Sunday, 1 December 2019
The Spirit Of Christmas
Please enjoy this short erotic horror story, inspired by creatures of the night and the Masturbation Monday prompt.
- Mind control
Taking this as a sign of her tiredness, Phoebe shut down her computer, stood and stretched. At the edge of her vision, through half-closed eyes, something moved in the night. Something human-shaped, yet with a forest of antlers on its head. Awakened by adrenaline, Phoebe turned her head and looked more carefully through the window. Nothing. She really was exhausted.
Cosy in her small cottage, which was adorned with decorations appropriate for the impending holidays, the struggling author decided that a hot bath would revive her. The 150 year-old staircase creaked as she climbed. The lights dimmed. The lights weren't supposed to dim. An effect of the snowstorm, Phoebe supposed as she continued up through the gloom.
It was an effort to pull the jumper over her head, to unclasp her bra and step out of socks, knickers and leggings. Beyond the window the night somehow seemed even darker. Phoebe's imagination began to take over and she thought that there may be someone out there looking in at her bared body, even though she lived deep in the countryside. She quickly slipped from the warmth of the air to the hotness of the water.
Snow hissed against the windowpane, bubbles gently fizzed, but otherwise all was silent. One idle hand drifted between her legs, the other drew a smiley face in the condensation on the glass. Immediately behind the face another appeared with a smile as wide as the one just drawn. It was as white as the snow, but for two dark circles in which were set yellow eyes.
Phoebe was held fast by fear. Deep but silent vibrations caused wavelets in the bath water, the lights dimmed further. Outside the apparition appeared to be stretching a long arm further and further until it disappeared out of sight. The drains gurgled and the lights blinked off, just after a hand and arm began squeezing impossibly through the overflow drain.
Despite her terror in the sudden darkness, Phoebe felt the stirrings of pleasure rise in her core. Those vibrations were the perfect resonance and she despaired at feeling them deep inside at this moment, her sense of touch enhanced and responding so powerfully to the low rumbles. While being stimulated, her mind was simultaneously trying to locate that intruding hand, despite the total lack of light.
Her mouth opened in a silent scream as the hand found her ankle, then her calf, knee and thigh. It moved inexorably towards the V of her cunt. At last Phoebe overcame the paralysing fear and felt herself able to move again. And yet...she didn't. She remained in the bath and surrendered herself to the first intimate touch she'd experienced for years. She didn't dwell on how fucked up it was to be pleasured by a supernatural being, she just spread her legs and drifted into the darkness.
It was no longer a hand; it had formed into tubular flesh which eased inside her and pulsed in rhythm with those vibrations. Some sort of digit had sought out her clitoris and was thrumming at a higher and faster frequency. Phoebe was entirely overcome with arousal.
But then the vibrations stopped, the phantasm withdrew and the lights flicked on. No longer was there a face at the window. Phoebe turned to look through it and there, at the edge of a nearby forest, stood the crepuscular figure resplendent with those uncountable antlers, all of which seemed to writhe and reform.
It returned Phoebe's stare and she felt it within her flesh. She was possessed by the feel of it inside her. Oblivious to her nudity, Phoebe stepped out of the bath and down the stairs.
The decorations were now strands of ivy and spurts of holly. Branches and roots were slowly penetrating the cottage. It no longer belonged to her and she now belonged to something else. Phoebe continued out into the flake-flecked night, a slave to the pleasure giver. The being turned and led it's naked devotee into the woods, followed by hungry eyes.
Saturday, 23 November 2019
Karl pitied the man who dropped his cake. He was being forced to his knees in front of the domineering Raul Pinewood. But he didn't pity him because he was naked - all the bakers were naked, except for collars and chains - but because of the humiliation he was about to endure.
"You make a mess, you clean my boots!" boomed the soft Liverpudlian accent.
The man obediently took his tongue to the black leather and got to work. Two cameras zoomed in on his bared, upturned ass. Inevitably the prostrate submissive arched his back to provide an even better show.
This was the tenth in the series of the Great Brutish Bake Off, a format borrowed from that rather more wholesome other show. But this one, streamed on the Internet, was considerably more popular.
Raul slapped the sub's butt hard. His punishment served, the boot licker was now being consoled by the two presenters, their hands (and the cameras) all over him.
Karl added a dash of vanilla to his mixture and smiled at the irony. Oh goodness, here she comes, he thought. Drew Fife was the show's other expert and - just like the TV version - was an older woman and a massive perv.
"Hello Karl, what are you making?" she asked.
"A raspberry sponge topped with a sliver of vanilla pannacotta and drizzled with dark chocolate."
By now a camera had joined them. Predictably it filmed the conversation from behind so that it could take in Karl's bare rear. His - and the other bakers' - nudity was, after all, the reason for why millions tuned in.
"Mmm, delicious," Drew purred before grabbing his butt, "I see you have a firm bottom. And a delicious cock."
"STOP BAKING!" one of the presenters yelled.
Immediately chains were yanked and the bakers led to the front of the tent. They knelt while the experts sampled their food.
"Whose is this?" Raul asked.
Karl raised his hand. He noted the rare glimpse of a smile on the dominant man's face and knew what was coming.
"Excellent job Karl."
The beefy hand patted the gingham alter and Karl lay upon it. He felt both pride at being singled out as well as despair at having to submit to this ritual; the famous Raul Pinewood handjob.
Oily lotion was applied to Karl's genitals and the large Liverpudlian began slowly stimulating him. Karl felt uncomfortable, but thought of the fortune he was making and surrendered himself to the surprisingly delicate touch of the other man.
"Hmmm, you're a bit under-proved," Raul said, with Karl's hardening cock gripped in both hands.
Karl couldn't help but notice the cameras closing in, nor the look of joy on Drew's face. The slippery, yet tight grip on his cock felt incredible. He closed his eyes and once again thought of the money.
"Let's see that creamy filling," Raul growled.
Read more delicious showstoppers, submitted to the Great BDSM Bake Off: