CoffeeEmporer
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Apr 19, 2007
- Messages
- 78
- Points
- 8
Something I created for the ever so nefarious and spine-tingling event that is C.A.B's OktoberFetish.
Please, do enjoy:
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Somewhere around 3am…
I hear the heavy breathing of the night, awash in the static of yesterday’s long since passed. A phantom image of a woman, her visage blurry and crackling, dances before my eyes like candlelight. Her smile echoes with screams, inviting me to come closer.
Somewhere around 3am…
I’ve seen her before, I know I have. Strange yet somehow familiar. She slinks towards me like a wolf, eyes as hungry as her fangs. Each footfall quiet, like the gliding of vampire bats as they dance with the moon. Her namesake is a promise of the terrible, of the frightful. And as flameless calderas emanate with obscene light, illuminating ancient cobwebs, I find myself strangely hungry.
Somewhere around 3am…
I am trapped in the prison of my mind, the rattling of chains mimicking the restless skeletons who have come before me. How many has she laid claimed to? How many more will she take after me? She who is living, yet dead. She, who approaches me with nails sharpened into obsidian points. She, whose mouth echoes my darkest desires.
Somewhere around 3am…
Her fingers run the course of my flesh, appraising every line like a jeweler. Tender and cruel, every laugh she pulls from my lips resonates within this darkened chamber, pulsating outwards like the beating of a heart. Down and up, side to side, whirling in an animal frenzy. Each stroke paints my skin like a canvas, and I find myself her greatest work. I am the repository of her dark sigils and arcane markings, the black language of the ageless. I am the basis on which she draws masterpieces, my laughter the only applause she craves.
For ages and eons this continues at blinding speeds, as I hang her ever willing victim. My blood races as my voice dances in the dungeon air, the wild song of the helpless and enthralled. My body has long since ceded the struggle, hanging wearily in these eternal binds. Her eyes are ravenous, her smile is nothing but fangs. Like a butcher in a black dress she has been tenderizing me, and I fear that it is time to eat.
The torment begins anew as I tense for my last time. My last moment. Her touch is like electricity, her orbs shine like old television screens. I thrash and seize, a tempest begging for release. I cannot endure her any longer and like a madman I cry out for the end!
And then…
I am here, among the sheets. Among the world. The static of the hour drawing me back into the here and now. But for a moment, I still feel her. The immortal one, the timeless lady who haunts the shadows of evermore.
Somewhere around 3am.
Please, do enjoy:
-----------------------------------------------------
Somewhere around 3am…
I hear the heavy breathing of the night, awash in the static of yesterday’s long since passed. A phantom image of a woman, her visage blurry and crackling, dances before my eyes like candlelight. Her smile echoes with screams, inviting me to come closer.
Somewhere around 3am…
I’ve seen her before, I know I have. Strange yet somehow familiar. She slinks towards me like a wolf, eyes as hungry as her fangs. Each footfall quiet, like the gliding of vampire bats as they dance with the moon. Her namesake is a promise of the terrible, of the frightful. And as flameless calderas emanate with obscene light, illuminating ancient cobwebs, I find myself strangely hungry.
Somewhere around 3am…
I am trapped in the prison of my mind, the rattling of chains mimicking the restless skeletons who have come before me. How many has she laid claimed to? How many more will she take after me? She who is living, yet dead. She, who approaches me with nails sharpened into obsidian points. She, whose mouth echoes my darkest desires.
Somewhere around 3am…
Her fingers run the course of my flesh, appraising every line like a jeweler. Tender and cruel, every laugh she pulls from my lips resonates within this darkened chamber, pulsating outwards like the beating of a heart. Down and up, side to side, whirling in an animal frenzy. Each stroke paints my skin like a canvas, and I find myself her greatest work. I am the repository of her dark sigils and arcane markings, the black language of the ageless. I am the basis on which she draws masterpieces, my laughter the only applause she craves.
For ages and eons this continues at blinding speeds, as I hang her ever willing victim. My blood races as my voice dances in the dungeon air, the wild song of the helpless and enthralled. My body has long since ceded the struggle, hanging wearily in these eternal binds. Her eyes are ravenous, her smile is nothing but fangs. Like a butcher in a black dress she has been tenderizing me, and I fear that it is time to eat.
The torment begins anew as I tense for my last time. My last moment. Her touch is like electricity, her orbs shine like old television screens. I thrash and seize, a tempest begging for release. I cannot endure her any longer and like a madman I cry out for the end!
And then…
I am here, among the sheets. Among the world. The static of the hour drawing me back into the here and now. But for a moment, I still feel her. The immortal one, the timeless lady who haunts the shadows of evermore.
Somewhere around 3am.
