Snippets Part One - The Artists By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca Following is a series of short (one page) vignettes. Content will vary from vignette to vignette. Each is themed according to either the style or subject matter of a particular artist. Some readers may find particular stories to be disturbing or offensive. Rodin By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca She was truly, truly wicked. He realized that now. The scope of her imagination, the thing he admired most about her, was far beyond his own imagining. He knew she was creative - that was evident from her profession as a graphic artist. He had seen her work many times, and long admired the thinking process behind it. Watching her at work, at the computer or the art table, was something to behold. Bold strokes here, a dash of colour there, pinpoints of black here and there ... amazing how she could take a blank piece of paper and make something appear on it. Her creativity in the bedroom astounded him. A virtual sexual gymnast, like nothing he had ever experienced before. He laid claim to many a pussy scalp, many notches on his bedpost, but he now thought she was way beyond his experience. She had him thinking that right now. There was nothing else he could do. Well, he could squirm, but that would only result in a sharp rebuke, most likely from Her whip. Which would make him squirm, which would hurt and which would make Her to command him to sit still, which made him nervous, which would eventually cause him to squirm again and ... Catch 22, twice over. She asked him to pose for her. He thought it would be fun. But the reality was not what he thought it would be. He was surprised how long he was able to hold the pose. Chin on right hand, which was curled into a fist. Right elbow against right knee. Right foot on the balls of his feet. Legs slightly apart, so his penis and testicles were dangling. Left leg back slightly, ankle pressed against the rocky surface. He thought had been in this pose for hours, but knew it was probably less than two. He could not move, because She had used tape and rope to bind him into the exact pose. Then silenced him with Her panties, wadded and stuffed into his mouth, lips covered by clear tape. The rock on which he was sitting was uncomfortable. Its hard, rough surface scratched and poked and prodded. His ass was slowly burning from discomfort. Not to mention the vibrator She had stuffed inside him. Fuck! His right thigh was starting to twitch! Was he getting a cramp? He willed it to be still, his mental processes focusing on the misbehaving muscles ... and making it worse. The cramp grew, the muscle contracting, contracting, growing ever tighter, crying out for release, now demanding to be stretched. He groaned. Her whip cut through the air like a shark slicing through a school of mackerel. The stripe it left was red hot, a line of fire to remind him to Sit Still. She laughed. "Only two more hours to go sweetie," She said. "Then I'll think about releasing you." She stroked his face. A gentle, sweet. loving touch. She smiled at him. "Think you can make it? Dali By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca The icing is absolutely delicious. Sweet, creamy, a delightful mint flavour. Caroline always makes this icing for her rich chocolate cake, and she really has outdone herself this time. I run my index finger through the icing, making a diadelesque, the gooey sweet sticking to my finger, clumping in a sugary mound. I pop the finger into my mouth and slowly suck. Mmmm, delicious! The chocolate cake coats my fingers in a dark brown mess, crumbs falling on my lap and chest. I am careful to avoid the candles that burn so bright - don't want to burn myself, after all. Perhaps I should blow them out soon. More cake and icing. Eating with my fingers like a child. But a fork just would not work, not this time. Nor would a fork be as much fun. "Hmmm, now that's an idea," I say thinking out loud. I am sitting on the floor, legs stretched out beneath the table. I rose, and walked into the kitchen. The freezer door hissed, a blast of cold air. The rattle of a drawer, metal against metal rising up from within. Returning to the family room, I settle back in, legs stretched out beneath the table. There is a squeak as my barefoot bumps against one of the items dangling. I ignore it. "What's a cake without ice cream?" I muse out loud. I thrust the scoop into the French vanilla confection, and plop a rounded frozen ball in the spot I had just prepared. Caroline moans. The table shudders. I give her naked butt a swat. "Be still, you'll make me spill my cake." I slid my hand, an icing and cake covered hand, and rubbed it across her naked breasts. Her nipples point at the floor like a cow's udders. They beg to be pinched. Naturally I oblige. She moans again. Holding the scoop about a foot above her back, I watch as a big glob of ice cream goes splat, and settles on her coccyx. As it melts, it will trickle down between her cheeks. "Mmm, good cake sweetie," I chortle, scooping another handful of cake and icing from her back. "Here, have a taste." I thrust two fingers through the ring gag that holds her mouth open. I smear the icing inside her mouth, then, just for the fun of it, drag a fingernail along her tongue. A most horrible sensation, one that will make the very sensitive tongue itch and twitch for a couple of minutes, heh heh. Caroline shakes her head, her stylish cut now festooned with a mess of icing and chocolate cake. Her face is smeared with the sticky stuff too. I wonder what cake Caroline will want for her birthday?. DaVinci By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca "Raise your arms above your head until the palms meet, then slowly back down to your sides." The whirr, snap, whirr, snap of shutter clicks. "Beautiful, darling. Okay, do it again, this time, open your legs to shoulder width, then close them again." Whirr. Snap. Whirr. Snap. "Okay, hold it, right there." She shook her head, tresses black as the darkest corners of a jungle, flying about her shoulders. Almond eyes watching, anticipating, as he moved toward her. A slight sheen beginning to show against her tawny skin, the heat of the photographers lights warming her nakedness. She looked like the sketch from Renaissance Florence, a female form instead of a male. Arms straight out from the shoulder, legs apart. Everything exposed. She didn't move as he inched closer, ever closer, until his body heat mingled with hers, and his breath was soft and wet against her flesh. His hand cruised down her chest, exploring her, reading her as if she were Braille. "ouch!" she grimaced as he pinched a nipple. "Shut up." His hands roamed at will. Breasts, belly, buttocks, the shaven cleft between her legs, the deep recesses hidden therein. She stood still, enduring it. He shaped her hands into fists, covered the fists with a layer of plastic wrap. Black tape followed the plastic. Her fine hands, musician's fingers that lived to pluck and stroke and glissando, rendered into stumps. More plastic wrap, around her chest beneath her breasts, over shoulders, around arms, a web of clear plastic. "Say ahhh", he smirked. She opened her mouth. Moaned as he parted her labia. The lubricated metal and plastic probe was cool, and bigger than she expected. A second probe pushed against her anus. It hurt as it pressed forward, then, almost with a pop! It was past the ring and inside her. She stood still as he connected wires, and led them back to where his camera lay. He pressed her legs together, wrapping them with plastic film, encasing her like a piece of grade A meat, or a see through mummy, she was not sure which. Her breasts were still open to the air. Matching clips, connected by a fine chain, snapped her nipples to attention. A final pass of the plastic wrap, covering her but not the chain. Humming to himself, the photographer gingerly lowered her to the floor. Still humming, he connected the loose wires to a small box. Pushed a button. She jerked and cried out as the electrical current pulsed through her most intimate places. "Perfect", he said. He looked at her face. And understood La Giaconda's smile. Gauguin By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca Her life long fantasy, her treasured dream - to have a simple cottage at the edge of a sandy beach. To listen to the gulls and shorebirds as they scrounged and scavenged. The music of the ocean as it ebbed and flowed, crashing on to the shore, pausing, then slowly, effortlessly sliding back, gathering its energy to do it again and again and again. She watched the gulls circling overhead. Their cries were raucous now. Bitter, sharp, tormenting sounds. They flew round and round, their beady little eyes always watching what was happening below. Their greedy beaks ready to snatch up any morsel of food available to be gobbled down greedily. The wave tickled her foot. It was cool, refreshing in the burning stare of the afternoon sun. She was very, very hot. Definitely not accustomed to this kind of heat. Her fair Nordic skin was burned a bright lobster red already. Her throat was parched. She would have given her soul for a glass of water, not to say what she would have done for an ice-cold beer. The sand itched and scratched when she moved. More small gravel than sand, not the white ashtray smooth sand she had dreamed about. This was jagged, small sharp cutting stones, volcanic and coral and rough. She felt a tickle at her waist. The soft touch against her burned skin was like a poker. But it was only a crab, wondering what was in his way. It scrabbled up and over her, spidery legs inflicting incredible pain against too exposed flesh. Flies buzzed about her lips. Lovely, plump red glossed lips that now were blistered, cracked, black. Eyes swollen almost shut saw a gull make a controlled glide toward her. She turned her head. Over her outstretched arm she could see the gull cock its head, looking at her. "shoo." She croaked. No sound escaped her lips. The gull hopped closer. She flashed back to the man she had met in the bar in that resort near Bali. "Want some adventure, darling?" he had tempted. Drunk and horny and lonely, she was easy prey for the land shark. He had robbed her, raped her, beaten her, and now here she was. Naked. Staked out on a deserted beach, no water, no shade, no hope. She sensed the gull near her face. "Fuck you," she whispered. "Fuck you," the gull replied. His dagger beak darted forward. She squeezed her eyes shut. Screamed into the wind. A bright red flower slipped from behind her ear to the sand. Picasso By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca She did not recognize her face. It wasn't her face. Not any more. Maybe, the thought scared her, maybe not hers ever again. Two blue eyes, soft and clear as a virgin mountain lake. Her other features, were gone. Only her eyes remained. The soft kid leather covered her from the crown of her head to the whiteness of her throat. It was sleek and shiny and smooth. Black leather, black as coal, black as night, black as... ... nothing. She looked again into the full-length mirror her Master had placed in front of her. She saw a naked woman, legs shoulder width apart, anchored to the rear of the small platform by chains, 5 inch heels adding to her height, causing her calves and thighs to display their shape. A black leather single glove ensnared her arms - like her ankles, it too was chained to a ring in the platform. A crotch rope bisected her shaved mound of Venus. Secured to the front of the platform, the rope pulled her waist forward. The padded support bar beneath her shoulders, and the protruding piece that pushed her waist forward, curved her like an English longbow, stretching her, emphasizing her musculature. He had covered her face and head with a shiny black leather hood, an attached penis shaped gag filling her mouth. Was it "her" mouth? She didn't know anymore. He had used her body like a canvas. Painted her with long narrow red stripes, from the cane. Splattered red marks, shiny and hot, from the cat. Pink patches, from his hand and the pony whip. Angry purple on her thighs - the quirt had caused her much pain. She groans. Trying to adjust her splayed form, to ease the strains, the crotch rope digging, burning, slicing her in half. Footsteps. He comes. She moans in fear. He comes. And in His arms A rainbow, A kaleidoscope, A palette of candles.
Snippets Part Two: Seven Mortal Sins By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca A series of short vignettes. Content will vary from vignette to vignette. Some readers may find particular stories to be disturbing or offensive. Wrath Sloth Pride Lust Greed Gluttony Envy Wrath By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca "What are you doing?" he laughed. Her face close to his, long blond hair draped across his head and shoulders like a veil. She giggled as she straddled his chest, holding his wrists. "You'll see," she whispered, hot and sultry, "and it's going to be fun." A tiny hand slipped beneath a pillow and withdrew a silk scarf. Knotted it around his wrist and to the bedpost. He roared with mirth, fighting back like a playful bear. She pressed down on his chest, her hot wet feminine core hard against his sternum, naked legs straddling his ribs. "Lie still slave, or I'll punish you," she teased as she tied his other wrist. Satisfied he was secure, she kissed him. Her tongue slipping across his palate, his teeth, his lips. He moaned as she nipped at his nipple. She turned around to face his feet. Kneeling forward, she commenced tying off his ankles to the footboard. Straining, he leaned forward, trying to reach her exposed pussy. "There!" she said. She rolled off him and stood by the night table. "Now what?" he asked, feigning fear. She smiled back. "I'm going to place a condom on your cock, then give you a blow job until you come." "Mmmmm, sounds like just a horrible torture." She showed her teeth. "Oh it will be, I promise you." She climbed back on the bed. Straddled his chest. Unrolled a condom. And ... Later, he was still spread-eagled on the bed. The condom, filled with his cum, slopped around his now shriveled cock. She was in the bathroom, brushing her hair. "You know, I could sure use some wine." She stood in the doorway. "Shut up." She picked something off the floor near the bed. Rubbed it against her private parts, then across his. Stuffed it into his mouth. "My panties should keep you quiet." He tried to speak, but the wadded cloth rendered him unintelligible. "Wine. Good idea." She said. Padded out of the room, returning with a bottle and two glasses. She poured some clear liquid into each glass, took a sip from one. Red lipstick clung to the rim. Sipped from the other, and then dribbled the liquid across his face. She dressed, blew him a kiss, and headed for the bedroom door. Turned. Went into the bathroom, came out with strands of hair in her fingers. "You know, you should have told me you were married." She scattered the hairs across his naked form. "I hope she's a blonde." Blew him another kiss. And vanished. He strained against his bonds, desperate for release, howling his anger. The fucking scarves were just too well knotted and too fucking strong. The room stunk of wine, stale perfume and stale sex. Fifteen minutes passed. The sound of a door opening. "Honey?" came a woman's voice. It reeked of cheer. "I'm home..." Sloth By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca She was licking his face. Making cute little grunting whining noises, like a baby seal asking for her mother's teat. He opened one eye. Groaned. His pet was lying on her side, her head against the pillow next to his. Red hair splayed out in every direction of the compass. The harness gag and O ring kept her mouth open, The little pink tongue flicked in an effort to lick him again. "Ah-uh? Eee?" He had been tired when he arrived home from work. A twelve-hour shift in the plant, printing presses roaring and clacking, monstrous rolls of paper whirring, the smell of ink and paper and dust and god knows. A couple of beers with the guys when the long shift finally ended, and then home. He was tired. She was bored. Wanted to go out. Wanted to par-tay. Fuck her. He tied her up, left her on the bathroom floor. Had a shower, threw her on the bed, climbed in, and went to sleep. She lay on her side, tied wrists to ankles, a belt around her upper arms and chest, the gag. She wiggled like a worm, a caterpillar, trying to get him to ... to what? Release her? Screw her? His erection was hard. Very strong. He was ready. He ignored it. Rolled over, on his side. His back to her. And closed his eyes. Pride By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca It was the stuff of dreams. An entire species, with bipedal females whose oestral cycle placed them in a state of heat that was unmatched anywhere man had previously visited. The stories of the sexual appetites of the "catwomen of Cauldor" were well known throughout the Corps. And when in heat, their bodies exuded a powerful aphrodisiac, a scent that stimulated and kept a man aroused much longer than he ever thought possible. Rick was in his glory. He had oft bragged to his fellow Corpsman about his sexual prowess, and supported his claims in the shower room. He made sure all his lesser endowed comrades knew about his massive cock. It was his pride and joy. And now these three absolutely magnificent catwomen knew about it too. He had encountered them in the bar frequented by spacers and natives alike. He loved their feline grace, the soft golden downy fur that covered their sleek, muscular bodies, their stunning long manes. Their leader, the one called Xearra, had cozied up to him, literally purring as she stroked his arm, his chest. When her prehensile tail groped his groin, her golden almond shaped eyes widened in surprise and delight. He knew he was better equipped than most men - hell, his bedpost had the notches to prove it, he liked to boast - but Xearra was so impressed, she called over to her friends. And now here he was, comfortably ensconced on a set of huge pillows, naked as the day he was born, with three incredibly horny females. Their scent was overpowering. He touched his cock. It felt different, bigger, stronger, more powerful than ever. Like a steel girder, round and thick as a Greek column. The tabbies were all around him, all over him, licking, stroking, kissing, touching, smelling, probing. They purred and moaned, making noises he had never heard, each sound pulsating through to his very essence, building him up in his mind to be a powerful figure, a giant, a god ... "mmm, I bet you've never seen a cock as big as mine", he said as Xearra slowly slid down his belly to his crotch. "Oh yesss," she mewed. "I , we, look forward to enjoying it." He reached to stroke her feline head. One of the catwomen straddled his chest. Her musk so powerful, he almost slipped into unconsciousness. She grabbed his wrists and pinned him to the bed. She was unbelievably strong - he couldn't move an inch. A leonine face came close to his, rough tongue licking, tasting. A sharp pain in his ear. He saw a trickle of blood on her lips - did she bite him? "Ssstrange one," she hissed. "You taste .... Exotic. You will be a rare treat for us." Xearra growled. Her two companions hissed in response, moving back but keeping Rick pinned down. He raised his head. "Stranger," Xearra said, her voice dripping with lust. "Our cubs will be strong, thanks to you. " "But, but, our races cannot interbreed!" Rick stammered. Xearra laughed, her wicked sharp teeth gleaming. "We do not want your seed, you stupid pathetic creature! Our males already provided that!" Her head dived into his crotch. Rick screamed as unbelievable pain ravaged his body. Xearra's head rose, a bloodied mess of man flesh dangling from her mouth. "We have merely worked up an appetite." Lust By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca His teeth clenched tight in a rictus mask. He was close, oh so close! He could feel all those little sperms, their tails wiggling as they gathered, ready to race through his swollen cock. He watched her every day in class. Saw her at the local store where she worked. Licked his lips when she wore that skimpy little cheerleader's outfit - he knew she did it just for him, and he smiled. Now, the luscious pussy cunt bitch was his. She was tight, exquisitely tight, her every vaginal muscle contraction acting like a hot wet vise, squeezing his throbbing shaft in a lover's grip. Of course, the way she was tied made sure of it. He started with a strappado - elbows and wrists and thighs and knees and ankles all cinched by leather straps, her arms hoisted up so high they were parallel to her legs. He had fucked her mouth first, the ring gag making sure he had plenty of lubrication when he moved to take her up the ass. And such a sweet, sweet ass! He shuddered at the thought of it. Glorious round mounds of muscle and flesh stretched taut as possible by the strenuous uncomfortable strappado slamming against his hips as he thrust and buried himself to the hilt ... But that wasn't enough. Not for him, not this time. He strung her up, wrists to ankles, ponytail to wrists, a tight ball hoisted in the air, at just the right height for his waiting man meat. She squealed and screamed in fear and delight as he pushed his purple headed shaft against her bright coral pussy lips, and with a single, massive push, plunged so hard and so deep inside her, he could swear his cock touched her uvula ... He knew she wanted Him, wanted all of Him, in every and any way He could imagine. "Fuck you, you bitch!" he growled, his teeth rammed tight against each other, his lips curled back in a snarl of beastly pleasure as his seed shot, rocketed, roared from the one eyed love shaft in an explosion of lust ... The pounding of jungle drums, his heart thundering as he shot his seed. The pounding of a fist against wood. . "Jason, come on! You've been in there for-ever!" his little sister yowled from the other side of the closed bathroom door. Greed By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca Thumpthumpthumpthump! Heartbeat to pace a Formula One car. Forehead, chest, belly, sweaty slick as a rain soaked Grand Prix course. Back muscles, leg muscles, stretched to their limits, and beyond. Her hand clutching his cock like the knob on a gearshift. They had met last night at the Fetish Ball. It was lust at first sight for him. She was medium height, lean, sleek and muscular as a lioness, face crowned by a mane of red hair. Blood red nails, small sharp white teeth, cat's eyes that pierced through to his crotch. She was a captive lioness, spread-eagled in a frame, sweat and passion oozing from her nakedness as she growled and panted. He had taken up a flogger, red stripes morphing the lioness into a tiger, causing her to roar out her lust and defiance and heat. Later, in the hotel room, she had shown him things he had only read about, taken his body in ways he had never dreamed. Sucked every drop of semen from his cock, slurped his seed from him, drawn it into her body like a lioness devouring a gazelle. The female human has seven orifices, he thought, and he was sure he had cum in at least five. No wonder she had been tied into that whipping frame. He turned his head toward the night table. Reached for the wine glass with his right hand. Gasped as she tried to shift gears with his now exhausted cock. "More," she growled, her voice husky with too much drink, too much sex. "I want more." His right hand around the wine glass. Her right hand in his genitals. "More." He turned his head toward hers, seeking to plant a kiss that would stall. She turned her face to the man lying next to her. His cock began to rise as she stroked and squeezed. Michael watched, mouth full of wine, as the lioness mounted the other man in the bed. Gluttony By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca Her blood is red. Pick an adjective: cranberry red, crimson, scarlet, ruby, it all comes down to this: Blood red. Her torso has been cut and hacked and cut some more. Brutal. Vicious. Butchery. He did not care about that, any of that. Her pain, her suffering. Poof. No matter to him. It is only his pleasure that interests him. His pleasure. As far as he was concerned, she was just meat. He smiled. He could smell her flesh, and it excited him. If he poked her, her muscle would rebound, and come back to its original shape. That excited him - it meant she was fresh. Fresh meat. Juices dripping from the heat that bathed her, the fire built from his desire, his pleasure that roasted her with its power and majesty. She had appeared one day, big liquid brown eyes that you could swim in, beautiful slender legs, big nipples, and innocent - oh so very innocent, unsuspecting as a cow in a slaughterhouse. Then it happened to her. Her limbs were bound, she was stripped, and The men ... They attacked her, savagely, without mercy. Causing her to cry out in terror and fear and pain until suddenly, with a single stroke, an instance in time so fast she could not see it coming, her pitiful existence ended. "How's your steak, honey?" his wife asked. He looked down at the piece of rare, bloody meat that minutes earlier had been on his barbecue and days, weeks earlier had been a living creature. "Delicious," he said. Envy By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca ... Britney's eyes went wide, round as saucers, as Justin unzipped. 'Oh baby baby baby baby!" she exclaimed, realizing that Justin was not wearing a codpiece after all. She clapped her hands in girlish glee as his shaft of love sprang free. A full twelve inches of throbbing passion loomed before her ripe red lips. Britney almost swooned with delight. "Oh Justin, now I understand why your friends call you "Timber Leg", she muttered as she leaned forward, her pretty pink tongue flicking the massive purple head ... "Fuck me," I said as I scrolled down to the final moments of the story. "I write better than this shit." I clicked back to my own story. 4,319 hits. One and a half stars. The Britney-Justin piece of crap. 13,253 hits. Four stars. "Fuck me," I muttered. I clicked on "Write a Review" ...
Snippets Part Three: The Elements By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca There are twelve animal signs in Asian astrology. Each is subject to the influence of four elements. Earth. Water. Wood. Metal. Earth By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca The scream is ripped from her throat the way a starving beast ravages the flesh from carrion. It was torn out from behind her teeth, past her lips and flung away into the air above and behind and around her. They had grabbed her, strapped her up. Laughing all the time. At her fear, her terror. Pushed her forward out to the little platform. On one side, the men who tormented her, who wanted to rip the clothing from her and use her body before tossing it away. On the other side: air. She had no choice. She stepped forward. There was nothing there and it hit her with a force she could not believe. She plunges down, her succulent breasts pushed flat by the uprushing nothingness. She knows what is below her, what is coming for her. It terrifies her. Exhilarates her. Excites her. She is so close to death and le petit mort, she knows if she touches herself she will cry out and buck in a frenzy of passion. The earth is her lover-in-waiting. The ground and trees and rocks and stones and dirt and riverbed look up at her. The earth wants her, expects her. It will take her in its unrelenting embrace, and ... ... and what is now 135 pounds of muscle and hair and sinew and bone and flesh will be smashed and broken and jellied and with time, absorbed ... She closes her eyes. And screams. And touches herself, through her jeans, strokes the wet white-hot channel between her legs. She comes, her body convulsing. And twisting and flipping as the bungee cord reaches its limit. And yanks her back up in the air. "Fuck! What a ride! Woo-hooo!" she yells. Her friends on the bridge hoot back. The earth sighs. The earth is patient. It knows it will possess her, one day. Water By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca Dripdrop. Dripdrop. Egg shaped, tear shaped, splashes of water, falling into a pail of water. Dripdrop. Dripdrop. Maddening, annoying, hateful sound. Each drop slightly louder than the last, growing incessantly: a clap, a slap, a gunshot, a thunderclap ... Louise gritted her teeth. Bit down hard on the string clenched between her upper and lower incisors. She hated the string, but not as much as she hated the dripping water, and not even close to how much she hated what might, will happen if, when she releases the string or if, when the bucket is so full she can't stand it any longer. Drip. Drop. If she looked down, she could see the bucket as it slowly filled with water. Moving her head forward relaxed the string in her mouth. The string led from her clenched teeth through a ring in the basement ceiling to the handle of the bucket. It was wrapped around the handle in a secure knot before it continued on its journey to the chain connected to her nipple rings. Moving her head forward lowered the bucket making the string leading back to her chest even tauter, pulling her hurting nipples, stretching them to the tearing point. Dripdrop. Her feet were past pain, zoning into numb. She balanced like a dancer, almost en pointe, splayed in a naked X, balls of her feet on narrow blocks of wood. It was her calves that alarmed her, frightened her. In the past twenty minutes, both legs had begun to tremble from the strain of her balancing act. Dripdrop. The vibrator in her cunt hummed happily. Drip drop. She considered just letting go of the post, stepping off the blocks, masturbating in the shower instead. Dripdrop. Dripdrop. Drip. Drop. Wood By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca She was teak. Not brown nor red, the golden hued sun-kissed colour that is somewhere in between. Smooth, sensual to touch, like satin wood. Fragrant, a hint of a polished sheen. Her nipples were twin acorns, dark and ripe. Near the left acorn nipple was a small dark blemish as if it marked the spot where a twig had been snapped off. Her rich darkness had captured him. Enthralled him. He wanted her, to feel her smoothness beneath his hands his chest his body, to shape her, possess her. He stalked her. Could not would not leave her be. One night he took her. Saw her in a bar. Talked to her. Slipped ketamine into her drink when her eyes looked another way. Helped her to his car. Helped himself to her. He kept her for a week. Explored her body with his fingers tongue eyes nose cock. Fed her, soothed her, washed her, wiped her. Loved her. She was a forest of resistance, strong proud, powerful, unbending, immovable. He was the lumberman, patient with his tools, wearing her down bit by bit by bit. His will, his desire, his love swayed her like a soft wind through the boughs, caressing, persuading, unceasing, relentless, irresistible. She bent like a willow. He tied her, shaped her, trained her with his ropes and wires like a bonsai. Created perfection in her. Patient, waiting for the fruit to blossom. Time. A week. Another week. A month. She swayed. Resistance faded into the dark shadows cast by love. Her love grew in bursts, like a sapling at the edge of the forest. She came to need his shelter, warmth, nurture. She began to flourish under his watchful care. She grew to love him. Wanted him. To be his. Lover. Slave. She bent to his desires, his fantasies. Wore a steel band around her neck that said she was owned by him. No matter how he used her with his ropes and chains and whips she always sprang back like the sapling. He loved her for that. One day of her own accord she called him Master. Another day offered herself for discipline. Begged. She made his favourite foods. Brought his paper. Fluffed his pillow. He was pleased. Their love grew like twin oaks. He awoke from an unplanned nap to find he was naked, tied to a wooden ladder. Realized she was stroking him into an erection. He smiled through his puzzlement. "What are you doing sweet thing?" He was stiff, strong as an oak plank, his swollen member round, hard as bamboo. "Setting myself free." She stretched his cock out with one hand. A glimmer of light against metal, like a sunbeam on the edge of the woodsman's axe. Severed the limb at the root. She was the only one in the forest to hear it fall. Metal By Fox Copyright 2003, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form strictly prohibited without written permission of the author - writerfox@fastmail.ca i do not understand why Master is so unhappy. i was being good. As good as i can be. Why is He angry? i sleep curled up at His feet, every night. i lick His feet, soft and gentle little dabs with my tongue. He tastes so wonderful to me! Male-taste, strong and dominant. It makes me very horny to feel His skin underneath my tongue, His scent filling my nose. The soft sighs He makes as He sleeps. i love Him so. Why is He angry with me? He had gone out and left me alone, which is okay because He does that all the time. He put a little food in my dish, and some water in my dish too, and told me to behave, and i did. i ate my food, okay, i got some of it all over my face but it's not easy eating stew from a bowl you know. Anyway, i washed my face a bit when i lapped up the water from the bowl. But when He came home, He said i was bad, and yelled and spanked me so hard my bum still hurts and then He grabbed me by the neck and dragged me into the bedroom and threw that hateful chain collar around my neck and said i was bad! Bad! Bad! And then He put my leash on the choke collar and i had to hurry crawl behind him and it hurt and choked me and i fell down on my belly and He dragged me and swore and He put me here, in my little metal cage. All alone. i can't play, or even hardly move around in here it's so small. i hate being in the cage. The metal floor is cold. The bars are cold. Why is Master so angry? i love Him so. If He lets me out, i'll be good, i promise! Promise! Promise! i'll never chew his slippers or pee on the bedroom floor ever again. i promise! In conclusion ... This is the third and final set of "Snippets". The concept for these little stories has roots in creative writing exercises, the Japanese haiku, and the Chinese sankei. They have been demanding and fun to write. I hope you enjoy one or more of these "Snippets". I welcome and encourage feedback, good and bad, about my work. Please write me at writerfox@fastmail.ca All replies will receive an answer. Thank you for reading my work. Sincerely, Fox
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