Erotica Continues....

The Poet

"My lady? You called me?"

 

She turned slowly, away from the fire, until she was fully facing him. The light behind her gave her features an odd appearance; the half shadows  playing across her face and shoulders made her look almost demonic. For a moment, he was afraid.

"Yes, Master Wyatt, I did." She walked slowly away from the flames. "Speak for me. I need your words here. Speak them."

 

His head tilted to one side, watching her walk to the window. There was a warring of lights on her crimson gown, catching the remnants of the fire and the wakening of the sun. How beautiful she is, she still is.

 

"What words shall I speak then, dear lady?"

 

"Something of love," she answered him.

 

He closed his eyes, not knowing what he would say but letting the words flow from his lips.

 

"The heart and service to you proffer'd
  With right good will full honestly,
  Refuse it not since it is offer'd, 
  But take it to you gentlely. 
  And though it be a small present, 
  Yet good, consider graciously, 
  The thought, the mind, and the intent 
  Of him that loves you faithfu--"

 

She interrupted him, pressing her lips hard to his and throwing her arms about his neck. He froze at first, not knowing what to do. If he should proceed, he would surely drown in her. If he should cast her aside, he would be covered in her hatred. But of her husband...her husband....

 

Her tongue crept into his mouth, her hands buried in his curls. She pressed against him, her hips joined to his and pressing harder still. Her breasts were two plump fruits, ripened in the darkness of this room. He had gone hard as stone, the cock standing out against the brocade of his breeches. Husband be damned, he had to have her and now.

 

He ceased his fight, wrapping his arms around her dainty waist and tasting her lips. She tore the cloth from his shoulders, dropping the linen to the floor in ruins. She gripped his arms, pushing him back against the wall as she kissed him hungrily. He grabbed her delicious arse, squeezing through the folds of fabric that tried to keep him away.

 

She was practically panting as he nimbly plucked the lacing of her bodice, freeing the beautiful breasts. She arched her back go give him better access and he took advantage. His hands held her back, his lips encaptured a sweet nipple that was a ripe as a plump grape and just as full of juice. He suckled them, tasted them, captured them in his mouth and caressed them with his tongue. She moaned softly with each taste, clutching his head and holding it close.

 

She pushed against his chest, her nails rough against his skin left welts as she dropped to her knees. She pulled his breeches from his hips, the red lines on his skin marking the trail. He realized quickly what she was about to do and threw his head back against the stone wall.

 

One hand grasped the shaft as the other tickled at his balls, her tongue teasing at the sack. She took them into her mouth, rolling them gently and sucking them with abandon. She stroked from the bottom to the top, squeezing and releasing...squeezing and releasing. Damned her French training, she was taking to Hell with it and he cared not a bit. And when she had done with his balls, she took the head into her mouth, still stroking his shaft. She sucked and nibbled, licked and flicked.

 

He could only hold his breath deep in his chest as she took him full into her mouth. Her tongue danced on the fully engorged flesh as it slid in and out of her throat. Her fingers grasped his buttocks, the nails digging in and letting go. She squeezed them as if he were made of ripened loaves of bread that was to be enjoyed only by her. She truly was evil, evil and wicked and--

 

"You will take me, Master Wyatt. I command it."

 

And he knew he had to obey. He lifted her into his arms, laying her on the meager mattress that they had left her to sleep on. He lifted the skirt of her garment, one hand resting between her thighs. She was not ready. He must make her ready.

 

His thumb found that place that would make her moan louder and he pressed hard against it. He softly nipped in the creases where her legs met her hips to make her cry his name again, trap her fingers in his hair. But she was still not ready, still not wet enough to allow him entrance. So, he inserted two fingers inside of her, pressing against the walls of her sweet pussy, and moved them in and out, in and out. She cried, gripping the thin mattress and begging him to take her, take her now.

 

His cock was not to be denied. When he pushed inside of her, she was wet and ready and willing. He plunged to his own doom, every thrust into her was another piece of his soul that was hers again and forever. She wrapped her legs around his waist, looking up at him with her dark eyes. She pulled at his hair, urged him faster or harder. He obliged, ramming it inside of her. When neither could stand another second, he released into her. They stiffened together, grasping each other in an embrace that was more a coffin than a caress.

 

He could hear her heart, hammering in her chest. Thump da da da thump! Thump da da da thump! Thump da da da thump! Her arms held him so close, the two of them panting in the near darkness.

 

"Oh! Thomas!"

 

"Shhh, dear Anne, shhh. Say nothing. Just let me lie here, holding and being held by you."

 

It was quiet save for the thump da da da thump! thump da da da thump! Then, he heard her give a weary sigh. He raised his head to see in her eye the tears of her pain.

 

"There," she said simply. "I am now guilty of that which I have been accused."

 

"Anne?"

 

Thump da da da thump! Thump da da da Thump!

"Anne?"

"Goodbye, Thomas. Forget me not. Think well of me as you can. Pray for me."

His own heart stilled. "Anne?"

She said nothing, only rolled him off of her body. But he didn't fall up on the floor as he imagined that he would. He fell...fell down and down and down into the darkness. Falling, falling, falling! Into an interminable well of anguish and sorrow. Suddenly every part of him felt heavy and bruised. Every joint ached. And still was the terrible thumping of her heart.

Thump da da da thump! Thump da da da thump! Thump da da da thump!

He felt the sudden stop and his eyes flew wide open. He sat up in the bed, looking around wildly. The same four walls, the same prison cell of the Tower. The door was closing and he looked on the table to see the bread, cheese, and ale that he had been given to break his fast. His hand scrubbed as his cheek, feeling the stubble of his reality. It had all been a dream.

But still the thumping of her heart. Thump da da da thump! From the window, that's where it was coming from--the window! Not a heart beat...the sound of drumming. He jumped out of the bed and ran over.

The crowd had thronged around the Tower Green. He noted with a mixture of amusement and disgust that Henry was not in attendance. Still courting the future Queen, he supposed. No matter, Anne's time was done on this earth, Henry had seen to that. All because he had no sons.

It was then he saw her; being led from the gate. She looked so small, so frail. Her imprisonment had left her pale and drawn.

"Anne," he whispered.

She would not hear him over the shouts of anger and insult. She was lead to the block, her gown pulled from her neck. She was made to kneel, then to lean over the block. The excecutioner's sword was swift and her head fell neatly into the basket.

He leaned against the wall, weeping openly. "Anne, sweet Anne."

The door opened behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The stench of Henry's chosen mouthpiece arrived long before he did.

"Sir Thomas."

"Master Cromwell."

"I have been sent by the king. He wishes to know, do you still hold that you have never lain with the former Queen? That you were not her lover?"

Thomas slowly turned to face the man waiting for his answer. The dream still haunted him. But did dreams count as seduction? Was a dream evidence of adultry?

"I have sworn to His Majesty that I have not known her, either before or after his marriage to Queen Anne. I am, in all things, his servant."

Cromwell nodded. "And I also believe you, as does His Majesty. You are released, sir." He had the grace to look down, seemingly disturbed. "This day's business has begun badly. She was a lovely lady."

Thomas nodded. "She was. And I did love her. But I never knew her."

Cromwell gestured to the door. "You are free to go, sir."

He did not wait for another word. Thomas took what small belongings that he had brought with him and ran from the cell.

8:47 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

A Little Vampire-otica For You?

I'm not overly thrilled with that ending; but it'll do for now. That one will have a rewrite later. And I'll post it again. For now....

This one goes out to the Blue_ButterflyBaby! I forgot I already had a picture of Tom Welling.

Saucy Jack

by J. W. Coffey
(C) 2008

You must, first, understand that I am a servant of the Queen and always shall be. I serve with decorum and taste; I serve as the law dictates.

I came to serve another queen in the late 1800's—1888 to be precise. I had been called to duty in the Whitechapel area at the worst time possible. A murderous blackguard was calling himself "Jack" was murdering various ladies of ill repute. His arrogance knew no bounds as he taunted us with his letters, sending bits of the poor unfortunates whilst hacking off other bits and absconding with them. Or tossing them aside as so much offal.

I took to the sidewalks in the evenings, trying to find someone who knew the victims. Someone who could answer my questions. But I wanted most of all to find this animal, this insidious being that would torture a woman so cruelly. And so, I took to the sidewalks, trying to find anyone who might have information.

I saw her, first, as she spoke to a chap in a brown overcoat and derby. Him; I could not see his face. Her, I could see the fullness of her mouth and the swell of her bosom. She was dark of hair and eye, the curls cascading down the side of her face. She looked like one of those Romanian folk that called themselves 'gypsies," and told fortunes and danced for money. She watched me as I passed, those beautiful black eyes never leaving mine. Her lip curled in a teasing smile. I knew that I wanted her, wanted to sink into her flesh and have her.

But my duty must come first. My duty to the crown must take precedence and so I turned my face from her and kept walking. For a moment, I could imagine her eyes boring into my back. I could feel her insistence that I turn back, her impatience when I did not. Oh, how the desire was fully taking me and if I did not focus on the game at hand, I would do as I imagined she wanted.

My travels among the unfortunates were proving to be fruitless. Every prostitute I spoke with either knew nothing or was willing to tell nothing. Except for one; she called herself Mary Kelly. She agreed to speak to me but not on the street. Under guise of being one of her customers, I followed her to a remote spot—out of earshot and behind a quick corner.

Her hand came out and I dropped the required amount in her palm.

"What can you tell me of these murders?"

She grinned at me, showing that her teeth were still intact, at least. "Oh come on, love. Bit of a bounce in the bush, eh? Let me earn them coppers?"

I politely but firmly pushed her roving hand away from my groin. "I am here to discuss the murders of your fellow unfortunates. Nothing more. Tell me what you know!"

She pouted, withdrawing her hand. "All I know is that them girls was just trying to earn a honest wage. Didn't deserve nothing what happened to 'em!"

"Did you know any of them?"

"Seen 'em about." She leaned closer. "Seen that Stride tart the night she was done in."

"Did you see anyone with her?"

"Was this chap in a brown coat; one o' them fancy coats with the cape on it. And one o' them bowler like hats on his head. He was chatting her up right proper. Wouldn't let her get half a word in edgewise, if you get my meaning."

"Did you see his face? Would be able to pick him out of a line up should you be called to do so?"

Mary Kelly had no time to answer; I would not have heard anyway. There came a hiss behind us both and we turned to see her standing there; the gypsy looking woman. She stared at me, one hand absently stroking her breast.

"Here, now," Mary Kelly protested.

But the gypsy woman glared. Their eyes locked for a brief time and it was almost as if a spark flew between them. In the dim light of the alley, I saw Mary Kelly's face turn pale. With a glance over her shoulder, she turned a frightened glance at me before running off into the night.

I watched her, her hand still caressing the breast. She watched me with those dark eyes, the smile never touching them. I was watching her; fingers stroking the nipple as it grew hard against the flimsy material that restricted it. She reached up with the other hand and pulled the cloth away so that I could see it; chocolate brown and firm. She dipped her head, her tongue flicking out to it.

I could scarce breathe as I watched her. My groin was beginning to ache; the stiffness in my trousers was almost too much to bear. But the pain was exquisite; the head of my manhood chafed against the buttons.

"I've. . .come. . .for information," I sputtered. "About. . .about. . .Saucy Jack."

She said nothing, coming closer to me as she unbound her perfect breasts. They were plump and ripe with the sweetness of plums. Her fingers pulled my head down to them and I found myself unwilling to stop. My hands went around her small waist as I kissed first one and then the other. I held one in my hand, my thumb stroking the nipple, as my mouth found the other and suckled it as a newborn babe.

She leaned her head back, moaning with pleasure. She stroked between my legs with her free hand as she ran her fingers through my hair. I felt her soft nibbles on my shoulder and I could not help myself. I felt my head loll to one side as she began to nibble her way to my neck, biting harder and harder until the sting of her sharp teeth sinking into my flesh brought a startled yelp from me.

I pushed her back, confused at her boldness. "No," I told her. "No marks. I am here on official business. There must be no marks."

She said nothing, smiling her knowing smile. She came forward again, pushing me against the wall. She kissed me deep and hard, slipping her tongue between my lips. Nimble fingers unbuttoned my trousers, opening the fly. This time, she nibbled her way down my neck, my chest, my stomach. I knew what she was going to do—the French had such a way, something unheard of in a proper English whore. I could only grip the bricks and pray that my legs would hold me as I waited for the pleasure that would come from her lips on my manhood.

Her tongue teased at the head, softly flicking underneath where it was most sensitive. She took my hard member in both of her hands, stroking and suckling; making the blood rush in my ears in a whooshing noise that drowned everything else out. She nipped at the base of the shaft, teasing at the sack below. Then, I felt her take the head in between her lips as her tongue danced over and around and using her teeth lightly against the flesh as she sucked it farther and farther into her mouth.

I felt the sharp bite into the tender flesh and I was powerless to stop her. I heard her giggles mixed with the suckling noises and thought that I was going to burst into her mouth. The pain was pure torment and pure orgasmic joy. I wanted her to stop and I wanted her to drain me dry of anything that might come from our coupling. My eyes rolled in their sockets; the already darkened alley was turning blacker still and my sight dimmed further still. The strength was running out of my legs as the blood was rushing out of my body. I prayed for release. I prayed for death. I began the slow descent to the ground, sliding down the brick façade of the building as I lost consciousness.

The only words I heard her speak were the simple, "No. . . . No. . . ." My slump was halted even as I felt myself slipping away from my body. Her fingers dug into the back of my head and I was once again offered the breast. But this time, it was not the beautiful flesh that I drank in—it was a salty sweet liquid that tasted of iron and death. Her nipple spewed forth and I drank greedily from it. I drank and drank, craving the taste. I drank and drank until she pushed me away.

I remembered nothing more until I awoke in the small hours of the night. Somehow, she had carried me to another place and we were lying curled up together.

"Shh, do not move," she said to me. "It is not time to rise. To feed."

"It is night time."

"No, it is day time. You must not go out there. You must trust me. . .and rest."

It took me several days to accept what I had become that night; always a creature of the night, I had become one of them in earnest. And it was not as hard to assimilate back into society as I had thought it could be. I simply explained my absence as an illness, which the chief constable never questioned. I simply requested transfer to the evening shift to better serve the department and have free access to the unfortunates. I could better protect them in my search for Saucy Jack.

I could not bring myself to take life but I could not starve either. It was most easy to bribe the right official; an embalmer at a local funeral parlor. He would drain the blood from the deceased and give it to me—sans the polluting chemicals, of course. Oh, perhaps the taste was a bit stale but it was nourishment.

Mary Kelly crossed my path once more, even if not in the same condition that I had last seen her.

I was crossing Miller Street when I smelled it; the scent of fresh blood. The ambrosial scene filled my nostrils and set my belly to growling. It was a siren's song to me and I followed it, the smell of death clinging to the smell of food. Whoever it was was gone to the afterlife. There was nothing wrong with availing myself of a bit of sustenance from it.

I had come even with number 13 when I saw the form dash out the door and into the darkness. I immediately recognized the coat with its capelet, the derby hat. The smell of blood clung to that monster and I knew in a moment that I had found him at last. I had found Saucy Jack. I forgot my hunger, forgot the poor soul that was in that room. I ran after the man, giving chase through the streets of Whitechapel.

He had to know I was behind him because he darted here and there, trying to lose me in the maze of the alleys. But I would not lose him; his scent was now strong enough to me that I could follow him from a distance and still know where he was. My sense of hearing had grown as well; I could hear his grunts of exertion, his bellowing gasps for air as he ran. By God, I could hear him practically salivating over some prize.

I realized that he would keep running as long as he wanted. . .and that he could out run me into the morning hours. Daylight would be coming soon, I thought to myself. It was best to stop, lull him into false confidence. So, I gave him the time—to run, to leave a trail of blood drops and his smell. And when I had given him that lead, I let my nostrils take me to him

I was right; he had run to a place of safety for him. He had thought that he had outrun me. He had come to a place by the Thames, where he could enjoy his own repast.

"Hoy! You there! Saucy Jack, I believe!"

He left off chewing on the piece of flesh that he had torn from the poor creature he had left behind. Small piggy eyes glared at me from beneath the thickened brow. Long yellowed nails were caked with dried blood, as the fresh dripped from his fingers.

"You have me at a disadvantage, sir," he answered in a greasy voice. "You are?"

"Constable Welling. And you will now come with me."

The piece of flesh was tossed into the river. "I think not, Constable. I think I shall enjoy a bit of supper for my efforts. Them tarts have half bored me now. You might be a bit sweeter, I think."

A long bladed knife appeared, plucked from his boot. He lumbered toward me, the blade flashing in the moonlight. It was a simple step to the side, followed by a grab of the knife from his hand. Before he could turn, I remembered my hunger. I clutched him from behind and sank my fangs into his throat. I filled my belly as the life flowed from him. When I was done, I tossed his corpse into the river and watched it float away. Saucy Jack would harm no more unfortunates. Neither would he ever be found. It was not a loss.

It was the next evening when I found out that the scent had belonged to the newly departed Mary Kelly. The things that animal had done to her were unforgiveable. Such a shame, as she had such a sweet personality. The gypsy was gone soon after that first night. I never saw her again, dead or alive. I often wonder what happened to her, if she still lives. In those daylight hours when I cannot sleep, I think of her. And think how my life might have been different if I had gone with Mary Kelly that night, instead.

11:16 AM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Promoting My BFF's New Title

By Right of Will

by Lorrieann Russell

An incredible page turner. Go here to read an excerpt and find out more!

10:18 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Celebrate Earth Day, Every Day!

Yes, it's Earth Day!!! That day when we all remember Mother Earth, a living planet that gives us life and home. A living, breathing entity. A day to remember that we can do things, learn things from Mother. A day to put aside to discover what we can do for Her...and ultimately, ourselves.

Peace, Brothers and Sisters!

1:15 PM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Get Out The Priestly Collar....

Because I have a confession to make. And it’s a big one. I’m talking severe soul searching on this one. Ready?

Hi, my name is Jesse and I’m a peanut butter addict.

Yes, I hear you laughing. But this is really serious for me. I looooooooooves my peanut butter. The versatile substance of legend and lore. Smooth and creamy, chunky and chewy...makes no never mind to me. I love it all.

I love a good peanut sauce over top of chicken and veggies. Or...instead of meat on rice noodles and stir fry. And how can you turn down peanut butter soup, made with natural peanut butter and chicken stock and noodles and veggies and served with a crusty, hearty bread. Mmmmmm!!!

Or a lovely dessert of warmed peanut butter oozing over chocolate ice cream. Oozing over bananas and pudding. The richness of caramel and peanut butter over pound cake.

The simplicity of a great PB&J. How can you go wrong with two pieces of a good whole grain bread, smeared thickly with the delicious spread and some nice strawberry jam or grape jelly. Or how about just bananas sliced and layered.

Peanut butter warms our soul inside and sticks to the ribs. Raining outside? Nothing cures all like a spoon or fingerful of peanut butter. That peanut butter just fills the nooks and crannies inside and lights the fire that chases the chill away.

Feeling a bit run down? Peanut butter has the nutrients that heal the body. Filled with all of the vitamins and minerals of Mother’s bounty, peanut butter is rich in proteins and monounsaturated fats. Peanut butter can be a great snack or a full meal.

Yes, there are those who must be careful because of allergies that can be fatal. I’m glad I’m not one of them. I’d be hard pressed to find another alternative that satisfies me like peanut butter. And yes, the processed stuff has had the natural peanut oil removed and replaced with some unpleasant alternatives that ruin the effect. So I buy the natural stuff and reap the benefits.

Peanut butter brings back memories of childhood and happy times, of peace and love of family, of sharing and giving. Peanut butter brings back the joys of lunch times without end, of suppers and camping trips and hiking trips. Peanut butter can even bring a bit of naughty fun with that significant other, you know. The "nudge nudge wink wink" fact of peanut butter is seldom mentioned...and I may have to include that in a story soon. mwahahaha!!

But for now, my addiction is consuming me. I stopped at the store yesterday and bought the wherewithal for peanut noodles for supper. Sean cocked an eyebrow and said nothing more. Smart on his behalf, actually. He does tend to indulge me but I rarely force it on him. I eat my peanut noodles in joy and hearty satisfaction while he eats his parritch and something else that’s mostly Scot but I have no clue what it is and no desire to try it. We each enjoy and smile at the other.

Ok, maybe I’ll get him to try the peanut noodles later. For now...there’s just enough for me. And having said that, I’m off to find more recipes for peanut butter. And enjoy my addiction from which there is no cure and neither do I want one.

Ah, I do so feel better getting that off my chest.

Write on, Fellow Babies! 

9:44 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment