Lucy Van Pelt

Picture

"I believe in total emotional commitment. If you’re upset, wallow in self pity. If you’re excited, run in circles. If you’re angry, scream in frustration. If you’re aroused, feast. Why one would block or suffocate their natural reaction to a situation or experience is beyond me."


                              
                               MIND GAMES




Tenderly, he cradles her face in his hands and smiles.  It is time for them to make love.

In bare feet they walk together to the bed he keeps in the corner of the basement.  She had not known it was there.  Feelings of gratefulness and love overwhelm her until she bursts into tears.  The dark place he has taken her is not one just of cruelty.  It is also a place where she can slumber in his arms dreaming of the soft kisses he plants on her hair as she sleeps.

It is time.  He gracefully and firmly guides her by the hips to her position on the bed.  On her hands and knees.  Her ass in the air waiting for him.  He wants her doggy-style.  Like a dog.  He slaps her once hard on the ass, not for pain or drama, but because it is what he does.  Who he is.  He says to her, "It is time for you to get fucked by me."  He moves his cock, hard and thick, to her entrance.  Her breath is stolen by the importance of the moment.  For 20 years, since before he proposed marriage, she has had only her husband inside her.  This will change that forever and there will be no taking it back.

The man behind her laughs and hoists her ass higher, into better position.  She is exposed.  Aware that he is looking at her asshole and her pussy.  Smelling her.  She wants him to fuck her so badly.  The man she has pined for and dreamed about.  This new man who thinks about sex as if it were poetry.  Who, she knows, in his strange way, worships her.

"Please," she gasps. "Take me."  His cock plunges into her.  He fucks her and fucks her.  Savagely.  His cock is like a piston.  She moans and screams in his basement, where no one will ever hear her but him.  Her ecstasy - like her - echoes and whips around the room, unbridled, feral, wild.  No one will witness this but him, the man who is the giver and receiver of the gift that makes her a wild animal brazen with sex.  It is their secret.

He comes with a grunt, and pushes her off him.  She can't stop panting, her heart races dangerously near careening out of control.  She is still in free fall.  But at the same time perplexed by the memory of him crudely pumping her until he came.

"It is time for us to leave here," he says to her.  He takes her by the hand and they walk together, naked, up the stairs.  He unlocks the door to the basement and brings her to the master bedroom, where they will sleep together, under satin sheets … until dawn.

In the morning she would board a plane and return to her life, measured out in skinned knees and Diet Cokes.



An excerpt from Mind Games an anthology of dark erotic short stories currently a work in progress.

Picture

     "There isn't a word that can describe what we have."


                                       BARCELONA

"Welcome, Don Ruperto Villa," said the small, quiet man.
"Good afternoon," Ruperto said.
"Are you really ready to compete with my charge?"
"Yes. I think am"
"And what is it that you even hope to prove?"
He indicated the shiny metal figure standing tall and foreboding in the center of the plaza. "That it is nothing to see metal battered."
"I don't think you understand."
"I do. I understand."
 Waving his hand in the direction of the robot he pointed."You don't realize that this is the creation of a man's mind. Isn't it moving to see such a creation face destruction?"
Don villa shook his head and sighed. "It is more moving to see a man tempt death."
The technician shrugged. "We will see."
Villa stepped onto the sand and the crowd applauded politely. Their real attention was on the metal thing in the center of the plaza.
He had seen it once before. It was perfectly and unapologetically a machine. Gleaming metal, shaped more like a bullet than a man, it had arms just long enough to hold the cape and wheels on its base instead of legs. It was a perfect machine, fashioned by a man who loved his mind's creation.
Villa  walked over to it and looked it over. The crowd watched silently. Then he reached out and flipped it lightly with his finger. The sound of tin being tapped filled his ears briefly.
The crowd stirred and grumbled almost in unison.
"Junk," he said. "For once I cheer for the bull."
His voice carried over the whole plaza. The crowd murmured angrily.
"Insulting pig," someone shouted.
"Go away, get out and go home," a man in the first row called. "We didn't ask for you."
"Yes, why don't you leave us alone?"
A few more people jeered and shouted. Don Villa stood stiffly in the center of the ring and stared back at them.
A small man ran across the plaza. "Excellency," he said.
"Yes?"
"The President is asking that you not to insult the other matador."
"Go to Hell," Don Villa said. "I swear at my  godamn car and I'll swear at this thing, too."
"The crowd will just grow angrier."
He looked around the plaza, and for the first time this afternoon he was really afraid. The bulls had always frightened him but never too much. He knew he had to die someday and he preferred to die with grace and dignity. But now he feared the crowd.
He feared the eyes that looked on him as an unimportant intruder beside the essence of what they valued.
You are nothing, the eyes said. You are only a man like us. But this beside you is more than a man. This is grace and beauty and efficiency
. This is the lovely thing that we have made. Go away.
"I'll show you," he said to them. "I'll show you!"



                       An excerpt from Barcelona a novel currently in progress.

Picture
Picture