The Big Bad Wolff

…continued…

He found himself breathing hard, not from exertion but from the wet musk rising out of her pores. It wasn’t just pussy he smelled. Her whole body exuded hunger. When he leaned past her to close the door he caught the scent of her neck, could almost taste her pulse, and his loins surged with a ferocity barely contained. She was begging for him while feigning fear.

“I think the little girl lies,” he hissed against her red hair.

She shook her head.

He stepped back and pushed her forward. She caught herself instinctively with her hands out stretched as she hit the mattress. Then his big paw was on the nape of her neck, pushing her into the ticking. It was not a soft bed. It was not meant for the luxury of sleep. He thrilled at her gasp.

“You humor me by feigning fear,” he ground. “You aren’t afraid.”

Her voice was muffled and he let off enough that she could speak. “I am,” she whispered.

“Not yet. Because you don’t yet feel truly helpless.” He worked quickly then, buckling the leather restraints around her wrists. She fought, jerking her feet away in vain, making him work to capture them and complete her spread eagle binding.

Then he smelled it. The first hint of true fear. Acrid and sharp.

And when she felt cold steel beneath the collar of her shirt, and all the way down her back as the fabric fell away and exposed her to this world she couldn’t not see, she trembled and cried out. When his hungry tongue trailed her bare skin and dripped over her thighs and buttocks, her bladder let go. He lifted his face to the low ceiling and laughed. A thready howl that cut the air, and he said, “Now. Now my little Red knows fear.”

…to be continued

The Big Bad Wolff

…continued…

She kept her eyes ahead. The smell coming from him was not quite human, though it had human components… mothballs, sandalwood, bourbon. But also muskier scents, like dog and … almost a metallic odor, like copper. But warm. She wondered why she didn’t feel fear. She did, but it wasn’t the overriding emotion.

When her steps slowed, something prodded her gently in the small of her back. She found herself slowing intentionally just to feel it. If she didn’t pick up her pace immediately, it was a harder and sharper prod, sometimes accompanied by that guttural growl. The forest deepened and the smells from the trees and floor became darker and older, fecund, and she wondered how long since light had touched here? The canopy was like a ceiling, letting nothing in and nothing out.

All she heard was her own footfalls and breathing. She would slow or stumble to make certain he was still there.

Then he blindfolded her. Told her to stop, and something soft and black covered her sight and tightened around her head. It was almost reassuring. From that point, he took her arm and guided her. Did she feel claws? Or was that her overactive imagination? Was this whole thing a fantasy, and she still stood on that sunny hilltop with her face tilted into the yellow rays?

A squeak. And his breath close to her ear for just a second. Gooseflesh rose and raced down her back and arms. A bare acidic whiff of… coffee? Then a click. Her feet were on hard smooth ground now. And it was warm. He moved her forward.

“Do you know where you are, Red?” he asked softly.

She shook her head and felt a wave of vertigo. And when he answered, she heard the smile stretching his words.

“You are where no one will hear you scream.”

 

…to be continued

The Big Bad Wolff

…continued…

Every time she entered this high meadow he could smell her. It wasn’t perfume or soap. It was far more subtle. Like citrus and honey and earth. Like blood and flesh. She was carried on the wind into his cerebral cortex, and once there she was in him.

He always watched from his safe place. She felt him, but she wasn’t animal enough to know it. The musk of her adrenaline each time she started only added to the cocktail sweetening his own blood. As soon as he caught that whiff, nose to the sky, he was hard. Hungry. He was Hunter.

She made it easy.

The noises she alerted to in the leaves were not him. His padded feet made no noise. The wind was always in his favor. And when he finally made his move he was ready to subdue, even while uncertain it would be necessary. He was hungry, but he would not harm her. Hurt her, perhaps. But his hunger demanded she not only be intact, but ideally,  willing. The line every predator walked with his prey. Would she understand her part?

He suspected so. She didn’t fight as he’d anticipated. Instead, at his embrace he tasted arousal in the air. A touch of fear, but a mighty release of invitation from her, and he wanted to take her there, then.

He didn’t.  He whispered, “Are you frightened, Red?”

She nodded, small and unconvincing movements of her head.

“I’m not sure you are,” he growled. He wouldn’t let her know he liked that. He let her feel his fangs against her neck, and he thrilled at the reactive shudder that quaked her. Now that, that odor was fear. If he pushed her, urine would be the next scent on the wind. Then the animal might take over… He pulled back and licked the spot again. While he did, he disarmed her without her realizing, and stepped back.

She started to turn.

“No!” he barked. “Walk. Take the path, this one leading into the woods. Do not turn around. You won’t like the last thing you see, my Dear.”

…to be continued

The Big Bad Wolff

She paced the ridge line. She’d been in this country many times, tracking the wildlife, enjoying the open, unbothered by the solitude and the wolf, coyote, big cat and bear tracks she often found around the natural springs and along creek beds.

Early autumn. Everything crisp, crunchy… the smallest birds sounded like Bighorn sheep crashing through the underbrush. The sky was a Caribbean blue. Clear, clean and bottomless.

She wore red often this time  of year. She didn’t want to be mistaken for a wild thing. She hated orange. She listened to the crashing and turned, looking for the bird or squirrel or groundhog that was making it. Nothing.

She walked longer, the rifle stock bumping reassuringly against her thigh. And she got lost; lost inside her head, inside the fantasies that were more real to her than the barren life she lived, pictures of big men with big cocks, all hungry and smiling wolfishly, all sniffing around and leaving their scents and marks to keep her safe. From what?

Boredom, she thought, and smiled to herself.

She was smiling when the thing came around and covered her mouth, pulling her tight against a large…what? Solid and both hard as rock and soft as bearskin. She was wrapped in an embrace that felt less than human. But too deliberate and gentle to be animal.

Then it spoke in a low growl, “Are you Little Red?”

Fear swelled her throat and tried to choke her. She didn’t know how she knew, but she sensed any fight would be futile. And much to her surprise she felt herself grow wet.

It sniffed deeply. “I think you are,” it growled.

“Who are you?” she rasped against the leathery thing covering her mouth.

“I, little girl, am your favorite fantasy, or your worst nightmare. You pick.” And something warm and wet lashed seductively against her throat over her carotid artery, and a flame of desire swept the length of her body.

A Few Words…

A warm hello to all my faithful followers, and welcome to the newcomers. It’s great to return to find that things have been growing while I was away.

I was away, dealing with some personal stuff. We all know what that’s like! But I was also stewing. I thought I was blocked, to put it in simple creative terms, but it was more than that. It was that I had a story to tell, but couldn’t find the right way to tell it. And like any new thing, it was born in its own time. It took a year from start to finish, and about 8 months of that it felt like it was stagnating, or simply didn’t exist at all. Except that when I did sit down to write, it was the only thing there.

I’m talking about Perversions. This is a novella at almost 15,000 words. It’s the tale of how we, as humans, deal with the thoughts and feelings that society tells many of us are perverse. It turns out that is less the truth than that the human experience doesn’t follow rules and protocols. It’s a touch autobiographical, a touch erotic, and is driven to an unexpected end on human psychosis.

I won’t be publishing it here; I’ll be throwing my hat back into the Amazon ring. The book will hopefully be available in both e and print editions. I will post a few excerpts… but for the most part, I am letting my reputation and the book speak for themselves. I’m no salesman. But this book is near and dear to me, and I hope a few people might be interested enough to check it out.

If there are any wishing to review, I’m prepared to offer the book for free in exchange for a fair and honest review. Though I’ve been burned here before, so I’ll have to have seen you around for awhile in order to do so.  But for the most part, I like to think people are decent and honest. 🙂

Thank you for sticking around. And I’m hoping to be posting some new short fiction very soon. Cause as far as I’m concerned, the world needs a little more sex! 😉

New Novella

Coming soon… Perversions.

 

He calls himself Dr. Strangelove. And he has inappropriate thoughts about his female patients. But all is not as it seems in this twisting and darkly erotic psychological thriller from Felicity Johns.

Absent… Again.

Not sure why you guys put up with me.

You may or may not have noticed that nothing is coming out of the Felicity mill right now. And I do mean nothing. I’ve never experienced a dry spell quite like this one. Or summer depression.

Since I was a kid, summer was MY time. I loved the sunshine, the heat, the humidity, things growing and green. Heavy afternoons that screamed with cicadas until the thunderstorms swelled and exploded. Then fresh, clean dusks with pink and coral sunsets, everything drinking and steaming and falling asleep. I’d stand in our front yard and watch the bats against the pink sky. Then count stars and lightning bugs. On the hottest nights, heat lightning flickered through the sky like a distant dying neon. Silent. A contained fury, uncontained somewhere, for someone.

I belonged to it.

We’ve had a rough year. There has been illness and poverty and lost friends. Scraping out a living and being thwarted at every turn. It has silenced me. And the silence builds and suffocates… I don’t know what I am when I’m not writing, or painting, or being successful at something. My successes are few and far between. And my energy is consumed by survival.

So I don’t know if I’ll be back this time. I’m considering closing the site down, as it seems rude to the public to have a blog you never update. I believe I’ve given Felicity a fair shot these last almost three years… Or maybe I just need time to get out of this slump. It’s not that I don’t have ideas, both for finishing existing projects, and beginning new ones; but I’m unable to speak. Life has gagged me.

Until next time…

Cookie

I told him I was down in central booking. Again? he wanted to know. What now?

I need you to come down. Please.

This isn’t us anymore, Cookie. You can’t keep calling me every time you lose your shit.

So he left me there. Like everyone else had left me, so did he, and I didn’t think he ever would. I remembered the feeling in my chest the first time he put me behind the wheel. Him and his block headed brother ejected through the artificially lit glass door and were yelling at me to go before they touched the car. The adrenaline smelled like flop sweat and Jim Beam and burned the tiny hairs in my nose like gunpowder. Maybe it was powder.

We never got caught when I drove. You’re like a filly out of the gate, he’d tell me, and his breath was sour as his kisses were sweet.

After every take he’d push my face down on the hood of the Charger. My cheek grinding against the gritty prime, banging my hip bones into the grill, and he’d go till I screamed. Those were the best fucks. They became the only fucks I wanted.

I slept in holding that night. It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.

A Word to our Sponsors

So this is Christmas. Or that’s what Lennon said. It snuck up on me again this year, because I swear it rolls around faster every time… are we absolutely certain they’re not shaving a few days off when we’re not looking?

I thought I’d take a moment to wish my readers all the best, no matter what you are or are not celebrating today. And also to extend my heartfelt thanks.

There are a few of you who take a moment to click on the ‘Tip Jar” button at the bottom of this page. I’ve almost removed it so many times, and I tend to just not scroll down, because it feels like I’m asking for something. I’m not big on asking for shit. Like to the point that, when I order food, I just get what’s on the menu. I don’t even say ‘hold the mustard’ even though I really wish they would. So having that button there, well, it’s asking.

But it’s not asking without giving something in return. That’s what I remind myself. I’m struggling, like everyone else, to make ends meet. And writing is what I do. I put it out there without any expectation of compensation, but when someone shows their appreciation and acknowledges the fact that I’m not salaried to write, that feels pretty good. It takes money to keep this site running. So when you ‘buy me a coffee’ it actually does help, and actually does mean that that week, I can afford to buy myself a coffee! And while I drink it, I’m probably turning the gears on a new idea to offer you.

So thank you, to all who offered their support, both financially and otherwise. It really means a lot to me. And I will continue doing my best to provide quality content that keeps you thinking and feeling.

A Merry Merry and a Happy Happy to everyone!

Flash Fiction – My Michaela

“You said your name was Mike.”

She smiled, her eyes large and soft and beautiful. She pulled out her license and showed it to me.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s Michaela.”

“What about everything else? How could you mislead me?” This is what heartbreak felt like. This tearing in the center of your body, like something enormous and very, very angry was trying to get out.

“Amy, I’m in love with you. Have been from the beginning. I’m sorry… everything I’ve ever said to you was truth. You’re the other half of my soul.”

 

December 15, 2016 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) explore the importance of a name within a story. It can be naming an experience, introducing an extraordinary name, or clarifying a name (who can forget Who’s on First). Go where the prompt leads.