Round 5 (conclusion) 18+

(This is all that I wrote for the story but I would be willing to explore various other avenues at request, including something more romantic such as a reunion with Damien and Naida. This next and final chapter is by far the most graphic and may be disturbing to some readers. Sex, monster genitalia, demons, tentacles it is all in there. Since it starts out rather mild I have used an * to denote the point when it may become too unsettling for some readers.)


 “You made the fight seem so effortless.” Naida commented, turning to Dread now that they were alone. The demon’s apartment was in stark contrast to the one he shared with Damien. The walls were stained and peeling, the wooden floor beneath their feet was scoffed and discolored, the overhead light cast a jaundiced pallor on the room which seemed to transmute solid matter into shadow. There was scarcely any furnishings: a wooden table with a single wooden chair, an old chest, a mattress undressed and without frame. There were no dressings on any of the windows and Naida noted, to his dismay, that the bedroom was window to window with the neighboring apartment building. To his relief, however, the apartment was clean and the only smell of any sort was that of the apples in the kitchen. There was nothing by way of entertainment, nothing save for their bodies. His first impression was not a good one but he had not come to see the fighter’s apartment. He’d come to experience something dangerous and potentially extraordinary.


Dread did not truly understand the full extent of his prize. Generally he received cash. Cash he used to purchase food and basic necessities. Occasionally he received items which could be sold for cash. Naida was, as far as prizes went, rather impractical and yet he could think of countless ways to enjoy him.


“My opponent was worthy…”  Sammael deserved credit for his performance, credit that Dread was willing to dispense even in the warrior’s absence.  “It is I who am flawed…”  He said pulling the elf into his chiseled body. His embrace left Naida with only enough space to breathe. Reaching back he unbound the elf’s silken hair and buried his face into it. He was not one to refuse the opportunity for sex even when presented in such an unorthodox way. 


“In what way flawed?” Naida asked, managing to get some space between, not too much but enough that he could look at the demon more closely. Up close he thought Dread significantly more handsome but there was something frightening in his beauty. The elf’s lungs ached, his head filled with a cacophony, and his knees buckled. Dread steadied him. The aura he’d glimpsed in the fight, those violent shades of purple mimicked by the demon’s irises, weighed heavily upon him. For the first time that evening Naida felt something akin to fear but that fear did not diminish his appetite/curiosity.


“My heart is artificial.” Dread answered as if one could escape with such a threadbare explanation. Naida barely heard the male’s voice over his own pulse. He squeezed the demon’s forearm to steady himself. With his other hand he reached out to touch the scars above the fighter’s heart. 


“Does it cause you any discomfort?” Naida asked with a mixture of curiosity and concern. The extraction of the original heart had not been performed by a surgeon, it had been performed by a butcher. It had been a fatal wound and yet here they both stood.


“Only the memory lingers. The scars are old.” Dread answered and then added as an afterthought. “My heart might be artificial but I am capable of feeling both pleasure and pain.” Naida nodded slowly, that was reassuring to know. “I’ve been wondering for a while now…” Dread started his hands sliding downward and around the other’s lower back. “What does my prize include exactly?”


Naida nuzzled against Dread’s chest, breathing in his scent, but mostly hiding his face. “Cooking, cleaning, sex whatever you need.” He responded looking up. He found that Dread’s usual grimace was replaced with another, inscrutable expression. “Though it would seem there is very little to clean. Where do you keep your clothes?” Naida asked, his tone playful.


“I require very little.” Dread answered combing his fingers through the elf’s wavy hair. “I can cook and clean for myself. I will accept your body as payment.” The demon continued in a voice as dark as it was cryptic.


Naida wrapped his arms around Dread’s neck and his legs around the other’s narrow waist. Something in the effortless manner with which the demon lifted him, alarmed him. Although Damien didn’t like to be penetrated he allowed Naida a good deal of freedom, freedom to control what happened and when. Dread seemed more the type to take what he wanted. 


The heat coming from the demon’s body was staggering, it was, Naida felt, as if he stood at the mouth of a great furnace. His skin flushed. His lungs tightened, each breath exacting a toll in its extraction. Naida was suddenly grateful for the low setting on the thermostat for it served to sober and relieve him from the heat of Dread’s body. For a moment they were nearly face to face and the elf used the opportunity to kiss the demon full on the mouth. He felt the fighter’s tongue against the seam of his lips, felt it press inside, tasted the other male’s sweet saliva and melted against him. As soon as the kiss began they were tearing haphazardly at each other’s bodies, clawing and groping, and ultimately collapsing into a heap on the bare mattress. Dread’s mouth scalded his own, the ferocity, the hunger, pulling the air from his lungs in a matter of moments. The demon’s mouth was full of razor sharp teeth, even the most tentative touch of his tongue was enough to prick the skin. The kiss tasted mostly of apples but there was a little bit of blood mixed in, his own blood. Dread untied his sarong, underneath the almost sheer fabric he wore only cloth strips which he’d wrapped intricately to avoid accidental exposure. They weren’t unlike the folds Dread used to bind his own genitals. It took only moments for the demon to unwrap him.


Dread’s mouth dropped down over his throat and shoulders, across his chest, where he lingered. Each nipple was sucked, flicked, licked, tormented into a state of throbbing rigidity. Naida rutted against the demon’s right thigh, sobbing helplessly into the stranger’s shoulder. In a matter of moments the elf was slippery with precum, clear, elastic, almost sparking pre cum. His cock echoed like a scream in an empty hall. The organ grew beyond its usual perimeters, he was, despite a very warranted fear, aroused to the point of hypersensitivity. The demon’s talons ran over his sides, leaving tiny red ribbons in his flesh that stung initially. The stinging was replaced with heat and an oddly electric tingle that made his head cloudy. Unable to focus his eyes he closed them. Clawing in the dark at whatever he could reach.


Dread had worked his way down to his crotch. Naida felt his thighs drop and two strong hands nudging his legs still further apart. He heard the stranger inhale slowly and felt in the whole of his being the growl that followed. The demon’s saliva was hot and cold at the same time. It felt like insects were crawling over his skin, his flesh prickled, goosebumps formed. Dread took everything into his mouth, his cock, his balls, all swallowed up in that hot, wet cavern. The demon’s tongue was mostly soft/pliable in the way that one expected a tongue to feel but there was one difference. In the center of the other’s tongue there was a nod, some extra taste receptor with a different texture. When drug across the underside of his cock or rubbed over the head his whole body broke down trembling. The male’s saliva dripped down to the base of his cock, a shock of contrasting temperatures spread across his pelvis. Naida’s body arched up sharply, mons right up against the other’s nose, the convulsions so strong that he could feel them not just in his perineum but deep inside his ass as well. He clutched Dread’s hair in both hands, raking the demon’s scalp with his nails. He shot ribbon after vicious ribbon down the back of the stranger’s throat. He heard the demon swallow, heard and felt him moan with pleasure.


Naida was still hard, still painfully swollen, his veins throbbing in time with his heightened pulse. Dread flipped him over on his knees. The backs of his thighs, his ass already soaked shamefully by his own fluids. He heard that Dread removed his clothes but when he tried to look the demon pushed his face into the mattress. He felt something peculiar press against him, something soft and flexible, something between a finger and a set of elongated lips. He felt it, possibly Dread’s cock, probing and suckling at his shuddering hole. He felt something almost the consistency of semen being smeared in the crevice between his legs and inside of him. He felt his legs giving out and a hand on his cock stroking him off. A hand big enough to sheath the whole of his sex, a hand calloused and strong, rubbing his nerves raw. He whimpered, mewled, begged to be fucked. He collapsed in the arm around his waist while that massive, slippery organ started to work/crawl its way inside. Pre cum or something like was spurted inside of him, filling him up, softening him. Arms, multiple slippery, suction cupped arms wrapped around his torso supporting him and forcing him back on that impossibly thick shaft. He felt it moving deeper and deeper inside, like a serpent. His body stretching, not quite tearing, but stretching to impossible dimensions to accommodate. Screams rose up in the back of Naida’s throat and for a moment he lost consciousness. 


When he woke a few seconds later Dread’s cock had gotten deeper, it was so deep that he felt as if it were twisted into his intestines. He could feel it writhing in his stomach, feel the bulge beneath his own tightly stretched skin. His hungry hole convulsed around the intrusion, drinking and sucking. He was forced back onto that shaft again and again with and without his consent, unable to escape the pressure. One of several tentacles let go of his waist and crept upward to his face. He grabbed hold, brought it to his mouth, and started to lick the slippery appendage with genuine hunger. The ooze it produced was sweet and delicious, strange colors swirled in front of his eyes, bending the light. He could hear the colors like music, like a violin almost. A tentacle engulfed his cock, the inner walls were covered in squishy nodules, creamy fluid seeped out from the seam, left his skin feeling like a current had passed through it. He came in the sheath, the tentacle drank it down hungrily, the suction enough to make his eyes water. He didn’t recognize his voice, the undignified whimpering, the husky repetitions of his temporary lover’s name. The projections on the head of Dread’s cock nudged at his prostate. More hot wet jets of cum were shot into the receiving tentacle. His body went limp, consciousness fading in and out, eyes rolled back, drool collecting in the corners of his slackened mouth. 


The fucking didn’t stop even after he lost consciousness. When he woke Dread’s massive cock was fully inside of him, he could see it moving inside of his stomach like a giant serpent. A thin, elastic tube slipped down his urethra, into his balls, following the same course his semen had taken moments before. His balls, which were emptied from multiple orgasms, were filled to bursting. He couldn’t cum while the probe was thus situated. He wanted to cum, needed to cum desperately. His body was burning up or was it freezing he couldn’t tell the difference. Dread’s pace increased, precise and unforgiving like a machine, his body shook as if in the throes of a seizure. His voice grew hoarse with the demon’s name. The serpent swelled, inches it seemed, he felt like he was being torn apart from the inside. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He was delirious, sobbing with a mixture of fear and intense elation. Had he the luxury of thought his life might very well have flashed before his eyes. He’d felt on the verge of death. For one blinding white moment he woke up, completely. They were one, indistinguishable, pure energy. The probe in his urethra slithered its way out. Naida’s climax was immediate. All that thick, white ejaculate type substance that had been forced into his sac came bursting out of his shaft in arcs, soaking not just the mattress but the wall in front of him. In the very same moment Dread was ejecting his own load with a force that literally convulsed him. With a force that ignited all his nerves and sent him spiraling in and out of consciousness. One minute the abyss, the next nirvana. He was drooling, clawing the sheets like a mad man, riding the other dry, ass greedy and convulsive. Dread removed his still hard cock. Naida felt himself lowered to the mattress. His last distinct memory was that of Dread’s cum trickling out of his still gaping ass and the other’s calloused hand stroking his back soothingly.


Stolen 7


Does time succumb to itself as all things must or is it merely a transparency? A recursive jest into which all men needlessly fall? I was 23 and still living at home. I had the means to acquire separate lodgings but my father’s health delayed their acquisition.

I bear such a strong resemblance to my father that I cannot offer a judgment as to his appearance that is not in some way biased by my own insecurities. I can only say that his illness had altered him unfavorably. His black eyes were all but ensconced behind his cheekbones. How the geography of his face could shift in such a traumatic fashion I cannot say but it was not for want of research. The webbing between his fingers had risen to the first knuckle and no matter how often we pruned his flesh it continued to grow back thicker. Though I knew not the etiology of his ailment I knew that eventually his hands would be swallowed by the metastasizing flesh. I knew that his eyes would soon disappear for each day his vision grew dimmer for impediments. A surgeon without eyes or hands was a detriment to his profession, he could not be reconciled. Had he been able he might have killed himself. He had started to use a wheelchair though I could detect no deformity that might account for the sudden loss of mobility. I only knew that when he stood his body gave way beneath him. He was only 55, his bones were still strong, his muscles still firm and pronounced I did not know if his weakness was of the mind or if gravity itself had betrayed him.

“Open the chest..” We stood in the basement, in my father’s room. I had been here many times now with consent though always in his presence. The chest he pointed too was the same one that I had refused to open as a child. My palms began to sweat, my heart took on notes of hysteria. I felt just as I had all those years ago and yet I offered no audible objections. I stood stupidly for a long while as if I could not comprehend my limbs well enough to articulate a purposeful activity. I moved but it was only to shift my weight.

“Come now Eli…I didn’t raise you to be a coward…” He motioned a stump in the direction of what I knew was a coffin. Inside there would be another meatless corpse, another body of meager and unfortunate proportions. I knew that those bones would resemble my father, what he was becoming and that I needed to see them in order to understand what was to come. Was this to be my future as well?

I opened the chest and inside were the bodies of two creatures, their bones were partially fused. I could not tell if they were human but I knew that they had never lived outside of the womb. The bodies were small, each one only slighter larger than my palm. Their bones were nearly translucent and I felt that if I touched them I might irreparably alter their shape. The skulls and hands of the fetuses were deformed just as Elizabeths’ were and more completely than my fathers.

The names inside the casket read “Elijah and Elizabeth…” Elizabeth was the name of the child in the adjacent box. My name was Elijah just like my father though no one referred to me such. “I don’t understand…who are these children?” My father wheeled his chair closer, so close that his knee brushed my elbow. “Those bones…” He kicked the chest with his foot causing the lid to fall and my heart to jump into my throat.

“They belong to you…and the sister you murdered…” My father’s breath smelled strongly of wine but he did not slur his words. “You’re drunk…” I said coldly though I could not verify one way or the other from his comportment. “I am not drunk…I only pretend to be an alcoholic around you and your mother…do you really think I’d sabotage my career over a petty vice…no son I was never a mean drunk…I am simply an asshole…” My father retorted.

“Then your mad the illness has gotten inside of you…eaten away that brain your so proud of…” I answered and though I tried to sound assertive my father’s words had shaken me. Was the reason I could see ghosts really that simple? Had I killed my sister for nutrients and then died in the refuse of her flesh?

“These are your children then? The babies she lost…the one’s that weren’t normal? My siblings? Why do they all have the same name?” I demanded. My father rarely employed humor but if ever he did I imagined it would be cruel.

“Would you rather that I called you Elijah Number 2?” My father snapped as if the entire topic was somehow beneath his consideration.

“You’re a heartless bastard….” The words came out underneath my breath and in a tone I did not recognize.

“If I were completely heartless I never would have married your mother…that woman was a pointless distraction but a distraction with which I could not part.” I didn’t want to talk anymore, my emotions had a reached an impasse. I was conflicted. My jaw gripped, my hands gripped. If I could have willed myself into stone I would have done so but I could not render myself into a compatible state of stoicism.

“To answer you previous question…they were our children…though they never amounted to much as you can see…your mother and I were not genetically compatible…that’s what makes you such an achievement Eli…” I felt sick to my stomach though I had nothing to exhale having eaten nothing recently. I felt my vision tear at the corners, the elongated images sliding apart reluctantly. I knew that I spoke but not what I said, only that it sounded to my ears as an incantation. I wanted nothing more than to erase my father from existence.

“Eli….Eli wake up….you’re scaring me…” Thyme’s voice was frantic, her white hands gripped my shoulders. I faced the closet door, my posture wooden, at some point during the night I had sat up. The closet door was wide open and though it was pitch black in the room I could see the X clearly. Was it an impression or did the symbol emit radiance? I caught the very end of my demonic mutterings but I could not decipher the words. “Who are you talking too?” I laid my hand on top of Thyme’s to console her. It was not a hand at all but a shovel made of flesh and bone.

I sat up in bed covered in sweat, I patted the mattress beside me but it was empty. Where had she gone? Did I have the dates confused? Had we even met yet? The sheets still smelled of her but they were ice cold.

The door opened suddenly uprooting my heart. My father stepped inside switching on the light, it was not unusual for him to impose on my sleep but he’d never done so when in company. He wore a tailored suit as was his custom, his thick black hair was combed neatly, it was the middle of the night or so I surmised from the black windows. “I need your help to move a body…get dressed….” I grabbed my pants not worrying about exposure because I knew my father would not wait for a reply. Though I could not recall my dream the sight of him both angered and terrified me.

“Where is she?” I demanded. My father made a face which bellied his impatience. “Who do you speak of Eli?”


I honestly can’t believe I have written so much of this story. I had some heinous nightmares last night because of it though.

2 Poems (Gehenna and Well) *warning deals with abuse*



In a ruined temple

I offered my heart. as small

As an infant’s fist


I held my tongue when

Faced with your authority

Defenseless and scared


I truly believed

In time you would love me as

I needed to be


As a daughter not

As a surrogate to my

Very own mother


Was I born broken

Or did the light displace a

Structural darkness?


I recall your hands

Peeling wool from a flock-less

Sheep to hide your sin


Grinding bone so that

Crippled I would never walk

On my own again


It was your black veins

Spiraling around my throat

To silence the screams


Never the monster

I supposed myself to be

Now a willing stray


What have I become?

An unchecked antihero

Denouncing all love


A dragon-scaled waif

Patiently suicidal

Tending Gehenna



Windows black as a night sky unpinned

Eyes darker still, mouth a well, an

Open-mouthed ossuary, in my soul the

Bones of a dead child turning tricks at

A critical deficit. I am a little more broken

Than I thought I would be, in the end a

Savior unsaleable, ophidian these neural

Pathways exiled by repeated exposure

To wicked  trees, I opened my eyes only to

Blink you were there father remember?


(I read this book recently on child abuse and it really got me apparently.)

Absinthe and the Netherworld 2


“You’ll need to drop your coat with the doorman and for that you’ll need to pay a fee…” Lilith said inclining her head toward the girl at an angle that made it appear almost dislocated. “I don’t have any money on me…” Absinthe said helplessly, she was wearing only a simple camisole top, a pair of hip-hugging pocketless orange shorts and a pair rainbow-colored socks. “No? Surely you have something precious…a memory perhaps?” The cat asked studying the girl, green eyes like pools of anti-freeze sickly sweet and toxic. “A memory?” The girl asked chewing her lip nervously. There were so few moments in her life sufficiently formed to allow for reflection that she was hesitant to part with any of them. “Hold out your hand and focus on a memory…but know that whatever moment you choose will be lost to you…” The cat said and for a long time Absinthe was silent, her face an estuary of fluid emotions that were simultaneously coalescing and repelling. At length she came upon a memory that she could part with but only because it might be replayed with the same wonderment that she had originally regarded it. Focusing on the memory she felt her palm grow warm, felt the fibers in her flesh tingle as if charged with electric currents.  The energy condensed into a single brass coin with symbols for which her untrained eyes could derive no meaning.


“Good now hand the coin to the Gatekeeper…” Lilith said causing Absinthe to look up with a start because she could not remember having seen anyone near the wrought-iron door when her eyes had first fallen upon it. The sentry was 7 ft tall, of a cyanic pallor that suggested death through either exsangiunation or hypoxia. He wore only the remnants of what was once a clergy man’s robes, and beneath the rough fabric his sinewy flesh was riddled with holes. His hair (if it could be identified as such) was not arranged in any particular fashion and his lack of consideration had left it gnarled and matted like syndactyly-afflicted fingers sticking together at every seam. His eyes were pools of black, so viscous that is seemed to take the creature a good deal of effort to align them. His face was angular high cheekbones swallowed shadows and his suppurating mouth was pulled so taunt that it looked starched and ironed. Extending a taloned hand, which was longer than Absintthe’s entire forearm, he waited solemn, expectant. The girl dropped the coin into the cup of his cretaceous palm where it vanished on delivery. “Leave your body here…” The voice came as if extricated forcefully through the bowels, as a vibration that quickened in her pulse and sank acidic into the hollows of her bones. Before the tremulous girl could respond the creature disconnected its jaw and opened wide its mouth beyond which lie neither teeth nor tongue, only emptiness. The sensation was like pulling hair from a drain pipe a sense of muculent decay and tangled resistance. For a split second she felt the hysteria of her nerves being unstitched.


When Absinthe awoke she was beyond the gate and Lilith was seated before her, delicate paw lifted to the insistence of a sandpaper tongue. “Whatever you do don’t look back…” The feline instructed eyes cold and surgical. The girl nodded no longer sensing her feet on the ground lest of all the boundaries of a reassuring flesh (or coat as Lilith had crudely called it). She felt expansive, dimensionless, free. She was now one of the “Vapor Men” and this realization filled her with both terror and awe. Even though she did not look back she heard the distinct sound of a windpipe gagging on a large object and she knew it was her cast off body being devoured, in painfully slow increments. “Its a safety precaution…and if it makes you feel any better your body is in a pocket plane not that things innards…” Lilith assured the girl who was shaking despite the absence of nerves or flesh. No words in that moment would have completely composed her.


“This is important aye so listen? Your soul and body can’t be separated for too long so keep close and don’t loiter…that’s the first thing…the second thing…this town is like any other you want to buy something you need jink…the problem is to get jink you’d either need to steal it or work for it…you haven’t got time to acquire a normal job and in that form you wouldn’t be good for much anyways…the only commodity you have, as far as I can tell, is your memories…you could share them at the Sensorium…the more details…the more senses involved…the more jink you can earn and its quick…they seal them inside sensory stones where anyone can come and make acquaintance…but its just the psychic imprint…you won’t lose anything through the exchange…” Lilith said her tail furling and unfurling sensually. “That coin…” Absinthe started but Lilith cut her off brusquely. “That wasn’t jink that was a Charon coin…” The Abyssinian’s answer satisfied her well enough, not that she would have ever paid such a price as the loss of a memory for a single coin but she was curious.“Can I bring things back home?” The girl went on undaunted by her companion’s impatience. “Well I wouldn’t advise anything edible…but yeah you could bring back a trinket or two…” The cat answered with a yawn. “What about the Sensoriums can I use the stones? Do I need jink?” Lilith turned away and started to walk in a north-westerly direction. “Not for the public Sensoriums…the privates ones are pretty intense could drive daft chit like you over the edge…” The feline answered throwing a wide toothy grin in Absinthe’s direction. “Is that where you want to go first then?” Lilith asked eyes affixed to her charge whose own irises were of the same haunting disembodied shade.

On Zombies with Bullies


“Well come on with ye then…” I said voice excised as if from scarified flesh, taunt with disconcerting shades of insistence. Hands impatiently placed on hips, I stood by the metal sarcophagi squinting at the corpse as it crept forward, the stone dusty, sibilant beneath shuffling feet. The decomposition on this specimen was minimal, only a short time deceased but as all the others his flesh was a chilling cyanic blue. No life passed in those caliginous irises, no inquisition, no acknowledgment of the pensile right arm now threadbare and toiling behind him.


Jamming a needle into the leathery hide I went to work, reattaching the wrecked limb. “Pfft…no respect for the dead…” I mumbled shaking my head. Every Zombie employed in the cities’ service came back vandalized aside from the nearly severed limb the body was littered with offensive graffiti. A few notices were even pinned to the torso some of which were want ads of dubious entreaty.  Working with Zombies in such proximity I understood their challenges. They could only carry out basic commands, suffered severe speech impediments, an ataxic gate, attentional deficits, and most concerning was that their condition was degenerative. Looking at a freshly prepped vessel gave one the sense of uncanny valley, they were human (or had been) but there was something terribly off. Their use was questionable morally but many insisted that they were soulless husks devoid of perception or sentiment at least when measured against statistical standards.  This degraded corpse had been the standard by which value was measured and now he existed so far outside the spectrum that he was treated as refuse.


“Next time some berk comes up to ye all suspicious like…let out a groan aye…a real deep one…and then point yer finger at him as if to say yer next…” I instructed extending a bony digit in my tumescent companion’s direction. “All ego…tiny stem…ye give ‘im a right scare won’t harass ye anymore…” I said looking to make sure the Zombie was following the conversation, he wasn’t. Muculent eyes were bobbing like apples in a barrel but still I went on. “Now go on give it a try…” I said cutting the thread and slathering the decimated flesh with a fresh layer of embalming fluid. “Mmmnnnguuhhh….” The Zombie’s carious windpipe gurgled, as if he were speaking face down in a bowl of soup. “Not bad…not bad….” I said tapping a jagged finger nail to my chin, hardly flinching as his fetid breath washed over my olfactory cells.


“Try something else…a little more passion this time ye wants to put the fear in ‘im….forget the finger….try saying something….real creepy like…” I said and the Zombie’s outwardly crossed-eyes suddenly drew inward, almost as if he were trying to find his nose. Tottering on his feet, he puffed up his chest and howled “BRAAAAIIIIINNNNSSS!” “Aye that’s good! Nearly wet meh knickers I did!” I said laughing dryly and nodding with vigorous approval. The cadaver’s poorly hinged jaw fell open wider as if to effect a smile. Whether or not bullies were of any concern to him personally was beyond my expertise but in that moment, almost canine, he seemed pleased with himself.


I confess I have a geeky side I love the old RPG Planescape Torment and this is sort of inspired from that hence the zombies and the strange language. Found out I am going to be sick for 6 to 8 weeks!

This is for

Carry on Tuesday