions, he was on top of me. His hand closed over my throat and squeezed. With his thumb over my carotid, it took only seconds before my vision began to dance, touched by sparkling points of light. Panic set in; my struggles briefly grew more violent. It was only when I began to black out and stop my thrashing that he let up on the pressure against my neck. I gasped for air.

I could still distantly feel his body pressed against mine. His clothes were expensive; they whispered against my skin without scratching; they shared the warmth of his body. He smelled like aftershave, like upscale cologne; his breath still had a hint of mint on it from his toothpaste. As I sucked in larger breaths, he dipped his head to nuzzle at the angle of my jaw and I picked up the scent then.

When I give you food, little girl,” he murmured, “you eat it. When I give you something to drink, you swallow it.” Teeth scraped at my throat and I heard myself moaning, my voice made hoarse by his treatment of me. “You take what I give you and you do what I say. Do you understand?”

When I didn’t answer him immediately, his hand began to close on my throat again. My back spasmed and I arched up against him. “Yes!” I croaked. “Yes! I understand!”

Good.” He sounded pleased but made no move to get off of me. Instead he began to tease my hair back from my face and returned to nuzzle my neck, my ear. I could feel his erection against my thigh. It was hot and heavy; he felt huge even through the barrier of his pants. I wanted to squirm away from it but didn’t dare, even when he tensed his buttocks and ground against me to tease himself.

You have so many questions, I know. But I’ll answer them all in good time. My time. You’re mine, you always have been, you just didn’t know it.”

His finger pushed at my lips. I resisted it at first, gritting my teeth. But my throat still ached and my head was pounding. The discomfort reminded me of how helpless I was and I relaxed my jaw. The first knuckle of that digit slipped into my mouth, nudged at my tongue. With the pad of his finger moistened, he ran it over my lips to gloss them with my own spit.

I couldn’t help myself; I began to shake.

Shhh,” he murmured, “shh. It’s going to be all right. You’re where you belong, little girl. You’re finally home. Haven’t you always known you were different? You’re so special. So needed.”

He punctuated each sentence with another thrust of his hips. Unlike the choking, that rhythmic pressure was almost gentle. His cock was trapped against the inside of my left thigh and each push reminded me of how close he was to my naked sex. I could feel heat prickling over my skin, washing over my entire body in a wave. Not all of it came from being blanketed by a larger body; I knew I was beginning to react in other ways. Ways I couldn’t help.

Another whimper escaped me.

His mouth found my ear again and his tongue curled around the lobe, as hot and wet as I knew I’d soon be. It was my weak spot, always has been. You can kiss my breasts, my belly, my thighs, even go down on me but I’ll always react strongest to having my neck and ear teased by a mouth. It took everything I had not to squirm but I knew he could feel my trembling anyway. As I tensed my arms and tried to stiffen up to hide it, the handcuffs dug into my wrists and clinked against the bars.

Between kisses, while he dipped the tip of his tongue into the recesses of my ear, the man continued to whisper to me.

I’m going to tell you a story. It’s a very old story. A lot of people think they know it but they always get it wrong. They weren’t there, they don’t know. But I was. I was there when it all started and in a way, dearest, so were you.”

His teeth caught at my earlobe and I was surprised into gasping. As he chuckled again, I squeezed my eyes shut. There was no shutting him out though. Not his voice, not his smell and certainly not his weight on me.

Please,” I whispered.

It wasn’t a request but he seemed to take it as one. His hips lifted and pushed against my legs, forcing them wider so he could fit himself between them. Positioned that way, he could line up the trapped arc of his cock against my slit. The hand he’d used to shut off my air slid down my chest and his palm curled over my breast. He was so hot, unnaturally hot. I could feel his palm burning against my nipple; it felt like sunbathing at high noon, except all of that heat and light was focused on a tiny patch of my skin. A sensitive patch.

A long time ago, I was a servant,” he told me as he kneaded the softness of my breast in his palm. “You could say I was made for it. Born for it. There were so many of us. But the one who made us wasn’t satisfied and so he made others.”

The man paused there and pushed his hips forward again. If he’d been naked, the pressure and friction would have been softer against tender bits. Instead I felt his zipper grinding against my pussy lips. It wasn’t my imagination; they’d begun to swell and grow softer. In that state, they offered no protection and eased apart when he rocked against me. This opened up my inner lips to his friction. Worse, it exposed my clit. Its hood provided some cover but as the fabric of his pants caught at me, I could feel it being tugged up. Pushed back, exposing that little nub.

I could feel myself getting wet.

Apparently, so could he. “That’s it, pet. You like this, don’t you? Not being able to move, while I move against you. Ahh…just like that. Yes.”

There was nothing I could do but suffer it. Suffer it, and not answer him as best I could. Not that he seemed to notice. Or maybe he thought all of the answer he needed was to be found in my body’s responses to him. He continued.

Those of us who served first had never seen anything like those he made afterward. They were beautiful. So soft, so tender. Looking at them, it was all you could do not to want to touch them. We resisted for so long but finally we gave into that need. Some of us went to them.”

His hand shifted against my breast. Before I could draw a breath, he’d caught my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I knew what was coming but even braced against it, the pain when he pinched down hard was electrifying. I gasped and bucked against him, trying to escape it, but he bore down harder and harder. Hard enough that my gasp became a whine and then a scream. Such a small thing, to hurt so much. It sizzled through me, through all of my nerves until I couldn’t breathe.

Even when he let go, the ache lingered.

We’d never experienced anything like it. They felt everything so strongly,” he murmured, a smile in his voice. “So we went back, again and again. We weren’t as careful as we should have been, but by the time our creator realized what was happening, it was too late. We were no longer innocent. None of us were. And when the children came, we were not inclined to service.”

The story made as little sense to me as my presence there. I didn’t understand it.

Please,” I begged him. I’d started crying at some point; I wasn’t sure when. “Please don’t do this.”

Ahh.” The pad of his thumb brushed over my cheek and then over my lips again, wetting them with the salt of my own tears. “It’s all right. You’ll understand soon,” he said as if he knew my thoughts.

His lips found my throat and the tip of his tongue probed my skin. “When we were discovered, we were punished, of course. Cast out. Some of us decided to protest that, to try to return. Some of us fought to protect our families. He wanted to destroy them because those first children were dangerous. Too big, too wild, too unpredictable…those bloodlines were never meant to be mixed. They threatened everything else that had been made. So I didn’t fight. I took my wives and my children and I found a place to hide. Where we could live in peace together. Or try to.”

The man had begun to rock against me again. To my horror, though my breast still tingled and ached, though my throat was still sore from his treatment of me, I found myself moving with him. Instead of remaining tense, my hips shifted and my thighs softened.

I began to cry again.

They were dangerous. My sons, my daughters. I had to destroy some of them myself. But there were others I could contain and so I did. We lived for a time like that. A family. Then, as my wives grew older and died, I realized that soon I would be left alone, but for these mad, broken offspring. And that’s when it came to me.”

I could feel his smile pressed against my skin, his lips curved, the threat of teeth just behind them.

They were mad and broken because the blood was too strong. My blood. But if they had too much of their mothers in them, they were…less. Weak, bland as unsalted bread. They needed to be refined. A little of their mothers, a little of me. Never both at the same time but with careful breeding…they call it line breeding, these days. It’s a little like forging the strongest steel over generations. And I had the time for that. The patience.”

Mad. Broken. If he was describing anything, it was himself. Anyone who’d steal another person off of the street– or had he taken me from my home? God, I couldn’t remember, why couldn’t I remember?– was going to be insane. But it only hit me then just how insane my captor was. I was being held by a madman who thought he was…what? An angel? I’d never been a regular at church but what little I knew about religion, about old stories, seemed to confirm that hypothesis.

It was not reassuring, to have a hypothesis.

His hand trailed down my neck, my chest, my stomach. I stiffened, thinking he was going to touch me between my legs and gloat over how wet I’d become. He didn’t. Instead, he thumbed free the button of his pants and drew down his zipper.

That was worse than a touch, or gloating. As he freed his cock, I could feel its heat. Its size. It sprang free and drooped against my mound, heavy and unyielding. I imagined I could feel the veins running along it, the way the velvet skin that sheathed its length shifted as he rubbed its underside through my thatch of curls. I’d always loved that feeling, before.

I could feel a part of me still enjoying it on a visceral level. Its texture, its weight.

A madman was going to fuck me and I didn’t dare struggle. Even if I did, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He was too heavy and strong, the handcuffs were too tight.

He drew his hips back and the knob that crowned the shaft bumped against the tendon of my inner thigh, leaving a smear of wetness behind it. It nudged my thigh and painted the skin there in pre-cum. Another nudge pushed him against the hollow between my thigh and my swollen outer lip. He paused there, no doubt happy to let me feel the threat. To feel how close he was to my entrance, which felt tight and engorged and absolutely drenched. My clit was throbbing, a tiny but powerful pulse inside of it echoing my own racing heartbeat.

Over the years, I watched over my brood,” he whispered as he leaned onto his elbow and reached down to take himself in hand. He repositioned himself again and began to drag the head of his organ through my slit. From bottom to top and then down again, every time that broad, thick surface caught my clit, I felt myself jump.

The handcuffs chimed again as I twisted my hands and gripped the bars, myself. I didn’t need that restraint anymore; I clung for myself.

I kept them safe. I let them breed with others for one generation, maybe two, and then I would appear and sweep one of my girls off of her feet. You love so easily, all of you. That’s part of your charm.”

He caught my clit again. And again. I couldn’t stop the way my hips were rocking now, to chase that friction. The pain he’d given me was rapidly fading, replaced with pleasure. With wanting. I whimpered to realize it but he had me now. He had me wanting him. Wanting this.

Worse, he had me listening and wanting to hear what he would say next.

My captor didn’t disappoint.

Even as the head parted the fragile tissues of my sex, as he eased himself so carefully into my body, he whispered, “At first, I only thought to make something worthy of myself. A true partner. But as the years went by, so many years, I realized what I was truly doing. I was creating. He had created us but I was creating something new. A perfect being that was more than either of his servant races. Something new, and better than all of us. I could see it, flashes of that brilliance through the years. But it was never quite right. My blood was too diluted, or too strong. I kept at it though…ahhh.”

He paused as he sheathed himself fully within me. I could feel the crinkle of his pubic hair tangling with mine, could feel the silky weight of his ball sack resting against my perineum. When he inhaled, I could feel his cock twitch inside of me and I felt my cunt spasm in answer, clenching around him.

We fit perfectly together. He was large but not too large, thicker than he was long. He filled me completely.

And then he began to move. Now when he spoke, his low calm tones were broken with exertion and arousal.

Haven’t you always known you were different?” he asked me, his voice guttural. It was true, I had. I had always had the sense that I was separate and apart from the people around me. Not for any reason I could put my finger on. It was something that had kept me separate in my life. I was a loner and an introvert, and happy to be that way. But I didn’t answer him. Why encourage his delusions? Everyone thinks they’re different. Special.

Besides, it was growing more difficult to think. I was not a woman who’d ever been able to climax from vaginal penetration alone but as he stroked his full length in and out of my cunt, I began to feel the same tingling tightness that came from having my clit played with. I could feel pleasure gathering between my legs like a knot made by twisting a cord between your fingers.

When I opened my eyes, his were right there, blazing at me. Looking into me. I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t escape him. I began to pant, to make soft mewling sounds deep in my throat. It was too much.

He took it as a signal to quicken his pace and he began to fuck me in earnest, his pelvis slapping against mine. His hand slid from my hip to my throat and I could feel his fingers pressing in. Just a little, just enough to make my vision sparkle again. The threat of losing my air caused me to lift my chin up as I tried to take a deeper breath; he met that movement with a probing kiss.

When the kiss broke, he kept his lips against mine and continued his story. “Fifty years ago, I fucked my daughter, thirty-five years ago I fucked her daughter. Nngh…and now…ah, little girl. You’re going to be so beautiful. So perfect. My perfect little girl.”

His hand closed hard on my neck, closing off my air. I thrashed but couldn’t shake him off. A black fog began to creep into the edges of my vision even as the tension in my belly rose and rose.

Come for me, daughter,” the man whispered.

Unable to breathe, with my body and mind screaming for oxygen, I came in a shuddering splendor for him, squeezing around him with terrifying strength.


At the gripping liquid peak of my orgasm, I blacked out.