So I write for fun, here’s the beginning of a story i’m working on.
“Right this way sir,” said the owner of the establishment. She was a middle aged woman, fit and with medium-length fiery red hair. She had two horns that curled out of her hair, identifying her as a demon. Only one person was let in at a time here, and only one allowed to leave, to protect the identity of its patrons. He walked into the place, a large circular den with smoke thick in the air. Niches in the wall were veiled with pieces of dark fabric, making it unable to see how large and deep they were. More fabric draped from the ceilings and walls. There was a deep red light, casting everything in an eerie glow throughout the room. He could hear the noises from behind the veils, crazed laughs and moans among other things. This was a place that only the dark and depraved came too, and he was one. He had not always been this way. It was not until he finally succumbed to that darkness. The darkness that was like a caged beast inside of him, that he kept chained, until he grew weary. Tired of fighting it, he let it take over. And in its path of destruction, it led him here.
He stood over her, eyes bleeding red into the icy blue depths. She was waiting for him, behind the veil he was led to. Wearing a collar, the mark of a slave. She must have done something bad to end up here. Nice people did not become slaves, and only the worst were sent here. A place where its patrons every desires were satisfied, every vice met, an obeisance required by the slaves that was not observed anywhere else. She stood up to remove his long black jacket, head bowed and eyes averted as she walked around him. He could feel her eyes boring into his back as she observed the black glyphs that covered a large amount of the skin on his body. She now knew who he was, a man infamous for his lack of kindness. One of the fallen, he had lost most traces of humanity long ago. Her hand absently traced one on his shoulder, lost in thought for a moment. He grabbed her wrist, moving faster than she could see, and had her pinned to the ground a second later, barely able to move. She grinned at him, a fire in her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. “So what’ll it be honey?” she asked him, arching her back into him. She was already mostly naked, wearing a biking top that had an intricate design on it, and a long, transparent black skirt that had a slit up the side. It left little to the imagination. The inside of the niche was stone, same as the walls outside, with layers of soft, thick black fur skins covering the ground. There were a few pillows, and everything was lit with that same red tint from the light. The back wall had hooks and a shelf on it that held various items. He held her hands pinned above her head, and whispered into her ear, biting at it a little “You know what I want.” He didn’t come here for drugs, or some of the other things the place offered. He had been lost in drugs before, and preferred to not go back. No, he came here for the women. He was handsome enough to get women on his own, but he often scared them with his intensity. That, and he didn’t like to bother with them afterwards.
More words weren’t needed, she knew from the look he was giving her. That predatory stare, sent chills up her spine but thrilled her. He moved one of his hands and grabbed her face forcefully, kissing her. She kissed back, with the same pushiness, nipping his lip before he pulled away. He let go of her hands, and ran them up her sides, appreciating her curves. Taking advantage of the moment of freedom, she rolled over, sitting on top of him. She kissed him again, not giving him a moment to react, her hair falling down around them, blocking out the surroundings. It surprised him. The women here had never dared do that, act without being given orders to first. He accepted it, deciding that he could punish her later if he needed to. His hands reached around her back, taking a moment to untie her top, and then remove it, tossing it to the side. He let his hands explore then, pulling her closer to him, as she shifted, grinding into him. He started to lose some of his control then, running his hand up her thigh, annoyed with the material there. Rather than moving her to take it off, he reached into his pocket for one of the many knives he carried, and cut it off of her. ” ‘I happened to like that one.’ ‘Too bad,’” he said back.
He stood up from her, and unbuttoned his pants, hurriedly taking them off. She stood up in front of him, and with his help lifted his shirt over his head, appreciating the view. He forced her against the cold wall, and she shivered slightly against it. He wrapped her legs around his waist, loved feeling her wet against him. He lost all control then, but didn’t want to continue against the hard wall. He carried her away, and threw her down on the floor before flipping her over. He pushed her back down into the ground, pulling her hair back after, as he roughly entered her.
This is from The Lover’s Dictionary by David Levithan. Infer what you will.
(via icecoldsensation)
