12 Days of Kinkmas – Day #9 – ‘The Interview’

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ELIZABETH ABIGAIL QUINN

PART ONE OF RECORDED INTERVIEW

Date: – 9/12/18

 Duration: – 14 Minutes

No. Of Pages: – 3

 

 

Detective Andrews: This interview is being tape recorded at 10am. My name is Detective Aaron Andrews. Miss, what’s your full name?

Elizabeth Quinn: Elizabeth Abigail Quinn.

Detective Andrews: Okay. Just start whenever you’d like to, Miss Quinn.

Elizabeth Quinn: Uh…I’m not really sure where to start.

Detective Andrews: From the beginning – what do you remember? Or we can do this when you’re feeling up to it.

Elizabeth Quinn: I remember…I…I….It was late. I was…heading out to drinks. A get-together. Only…uh…someone….I mean, I don’t remember the next part…

Detective Andrews: That’s okay.

Elizabeth Quinn: I woke up in the room. Cold, I remember it being cold but it was like a bedroom. Uh. Unfurnished but with a bed… in the middle, the bed that I…uh…was tied to on. And there was this man…A santa, with a santa mask but with the full outfit, the red suit and…He would…He dressed me. Candy Cane socks and….green and red underwear and…this stupid elf hat. I was his Elf, he would say. His sweet elf. He’d..uh…he taught me things at first. How to, uh, kneel. To kneel with my back straight. If I was wrong he’d…

[Elizabeth turns around and lifts up her blouse, showing scars on her lower shoulder blade where she had been struck by the unknown assailant.]

Detective Andrews: He’d hit you.

Elizabeth Quinn: Sometimes with his fist. Other times with his belt. Most times he’d…punish me by uh, forcing me to….orgasm by….by….[inaudible]. A candy cane…. [inaudible]. Other times he would rape me. As a gift each morning he would say, and uh, each night as a goodnight. Sometimes I would wake up and I couldn’t tell what day it was, except that I was…..soaked. And he’d tell me. He’d say it in his santa voice – he’d always use that Santa voice – he’d talk to me about hypnotic suggestion. That he could cause me to…..orgasm. To squirt. I didn’t know what to believe, but sometimes I’d feel…well, I’d feel out of my body. But watching. And I would feel there, and present but I was only watching. And I could see myself… touching myself and….enjoying it? And…orgasming and squirting on cue and on myself and on the bed… I don’t know what to believe now. What was a dream and what was not…I mean I could see myself doing things I…..

Elizabeth Quinn: Before all that…he’d sit and read to me, gently, like some sort of children’s television host. He’d teach me about kneeling, yeah, and behaving – about slave discipline. About obedience. About servitude. About….about….my….

Detective Andrews: When you were found this morning, er, nude in an alleyway off of the CBD, you were talking about….other Elves?

Elizabeth Quinn: Other helpers…willing helpers.

Detective Andrews: Willing? Could you describe them?

Elizabeth Quinn: I can’t…I…I mean, they had their own masks…

Detective Andrews: Anything you can give me.

Elizabeth Quinn: One was a woman…she’d love to…She sounded…foreign? Uh, English I think? The other was a man. I couldn’t tell where he was from.. The both of them would help train me to be…what they’d call obedient, in the name of Christmas cheer. They’d take turns. Sometimes she would come, and feed me breakfast…uh…sometimes fruit…sometimes not. She would force me to watch porn with her and if I didn’t, she would hit me with her…paddle. I would come, for her amusement. Sometimes with her too, alongside her. A double…

Elizabeth Quinn: Other times I would be chained beneath them sometimes, while they masturbated over me, watching me and each other. Sometimes I’d be forced to…perform oral while someone took me anally. It was like being in a nightmare. I never knew it would end. When they would decide to stop flogging me, both of them. Almost in time. Almost.

Elizabeth Quinn: Sometimes…sometimes I could be above all four of us, watching. Like something out of a dream. Hovering and watching me, seeing how pink my….behind was. How raw my skin was, like I wasn’t me anymore. Like I WAS this elf….or that I no longer existed anymore. That I was viewing a dream of myself. Or that I was waking to reality.

Detective Andrews: This was the hypnotic suggestion?

Elizabeth Quinn: Yes. Or. So I think. I don’t know. Is this what you want?

Detective Andrews: Anything you can give us, about who these criminals were, about where you were for so long…Your family filed a missing persons report back in June…

Elizabeth Quinn: June….I can’t believe it’s been so long. This elf – I mean…I’m sorry. I’ve been trying not to do that this whole time.

Detective Andrews: No, do not apologise.

Elizabeth Quinn: They called it speech protocol. If I got it right without missing a beat, I’d be fed. And if I didn’t…

Detective Andrews: We don’t have to talk about it.

Elizabeth Quinn: I’m sorry.

Detective Andrews: There’s really no need to apologise, Miss Quinn.

Elizabeth Quinn: Please don’t [inaudible].

Detective Andrews: I would never. Er, we can stop this here for now.

END OF PART ONE

 

 

 

 

12 Days of Kinkmas – Day #8 – “The Gift”

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Thomas Jackson heard the crash of the collective shopping items, he heard the shriek of his wife Theodora, and turned from locking his Toyota to where his wife was standing in the doorway, unmoving.
The two had just come back from braving the unnervingly slow crowds to squeeze in their Christmas shopping and had found everything they needed to with relative ease.
“Tom…”
“What is it?”
Yet Tom saw as soon as he peered over the top of her, something their height difference allowed for.
Standing just a few metres from their front door, insidetheir own house was a completely nude woman; back straight, eyes blank forward, hands behind her back.
“The fuck?” Was all Tom could say.
“Who are you?” Theo was raising her voice, her dark brown eyes now seemingly black, filled with fury or confusion or both.
“How’d you get in here, huh?”
“She could be mentally ill, Theo.” Was all Tom could say.
Theo couldn’t hear him; she was talking over him, right in the face of this woman.
“Is this a prank? Whom do you work for?”
“Theo..”
Tom had moved from the open doorway, and then thought of any spectators from outside that might hear – and shuffled the shopping in and gently closed the door.
“Do you not speak, huh?”
Theo’s Italian heritage was starting to show. She had that way about her, Tom thought, where she could speak like her father, the most intimidating man Tom had ever met.

The nude woman did not flinch despite the ferocity of Theo’s tone. She simply stood, unblinking, eyes forward, posture perfect, hands behind her back.
Her eyes were grey..or blue…or green, Tom couldn’t tell, they seemed to shift as he moved slowly towards her.
She was slender, the slightest trace of her rib cage poking through her skin. Her skin itself was pale, with the ghost of colour, a light honeyed colour, ever so faint.
Against her pale skin, the dark patch of pubic hair that marked her landing strip was striking, drawing Tom’s eyes down to it. He instantly looked away, this time to Theo, who was nearing the silent woman.
“Honey…”
“Hold on…”
Theo was reaching out with her hand, towards the collar that was around the woman’s neck. The woman never looked down at Theo, her eyes didn’t register a single thought.
“What in the fuck…?” Was all Tom could say.
Attached to the thick leathery collar was a silver metal circle pendant, with writing etched into it – unreadable from where Tom was standing.
Theo slowly reached her hand out towards the metal pendant, her mind ready for a potential violent outburst in which it would have to react.
Yet she grabbed a hold of it and was able to lean in to read the writing, all the while the nude woman kept her eyes forward and her breathing relaxed.
“My name is Snow. I am a gift to you both. Please take good care of me.”
Theo read the words aloud slowly, confused, bewildered.
A pause, then:

“This is a fucking joke, right? It’s gotta be. Who would give us this..this…woman as a gift.”
Theo released her grip from the pendant, letting it fall back against the nude woman’s neck.
“We need to get her to the police, Theo.”
A pause.
Theo was looking into the eyes of the woman so named Snow. The woman was looking away from Theo. BeyondTheo.
“Can you talk?”
Keeping her eyes focused on a point beyond Theo, the woman spoke in a voice barely audible. It was soft and graceful to the ear.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Well, why didn’t you lead with that?”
Theo’s anger went into overdrive again, prompting Thomas to touch her gently on the arm. She shot him a glance with a flash of anger but deep down she knew what he was saying – lower your voice, this woman needs our help.
“Snow doesn’t speak unless directly spoken to, as instructed.”
“Instructed by whom?” Thomas beat Theo to this one. “Somebody sent you then?”
“He sent Snow. He instructed Snow. He said that you needed help, more now than ever.”
If you don’t want to go, don’t fucking go but you better start packing while I’m gone.
Theo was looking at Thomas now. “He? Do you have any idea-“
“He is the watcher of all. He sees all truths.”
The woman named snow had her eyes forward, focused and calm. There was no wide-eyed wonder there, no cult-like fanaticism, and just blank eyes telling facts.
“Maybe you ought to go to the police after all…” Theodora said. “I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine and have a bath.”
Thomas nodded, looked to the woman and sighed.
He went to grab his overcoat.

The woman named Snow stood in the reception area of the downtown precinct, wrapped up in Thomas’s overcoat. Her eyes were glassy, focusing on a distant point, somewhere behind the officer at the desk in front of them.
“And where did you say you found her?” Said the middle-aged officer with a five o’ clock shadow, his eyes blue and tired and sinking into his skull.
“My wife and I found her nude in our house and-“
“Any sign of forced entry?”
“I’m not sure…I came right here when she started mentioning a watcher of truths or something…”
The tired officer regarded the woman with his weary eyes then looked back to Thomas and let out a sigh.
“Alright, well we can take her in, call up the local hospitals, and see if we can find anything. You get home to your wife. It’s cold outside.”
The man was coming out from behind the desk and into the open area. He gently took the woman named Snow by the arm and escorted her down the corridor to the left and out of view.
The woman didn’t look back.

 

If you don’t want to go, don’t fucking go but you better start packing while I’m gone.
Theodora laid back in her bath, listening to the sound of rain falling from her phone resting on its charger on the bathroom sink.
The argument she had with Thomas on the drive home from shopping played over and over again in her mind.
It all started when Thomas brought up that he didn’t want to go to Theo’s family Christmas, for he felt uncomfortable at how her brothers spoke to him, and sometimes lack thereof.
She didn’t know why she had gotten so mad and yelled so fiercely. They certainly had been arguing more so than usual, the product of a looming Christmas perhaps, but was that really an excuse?
Sighing, Theo emptied her wine glass and stepped out of the bath.
“A towel, ma’am?”
Theo jumped, her instinctive reaction kicking in to cover her exposed body, and stumbled back to rest against the wall behind her.
The woman named Snow stood with her arms outstretched holding a towel, still completely nude.
Theo regarded her a moment with shock, then realisation kicked in.
“Ugh, Tom hasn’t left yet? Really? All this time and he hasn’t…?”
Theo grabbed the towel, wrapped it around her and went to open the door and exude all her fury on the man that, for some reason, had been loafing around.
Theo stopped, a thought emerging ahead of all the others – what if the woman had done something to Tom and all this time was luring her into a false sense of –
The woman named Snow rushed Theo, slamming her against the wall, holding her tightly in place. Theo struggled against the sharp pain squeezing against her wrists, her eyes darting around for something anything, to fight off the woman.
Theo tried leaning across to reach the empty wine bottle resting on the edges around the bath but the woman grabbed her by the arm, spinning her around so that Theo was facing the wall, her ass exposed now, and held her there.
“I have an idea what you want, Ma’am.”
“Who are you? What have you done with Tom?”
Theo looked to her side to try and catch a glimpse of the woman, just in time to see her reach to the bathroom railing and slide off Tom’s black belt that had been sitting there for months since the last party they went to in June.
Theo heard the leather slink off the railing and braced herself, bowing her head against the wall.
She didn’t realise she was panting until the first strike against her ass, the force of the act causing her body to jolt against the wall.
Her head throbbed with pain, her ass feeling like it was stung by a wasp – childhood memories came washing over, absurd and forgotten, of being bitten by a wasp as a six year old.

“Confess how you feel..”
“Wha…?”
“Confess.”
“You don’t know shit about ho-“
Another crack, another outburst of blinding pain. Her skin felt like it was on fire.
Theo went to move back, to knock the woman off guard but the woman held her in place, her force bizarre and disquieting.
Theo went to scream, it came wailing out of her lungs.
The woman struck her again; the scream warbled and fizzled to a low strangled whimper.
“Confess how you feel.”
“Listen, you little psycho bitch, you don’t know the first-“
The woman struck her again, this time across her cunt. Excruciating pain shot through her lips, zigzagging across her ribcage and to her skull.
Theo tried to catch her breath, to load another insult ready to fire.
The woman struck her again – and again – and again, each time repeating the same words to her – confess.
Each times the same words, each time the biting pain, all consuming, unyielding.
“Stop!” Theo screamed in an outburst, throwing her arms out with all her might to throw the woman off. The woman kept coming, raising the belt to strike upwards across Theo’s body – her back, left to right then right to left, down across her legs, each side of her ass, then back under to her cunt.
“Stop…” came Theo’s wavering voice.
“Confess!”
Another stab of searing pain hit Theo right across her lips, this time knocking her off balance and face first into the wall. Hitting her head felt like someone had taken a concrete slab to her temples.
Every inch of her body was searing with red-hot intensity, biting and pinching and on fire.
I’m not happy!”

Theo turned her head upwards to look at the woman, who held her hand in the air mid swing.
With that admission, everything began to crumple.
Theo fell to her knees, embracing the stiff coldness of the bathroom tiles and sinking into the pain coursing across her entire body.
The tears came fast then, building in her eyes, blinking away down her cheeks.
I haven’t been for a while I don’t really know why there just doesn’t seem to be any…any…”
Words ran freely from her lips but one caught in her throat, one she couldn’t get out.
The woman named Snow dropped the belt. It clattered to the floor.
She knelt down besides Theo, eventually sitting down on her folded legs.
The woman named Snow stretched out her arms and Theo crumbled into them, sobbing fiercely, her entire body heaving with every mighty sob.
In that moment, Theo felt guilty. It swirled in her gut at full steam.
Yet she felt child like, clinging to this stranger, her torturer, and their breasts brushing up against one another.
n that moment, her body still taking its relief from her latest choking sob, Theo looked into the eyes of this stranger. What met her was calming green eyes, relaxed, warm, understanding – accepting.
Something within Theo drove her to this woman’s lips.
It was an aggressive kiss – forceful and hungry – yet the woman met it with full force, finding a tuft of hair behind Theo’s hair and pulling sharply.
Theo panted, a tangled moan escaping, and allowed her to be led gently down to the cool bathroom tiles.
The woman fed upon every inch of Theo’s body.

***

Thomas stepped through the door and kicked off his shoes.
Now that the weirdness was sorted, it was time to get back to the regular weirdness that was dealing with Christmas – first step – wrapping presents.
When he rounded the corner into the living room, what he saw froze him still.
Theo was curled up, on her back, on their couch, completely naked. Her eyes were fixed above, her expression calm.
Such a sight wasn’t normally this strange – Theo was very upfront about her nudity, as was her family, but it was her calm expression that made him pause. It was something about this image, now, after everything, after their fight.
Theo regarded him coolly. “There you are. Where did you go? And why did you tell me you weren’t sending Snow to the police yet after all?”
The words slashed at his gut. He swallowed loudly.
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb, silly. I’m not mad. She’s upstairs having a nap. I…we….look, I have an idea.”
Thomas couldn’t find the words, he suddenly felt cold, very cold.
“Theo, are you alright?”
“Better than ever. Snow is a gift, Tom..”
Something didn’t feel right.
And I finally figured out what we need to do to solve everything”Snow is a gift, Tom.”
Theo’s face lit up in a smile.
“We need to fuck.”

 

 

 

 

12 Days of Kinkmas: Day #7 – “The Dance”

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When he smacks her playfully on the ass, he can tell – she’s wearing no underwear.
Suddenly it’s his mind that’s traveling through space and time, processing moments across years, exchanges of dialogue in days gone by.
He sees both sides of her in that moment – the ambitious, friendly co-worker, the outspoken daughter, the kindly friend and the introverted girl who finds it difficult to explain what turns her on and why, the submissive who desperately wanted to clean his shoes, the slave who begged to taste his come, the pet who wanted the cage, the deviant who spurred him on to choke her.
The woman who can manage a business efficiently, solve problems to save her life, yet finds moments to pause when it comes to her own love life.
He loves her for all of her sides.

So when he can tell she’s not wearing underwear in her smart business-appropriate dress, she can tell that he can tell.
Their eyes meet, knowingly, and for the briefest of seconds he could’ve sworn he saw a wink in her eye, a mischievous glint that dared him on, to act, to say something, to create that force.
She can get this look to her eye, he thinks, that harkens back to the classy ladies of the 1940s and 50s, to the Grace Kelly’s and Marilyn Monroe’s – the look that says ‘Who, me?” if called out on deviant behaviour. The sort of baby-doll, innocent expression that comes with a sharp edge of knowing behaviour and wit.
He can tell she’s baiting him, just as she can tell he’s going to want to draw this out, to test her resolve and a part of her wants to see this through, to see if he’ll say something or nothing at all, and the other part just wants to be taken against the wall, neighbours be damned.

Neither of them act. They’ve got all day.

12 Days of Kinkmas – Day #6: ‘Through The Window’

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Michelle González, thirty eight, mother of two boys, wife to Sebastián González, stood in her loose black night dress in front of the open window in her bathroom.
The room around her was bathed in a mellow orange glow, light from the bedroom window directly opposite their bathroom.
It was His bedroom, Michelle knew, a teenager no older than eighteen. Every summer he and his family – his mum, a short grey haired woman with kind eyes, and his younger sister, mousy brown hair and a face younger than she appeared – would appear. A home away from home, the mother described once to Michelle, the two out the back seeing to their respective gardens.

Michelle never spoke to the daughter, their timelines never seemed to sync, but the son she saw at times through the open window. Sometimes she could see him curled up in his bed against the wall while she brushed her teeth in the morning. Other times, when she’d open the bathroom to let the steam out while she bathed her son Alejandro, she’d spot the son sitting on the aged wooden floor, watching from the television that must’ve been facing him from beneath the bedroom window. It was comforting in a way, listening to her child play while the background noise of voices drifted in through the window. She would sit and try to guess what he was watching, who was starring and what the plot was, while she washed her son’s hair. In a way it felt comforting, having this male presence, while Sebastián kept busy hours at the office.

Other times the son would still be watching television when Michelle came back to the bathroom for her own bath. She would close the bathroom window, of course, heart in throat, petrified of being seen, of her body being glimpsed by someone other than herself after motherhood has had its way with reshaping her figure, but the that orange glow was ever-present in the space. Sometimes, Michelle would even use the glow as her own candle in the darkness, enjoying having one foot in the dark and another in the glow.

Now Michelle González, thirty eight, mother of two boys, wife to Sebastián González, stood in her loose black night dress in front of the open window in her bathroom.
The room around her bathed in a mellow orange glow, light from the open bedroom window directly opposite their bathroom.
Michelle stood in front of the bathroom window – screen free and open, to get some of that sweet, sweet air through – washing her face, preparing to bathe. The children were in bed relatively early and she had time to soak in the tub before time got away from her.
As she turned off the faucet and dried her hands, she heard the bedroom door through the window open. He stepped in, dressed in black jeans and faint blue collared shirt, Michelle noted, unable to turn from instinct that was her curiosity.
As he closed the door behind him, the faint blue collared shirt was off and tossed in a corner in the room, revealing his pale torso and dark patches of body hair trailing down his stomach.
Senses kicking in, Michelle reached forward, fumbling for rubber handle on the window. By this point, the son was down to his boxers, grey with black stripes. Michelle’s hands slipped, knocking the handle and causing it to clack loudly.

Deathly silence followed.

He looked up to where the sound came from, his grey eyes alerted, and found Michelle standing still, no where to shrink away to and die of embarrassment.
His eyes met hers in silence.
They regarded each other a moment, both frozen, unsure whether to laugh it off or nod and apologise and close the window and be on the way and then feel cheeks burn with shame and fear and guilt, riding the residual wave of anxiety.
Michelle couldn’t explain what happened next. For days afterwards, she would ruminate, turning every moment over in her head, examining aspects she thought she knew all along, basically re-evaluating her own mind.
She couldn’t explain why she lifted her hands to the tied velvet knot around her waist, nor could she explain why she undid it, letting her loose nightgown fall to the floor. Was it an act of anxiety, seeking validation, attraction to this son or was the problem more insidious, a rotting root in her life, in her marriage that she never picked up on until after the fact?
Michelle from the future could never find the answer to these questions, instead boiling the act down to a lapse of judgement, a moment miscalculated.
Michelle of the present stood in front of the open window nude, conscious of her stretch marks around her waist, of her perceived misshaped breasts, of the fact her pubic hair was untouched and untamed – and yet, Michelle González, thirty eight, mother of two boys, wife to Sebastián González, stood defiant to her thoughts, stood exposed to this son, for reasons she would never quite fully understand.
There was a pressure forming in her chest as she stood in front of the window. It knotted its way around her organs, twisting and turning and burning. Any minute, Michelle thought, I could breathe and my ribcage could snap in half.
Her breasts, the only things she could find that she liked second to her eyes, only added to that pressure from where they rested.
Through the window, the teenager stood watching, his chest as still as the bed next to him.
In a heartbeat, he removed his shirt. Michelle cast her eyes to the bathroom, her breathing kicking into gear, her hands starting to tremble, something whispering into her ear to look up. She did.

He was unzipping his jeans and tossing them aside.
It had been quite some time since Michelle had seen another person’s penis.
It was semi-hard, still reaching its full length.
From where Michelle stood, she could see a faint fuzz of pubic hair.
Trimmed, she thought, unable to move her eyes from looking through the window at it.
As Michelle regarded the head – smooth, large, uncircumcised (she knew, as Sebastián’s was) – she found her mouth strangely salivating. She could feel a little bit of saliva pooling in her mouth and with that realisation, her cheeks burned as if blasted from the sun.
Yet despite the heat radiating outward from her cheeks, something was drawing Michelle along to touch herself. A maddening itch pulsating out across her body, screaming for help. An ache so distracting that Michelle stopped her travelling hands to pinch her stomach, where her stretch marks left reminders of an age long past, just to feel something.
A pinch of bite-sized pain didn’t help the ache; it only brought it to the forefront of her mind.
Before her, He had gripped his cock, finding rhythm.
Michelle found the pinpoint of her ache, her clit, and began to trace her fingers along gently. How long it had been since she masturbated, since she came, she had not known. Days? Weeks? It was without Sebastián though, that much she knew.

Her fingers slid down her slit while her thumb-applied pressure on her clit, just the way she liked it.
She had a toy, she thought in that moment, hidden in the second drawer beside the bed in the bedroom, but she couldn’t leave. She didn’t want to. Her body was frozen; her eyes glued to how He was massaging his cock, bringing his hands over the shaft upwards then back down.
His eyes were open, watchingher intently, scanning downwards over her exposed body to her hands.
One hand lifted instinctively to her right breast, rolling her nipple between her thumb and index finger. This happened in almost of an unconscious state, as Michelle watched the hypnotic movements of the teenager’s hands across his cock.

Her mind caught up to her act when her nipple was stretched to her limits, her breast taking shape with the pull from her hand, stretching outwards the window.
Whatever possessed her to reach across to the bath beside her and pull up the hairpins she left for her own bath time, she did not know. But before she could find a reason, any reason, they were attached to both of her nipples, digging in tightly, like a fingernail pressing downwards into flesh.
This must’ve excited the teenager, for his rhythm quickened. His cock, now fully hard and held tightly, throbbed in his palm.

How long they watched each other, him teasing himself, massaging, pulling, stretching, her teasing, circling, pulling at her lips, Michelle did not know, nor did she care to know. She needed to come desperately, her body covered in a thick layer of sweat, the room boiling even in the soft glow.
The teenager tensed, his body coming to a screeching halt. Michelle could hear his stifled moans as his cock, jerking on its own upright, vein down the shaft throbbing, ejaculated.
At that precise moment, Michelle couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t tease any longer, she slid two fingers inside herself. Her body seized into a spasm, her orgasm crashing over her warm and dizzying and ferocious.
An image came to her in the throes of pleasure, crawling up to him on her knees to suck the come coated cock of his just to taste him, but the thought was soon washed away with another feeling. Guilt.

Shakily, she closed the bathroom window and pulled the blinds down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

12 Days of Kinkmas – Day #5 – ‘Born Again’

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Seventeen year old Jennifer was sprawled out on a towel on the floor, dressed in only her lime green cotton panties. Her long blonde hair fell across her snow white-skin, curling around her small breasts.
Freckles spread outwards in a sporadic pattern across her stomach, where they would reach across her thighs and around to her ass.
Never had she felt so alive than she did now.
Never had she felt like someone understood her so completely, in all of the ways, like Caleb did.
He stood before her, completely nude, her boyfriend of just one year, messy crop of blonde hair.
“Are you ready?”
“Mhm…”

Her response came out strained, rushed by her giddiness, her breathlessness.
She reached down, arms brushing past the curves of her breast, to peel back her panties and toss them aside.
The basement in which they were in was silent, save for the low hum of the mini fridge tucked away in the corner across the other end of the room.
Light filtered in through the window next to where Jen lay. Outside it was a summer’s day, middle of December, but you’d never know by the grey skies and gentle wind a-blowing.
Jen felt her nakedness now, could feel the cool air around her exposed nipples, around her shaven cunt.
Caleb let out a sharp exhale, then his eyes narrowed and focused downwards.
Something in her mind told Jen to close her eyes, she followed suit.

When the stream hit her, she jumped – and instantly felt like a fool. From somewhere behind her eyes, Caleb was moaning in relief.
The stream lashed at her stomach, warm and stinging. It travelled upwards across her breasts, falling across her hair and pelting at her skin.
Jen felt that breathlessness rush out of her tightened chest and up through her throat. She joined Caleb in the fever dream, in this frantic vocal act.
She wanted to reach down and relieve this building pressure in her clit but she remembered Caleb urging her not to before hand, demanding it to her as he had liked to do since they began to be more intimate.

The stream splashed off her breasts and onto her chin, leaving a droplet on her lower lips.
Almost instinctively, she licked her lips and tasted a saltiness her mind instantly described to her as ‘sweet’.
The stream travelled downwards, marking her stomach with its sting, wavering slightly but still with a power to pelt.
It reached between her legs, scalding her clit before traveling downwards across her clit.
Her legs trembled at the sensitivity, at the act, at something she wasn’t quite sure she could accurately describe if someone had asked her.
The pressure in the stream began to falter, coming to drip across her right leg in short bursts before dying completely.
The two teenage lovers panted breathlessly in that moment, maintaining eye contact.

Every inch of Jennifer’s body was stinging from the shower, tender to the touch, coated in Caleb’s essence.
She only had one thing on her mind then – could she play now?

 

 

 

12 Days of Kinkmas – Day #3 – ‘My Girlfriend Is A Sexy Alien’

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‘Okay, don’t freak out.’
I looked at her from where she sat on the couch, dressed in her Cookie Monster shorties and a loose black singlet.
My hands were cradling it – the thin long gooey thing, like a snake’s skin it left behind in the shower. Like wet rubber slimed up with jelly.
I found the slimy rubber-snake-suit thing cooler in the shower, first thinking it was done alternative product that wasn’t entirely washed away.
It had no smell that forced me to gag, I didn’t scream unlike the time the cat ran by my feet in the dark the other day, it was just a watered brown, translucent clump of slimy rubber. Like –
‘Don’t freak out’ my girlfriend Andrea repeated, breaking her own rule and looking freaked out.
‘Is there a snake inside?’
My voice came out choked and broken.
‘Honey, we don’t get snakes in Melbourne, I keep telling you that.’
‘So this is one of them body products then? State of the art?’
Andrea put down the PS4 controller she was still cradling when I stepped out into the open lounge room cradling my own new thing.
She had taken the day off to play the latest God of War and had been up before me to pick it up in store at 6am.
Andrea sighed, rather deeply.
I felt something wet and thick splatter down on my left foot and stifled a cringe. Suddenly it hit me that I was butt naked, still in an about-to-shower-mode. I must’ve wandered out here naked. Shit! Dripping this gooey thing all over the house.
‘It’s not a product OR a prank..’ she said, beating my own mind’s conclusions.
‘Am I…’
‘Going crazy?’ She finished. ‘Nope.’
A beat.
‘Will you sit down?’
‘No?’
My No came out feeble and unsure.
‘Okay. You know I love you, right?’
‘You have a pet snake?’ I blurted out.
‘No.’
‘And you haven’t told me!’
‘No.’
‘You’re having an affair with a man and you two showered together and this is some kind of thick come melding together that he left behind before he escaped.’
‘Jesus Christ, Ash! No.’
‘But. But…’
Mind racing, words struggling to keep up.
‘You can see this right?’
‘Ashley, I’m an Alien.’
Andrea had stood up, eyes locked right on mine. Those fierce blue eyes were burning darker now.
‘Like….in the video game?’
Andrea sighed, held her hand and index finger up in a WAIT! Gesture.
I waited there, naked as our cat, foot splattered by this stretch of something in my hands.
Andrea closed her eyes, squeezed them in fact, her brow creasing, her jaw clenched shut. She stood that way for a moment – and then…

Something strange happened. A spot appeared on her forearm. A polka dot, no bigger than a thumbnail, deep purple. Then another. And another. And another.
Purple polka dots began appearing all over her body, one by one, before they all became something more, like one big polka dot. No, her skin was a deep purple. Coarse, it seemed.
Her hair, her dark brown pixie cut was shifting into something else, a bright pink bob. A bowl cut? A what?
Her eyebrows faded; replaced by the deep purple leathery skin that was now…her skin?
Her eyes were the same; I could see somehow, but her lips…her lips were ruby red.
Her transformation or metamorphosis or whatever the fuck finished, she sighed, still sounding very much like Andrea.
‘Every so often, I purge myself of my old skin. It’s nothing sinister, just a cleanse. Like peeling off a face mask.’
‘You’re an Alien.’
I could feel my eyes widen and tighten.
‘Yes, Ashley.’ She said in a way that I understood she was trying to sound calming, but she was fucking purple.
‘I…do…do you eat people?’
‘No! I’m not a cannibal, Ash.’
‘You’re an Alien.’
‘So? We aren’t cannibals.’
‘We?’
Andrea sighed. ‘Yes. We. I…don’t want to talk about..’

‘So the family I’m meeting for Christmas..’
‘Are not human, yes. We’ve interpreted ourselves into society.’
‘Like The Thing!’
‘No, not like The Thing! Look – our species discovered Earth hundreds of years ago. Silently, we’ve inserted ourselves into your culture to…take a look.’
‘To become overlords?’
‘No! To study. We’re a race of scientists, mostly. Except I didn’t want to become that. I’ve wanted to feel. For the longest time, I’ve wanted to feel.’
‘Feel? As in – touch?’
‘Yes, Ash, as in touch.’
‘Can you read my thoughts?’
‘No. But I sense bits and pieces..’
Andrea, my leathery Purple-skinned Alien girlfriend, folded her arms and looked at me with those same blue eyes of hers.
‘So. The Andrea I saw….who is she? Did you see her on a billboard or something? Like, somewhere out there is an Andrea who knows nothing about me?’
‘You’re giving me way too much credit. I dreamt of myself as a human shortly before we arrived here. I brought her to life. I…am her.’
‘And that’s what you do? What you study?’
A smile spread across Andrea’s face. I’ve seen that look before, when she’s about to say something devious.

‘Sex.’
‘S-sex?’ I repeated, the words catching in my throat like some cartoonish gulp.
‘We are a race of….what you call, what call now I suppose, Dominants and Submissives’’
“What would you call it?”
Andrea seemed to smirk at that. “Arctumolongs and Saemptions.”
The words sounded gruff and guttural and low – and the fact that this was all coming from Andrea, my girlfriend of –
“We’ve been together two years-“
Uh oh, my mouth was running again.
“- why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I meant to. I mean I was meaning to. I mean I was meaning to mind the time I meant to mind but I just…couldn’t find the courage. Don’t be mad.”
My head was too busy swimming in a myriad of thoughts to be mad. Maybe ‘mad’ would come later, when I wasn’t looking at Andrea’s skin that looked like fine leather. Only purple.
“I have….so many questions…Was the Purple People Eater song named after your race?”
“What?” Andrea frowned, her arms folded.
“Nothing..How old are you?”
“Only 90. But that translates to 26 Human Years…”
“90? But that’s-”
“Look, Just….Can you turn around a moment? I want to change back, and…I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Digesting what she just said, my eyes unfocused as full processing power seemed to divert to my brain to comprehend. I thought of Jeff Goldblum in The Fly, all mutated and slimy.
“Please.”
I  felt the stress conveyed in her voice, and obliged. She was still Andrea after all. My Andrea.
I looked at our kitchen, somehow taking note of the washing up to be done later.
A few seconds past, a few beats of dread along with them, then Andrea spoke:
“You can turn around now.”

The Andrea that greeted me when I turned around was the Andrea I knew, the one that I saw after our fourth date together, when she invited me back to her apartment and told me to undress and stay very still, hands at my sides, while she undressed herself.
The way her small breasts rested, one slightly more full than the other, the way freckles sent a trail down her stomach, her slight tuft of darkened pubic hair in the form of a landing strip – no matter if Andrea’s human form was based off a dream, she was perfect.
Wait a moment – what did I just think? She told me to…?
“If you come from a race of sexy Alien scientists who are either Dominant or submissive….which one are you?”
A grin lit her face.

So there I was, hands cuffed to the bars of our bed headboard, legs spread and tied to the bottom of the bed.
I could feel myself, against my own accord, slip inside Andrea, who sat straddling me, her hair covering her eyes, denying me of getting the chance to read her expressions.
One of her hands was resting against my left thigh, bunched up into a fist, draining of colour, while the other gripped a black crop that she used to trail my nipples.
Watching Andrea’s hips sway in a hypnotic rhythm, feeling her move on her own accord, easing onto my cock before easing outwards, stretching the moment out, second by second, I felt a part of something bigger than myself.

I just knew it.

30 Days of Kink – Day #30: Free Time to Ponder

Write or create a list of whatever BDSM/kink related thing you want to.

This is it! The last day! And it lands after the beginning of my Christmas themed stories, sorry for that! The last ten days were hard to get out / keep track of!

Anyway, Day 30 is all about free time so what I wanted to do was have this time for anyone to ask any questions, be they about their lifestyle, my lifestyle or just to talk about any stories I’ve written recently. Please don’t be shy, the only silly question is the one not asked.

The other part of Day 30 I wanted to throw out there were things I’d like to try but haven’t yet, for whatever reason.

Now that my lady and I have a place to call our own, I’d like to fully implement pet play into the space. We’ve wanted to play with cages for a while now, we just haven’t had the space until now. So that’s something to work towards.

While I’m on pet play, I would like a honest-to/goodness run. Lungs working overtime, sweat coating my entire body, my heart racing in my ears, pumping that blood, my cock hard from a mix of feelings.

We live in the suburbs so there’s not a whole lot of option to run nude lest I want to end up on the police’s most wanted, heh!

Maybe one day I’ll write a Stepford-Housewives type of story where someone like me discovers this primal underbelly of his neighbourhood and finds a pack in the people around him. Maybe we’re all possessed by the spirit of the country, that could be gold. Maybe my main character will fight the alpha and it’ll end in murder, blood in his mouth, jugular torn out, cock hard. Feral. A mix of savagery and eroticism and just thriller. Annnnyway.

Then there’s the idea of collaborating in erotic art with someone. I like the idea of writing a story with someone of the opposite sex / dynamic, you know? I’ve worked on ideas with kitten in the past – we meld concepts and I do the writing – but I’m always looking for different voices too.