I solemnly swear that I am up to no good

I am chaos.
The more order you try to instil upon me, the more I rebel.

I could enter a 12-step programme to quit chaos.
What would my life look like then?
I might be less stressed, more effective.
I might be more level and calm.
MIght even be a ‘normal’ person for a while,
Stop dressing like a fuckable slut for ordinary stuff.

Is that what any of us want?

You want me horny all night,
riding you till my hips ache; your flesh is raw,
waves of climax crashing out of me,
wearing us both into exhausted collapse.

You want the madness that possesses me,
so I’ll beg for you to fill me up,
to slam me round by hair and throat
and crush the air out of my lungs.

You want the fear as I recoil from
further pain yet dripping cunt still
egging you on to do those things,
to tear and bruise my skin.

I need it too.
Delivering chaos to me should be your job.
Perhaps I’ll tie you up and keep you here
for days like this? When calm and steady
is too much.

Just this to help me sleep:
the dark intensity you bring.


The First Blow

The first blow comes out of nowhere and knocks me to the floor. I’m up on my feet, sharp, in seconds, spinning around, fists clenched, guard up like you taught me. I have to land a punch but you’re hiding in the shadows, out of reach. You want me on the edge of fear. The adrenaline racing and flooding my cells. Senses sharpen as the night air cools my brow. I catch a glimpse of movement and react like clockwork: jab, jab, cross… I feel my fist connect with head, and bring my right leg up to take you out at the knee with one sharp kick, just like you taught me. I feel the impact, hear you land, the dull exhalation of breath as you’re winded by ground slamming into lungs. This might be my only chance so I take it now, picking up pace and pushing off hard, legs spongy, not fully my own.

You’re light and fast and I’ll tire before I get to the trees. Chest burning, pushing harder now, I run with all I’ve got. I’m freed from thought, pure animal survival kicking in. The trees are getting closer and I just might make it, every inch of me taut and straining hard. And then your breath on my neck, your hands reaching at me. I duck under your arms and move in close, weaving with the punches, just like you taught me. This is my strength: get in close and under their reach. Your best defence is to attack, you always say. But you know this. You know all my moves, my weaknesses and strengths and pushed to the limits of my response it’s simple for you to take me down – I’ve nothing left to draw on here and you slam me into the ground, the prey captured, ready to be devoured.

In that hunted moment, your lips crush mine and I taste iron. There’s no air in me and you could suck the life right from my mouth, a dizzying reality that I can’t fight. The whiteout coming over me so that I’m nothing but where I feel your hands tearing and clawing at my clothes and skin. No barriers between us now. My legs spread roughly by your knees, the weight of you on top of me and stones and branches printing their crude marks on buttocks, ripping through flesh, the rawness keeping me alive. No words exist but your hands pinning mine into the ground and you drive your cock into me hard, in steady, pounding thrusts and tear the climax from my shuddering limbs, a deep and primal longing, as you cum in howling agony and fill me with your load. Collapsing, giving in. I open more, enveloping, taking you in.

We walk back to the car park, rubbing elbows free of grit, shaking twigs and leaves from hair. My thighs are sticky from our lust, drenched in sweat and shaking wildly from the workout you’ve just put me through. I catch you look my way and lightly smile but the teacher in you returns,
“Your kicking’s really coming on. Keep your stance wide, stay sharp and focused, whatever your opponent throws your way. Same time next week?”
I grin. Best £40 I’ll ever spend.

The Collector

He smiled her way as she moved to sit down outside the busy café.
She made some throwaway comment about no ashtrays – he was smoking too.
Rugged, unshaven, old jeans, biker jacket; his smile crinkled his eyes and revealed a row of neat, white teeth. He seemed honest, gentle and good.
“You might as well come and sit here,” he said, “Now that we’ve broken the ice.”
What harm would conversation do?
She had a notion that there could be some fun to be had with this man, and his smile was sweet and inviting. Perhaps this once it wouldn’t hurt?

Later she couldn’t remember what they spoke about. He liked her voice, he said, and she knew she’d charmed him straight away, as he’d laughed at her delicate innuendoes.
“Oh you’re good! Very good,” he chuckled, a number of times. What the heck had she even said? Mostly she just listened and smiled. That was the way it seemed to work best. Men just wanted to be heard and be seen as attractive by a beautiful woman. And she was remarkably beautiful, everyone said.

He had an old brass lighter – the type with the flip-back lid, and it was engraved with a quote that she’d forgotten now. It amused him to tell her it was an homage to Lemmy, “But then you probably don’t know who he is…”
“I’m older than you think,” she replied, and once again enjoyed the shocked look that she always received when strangers discovered her age. Time had been very kind to her indeed. He leant forward and flipped back the top of the lighter while she dragged in on her smoke. So simple an act, but still so sexy when a man does this for a woman. Maybe more so in this age where vaping has largely replaced the old ways of tobacco: a dirty luxury she had no intention of giving up.

Later, as she undressed him in her bedroom, she was able to appreciate the immensity of him. He was tall and broad and still strong despite being well into his middle years.
“You’re all man,” she said, and he blushed. It was seduction by numbers and he was as susceptible as all the rest. Once her clothes came off he didn’t seem to know what to do. He became fragile and lost, like a little boy who’d never fully claimed his own desires. It maddened her that human beings could live a full life on this planet without embracing the great wonder of their sexuality but she’d lost patience with teaching and guiding them to it many lifetimes ago. If they couldn’t find their own way to it now, it was their loss and more fool them. She’d have them anyway and find some satisfaction, however fleeting and brief.

With her head bent back over the edge of the bed, he rammed his steel rod down the back of her throat and thrust hard against her face. She fought back the bile that threatened to rise but grinned because he’d found some spunk to fuck her with at last. The delicious thrill of fear of suffocation toyed at the edge of her vision and occasionally made her struggle, legs in the air… the dark tunnel creeping in as her body demanded more oxygen, but he was essentially gentle and pulled out too quick, allowing her to breathe and she pitied him for it. Perhaps if he’d shown more raw, primitive force she’d have allowed him to leave but she swallowed his cum as it spilled down her throat in thick, copious amounts and so it only seemed fair that she should get some reward in return. Orgasms had lost their power over her many years ago, if she could even find a man on this damn, dried-up Earth that knew how to deliver her one.

Smoothing her dress back down over her thighs and fixing her hair, she called up her pet from his place in the kitchen; a devoted being who asked only to serve and to worship her feet from time to time. They’d become inseparable over the decades and she couldn’t imagine daily life without him.
“Alfred, please clean up the mess in the Master Bedroom. Feed the waste to the pigs.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he grovelled, crawling past on all fours.
“Please serve tea in the Summer Room at eight.”
It was getting dark now but she liked to sit and stare at the stars on a clear night like this. Sensing the life force flooding her veins made her feel so alive after taking fresh prey, and now she had a new trophy to add to the wall with her other sad and shrivelled specimens from the men who’d failed to meet her needs for the last five centuries. Tonight Alfred would tuck her in and she’d sleep the sleep of the innocent for a few days, until it was time to rise and hunt again.

The Ballad of Kali and Shiva

The phone has been silent for 18 hours now.
Your daily flow of messages dried up. The morning announcement of your feelings for me, missing. All day I’ve waited. Sent thoughtful little texts to nudge you… trying not to seem needy or neurotic. Now it’s 5pm and the desperate panic has arrived because THIS is new territory. We’ve been in each other all along: we never had to find each other but now I’m lost.

Two days ago we fell hungrily on each other in the afternoon, ripping clothes off without care. You pushed my face into the carpet, thrusting your hips against my ass and buried your cock inside my cunt…. waves of pain and bliss rolled through me. It was always like this, as you tore orgasms from me with greedy glee. Delighted at your own mastery, as you could demand, “One more for me, you’re not done yet,” and time meant nothing, measured only in our cum, the dampness of the sheets, the daylight passing, you riding me, into a state of shared exhaustion.

When we met we fucked so much, so hard and long that you injured your knees. One kneecap swollen up to twice its size. So we fucked standing up. We fucked in the kitchen, me pressed against the counter as you slammed into me hard. Me bending over touching the floor, your hands pulling me in tight against you and then sliding the length of your glorious cock in and out of me slowly until every inch of my pussy could feel the power and the strength of you. I thought nothing so beautiful could ever exist. We didn’t seek the orgasms that day, just the sensation of being inside each other, becoming one. We didn’t seek orgasms but they’d always come.

Perhaps no mere mortal can live with the burden of all that beauty. Perhaps we were always doomed to be consumed by the forces we created, the many lifetimes that we’d shared, stretching out across dimensions. The millennia of hatred for each other accumulated after every time we’d left or scorned the other. Who can live with this kind of knowledge? I’d hoped we could.

I take my evening walk along the river, the dog by my side, and try to find calm. The water, the trees, that usually work their magic on me, do nothing tonight. I’m torn apart and barely holding in a wail of agony because this is where we talked about our love. This is where I challenged you to admit your feelings for me and where the flood began. This place empowers me to be bold, where the visions come in thick and fast. But in this moment I feel the hollow pain of your absence and know that you are truly gone.