This piece of erotic horror – free flash fiction was one of the first things I wrote. I still think that is carries a certain power. One of my favourite short pieces. Enjoy!
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With eyes that glitter and sparkle she trembles through the black treacle of night. Her mouth parched; knees so weak they can barely support her long slim legs. She feels as if she were pregnant with butterflies. Heavily pregnant. About to birth. Her high heels clack on the ground as her echoing heart rattles in its cage. This is an appointment with fear. She is Bambi. And she is heading for the Lions’ Den.
But does she even give a fuck anymore? Why should she?
Inside the bar, and it is the sleaziest in the area, she does not pause to look around. She heads for her usual the spot on the bar, catching the eye of the fat barman. ‘A large glass of Shiraz please…Yes, do recommend…something heavy, full…perfect. Thank you.’ She draws out the exchange knowing that soon she must turn and face them. Turn and face her tormenters. The ones that live in her head, the ones that churn her stomach; the ones that want to hurt her in many ways, for many reasons. They are here. She can already feel their eyes. Soon she will feel a cock inside her.
At least one tonight. Maybe more. Who knows? Who cares? Not Bambi, not tonight.
Not any fucking night. She is cockfodder and knows it. Food to be eaten alive by hungry cocks. Nothing more.
But when she does turn she realises that this isn’t the Lions’ Den after all.
It is the Reptile House. Darker. Bleaker. More threatening. This is the last place. This is her personal gutter. She can smell her own fear. She stinks of it, they can scent her too. They can all smell her cunt. Night after night she comes here. Night after night they wait. They are interchangeable.
Lazy tongues flicker in the gloom. Her body is lizardized by wall-eyed stares, she sits and she sips. And she waits and she feels the butterflies seeking to escape like tiny aliens. Beneath her clothing her skin prickles. The skin on show starts to flush. Their eyes burning it like acid. Burning it through to the bone. But she cannot move. Rooted. Fixed. Prisoned. Sad.
But she needs her fix. She is the addict. This place is her heroin; her horror, her hate, but also somehow her salvation.
She glances at the wall of anonymous eyes. The wall stares back. Deep. Dead. Like the Abyss. She can hardly breath. They are indistinguishable. It does not matter which. Does not matter who. Cold blooded, cold hearted, with spunk that leaves stains too deep to cleanse, wounds too deep to heal.
Bambi in the Reptile House….And where is Mummy now? Where is comfort? Where oh where is love?
One will come. Come soon. And he will come dressed to hide the scales. She sits and she sips, and she waits and she wonders. She hopes and she hates; her heart rattles and flutters; her legs are dead. She is delivered. She is loathing. Tethered by want, tethered by need. And this is The Reptile House. They have come to feed. Feed on her. On meat.
On cunt.
His face doesn’t matter, nor his disguise, nor his words nor his proposal when it comes. Nothing registers but it all registers. Every detail acide-etched on her mind. She responds how she must. Variance is not an option here. Yes and Yes and Yes and Yes. Of course. Yes. ‘Yes, okay.’
Yes to anyone; yes to anything.
Yes. Her passport. To what? Cock? Is that all that this is about? Getting cock?
His eyes cut deep into her face and then deeper into her exposed cleavage. Cut like a fucking razor. Scarring. Big tits lads, all on show and she doesn’t care who looks? Why else did she dress to expose them?
His eyes feed on them. Her eyes never rise to meet. They are turned instead to the darkness within. The Lizard can smell compliance. Not want, not desire, but simple compliance. And do you know what? It smells like victory. It is enough.
Yes is his passport. To her cunt, to her soul. To anything he wants. Her stink is desperation. He loves that.
Bambi is sad and motherless, alone in the world. Eyes that glitter and sparkle. A heart that aches with its beating. A cunt that is not only available, but grateful.
The bed where she is nailed is like the others. A pit. And as Bambi is feasted on, her mind is blank. But her face is wet with tears. And those tears scald her and come from a place old and deep which has never seen the light.
The Lizard hates her. He hates her, despises her, wants to use her, ruin her. He wants to fuck her; fuck her up. She can feel his fury, his disgust, his anger, his contempt; his burning desire to fuck her to oblivion. His big bastard fist of a prick is battering her cunt. She is sick with pain and still he batters. And more; and more; and more…
Poor Bambi. All she ever dreamed of and all it does is make her sad. So sad. Like last night. Like tomorrow. Like all the tomorrows.
And when he is gone she drags herself out of bed and sits and pecks out words on her laptop. Words that keep her wrists intact; words that keep her wedded to the world.
She turns on the radio and pecks deep into the night, burrowing deep into her soul.
Best sleep now.
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If you enjoyed this piece have a look at my erotic horror story: The Den.
I’m just a woman with an exceptionally ‘grimy’ mind, who loves turning my Immoral thoughts, lewd fantasies and deeply-felt desires into words and stories. Life is just too short to keep them all to myself.
Born and live in Oxford. Divorced. Hobby…..exercising my luring imagination! 🙂