“Has anyone ever done this for you before?” “No. Uh, a bit lower …” Sparrow barely holds in a moan as their hands find the right spot on his shoulders. “Really? A cute morsel like you … well, I’m honored you chose me, then.” “Um. Could you, uh.” “Yes?” “… u-use a different word. For me.” “Oh, of course! What would you prefer?” “U-um. Something, uh,” he hides in face in his hands, not that it matters much, “something masculine?” ...
This story was originally posted to Twitter on April 26, 2022. “Little witch, little witch~” She sits huddled inside her circle, her last little bastion against the world. A fortress wrought of old amber chips and gallium drips, a tiny pathetic thing standing firm in the face of what waits just outside. “Why won’t you come out to play~?” If she let herself look at it, if she let her eyes rest on that broken parody of a person for a just a moment— ...
originally posted to Twitter on September 8, 2021. The liquid roils within its flask, fighting against the thick rubber stopper. Pink and purple and green glimmer on its surface, fleeting highlights against its deep reflective black. It’s trying so hard to get out—but it doesn’t stand a chance. Spell-etched glass and a binding circle burned into your countertop make sure of that—even if it broke the stopper, it would be trapped. ...
(This story is also featured in my collection Joyous/Decay.) “Oh, little angel … this is such a place to find you in, here down among the world’s roots. Why would you let yourself fall so far, my dear? There is nothing here for one like you.” She whirls, looking for the voice’s source—but her halo is so dim. She can’t see a thing. “I’m not your dear!” she yells, glaring at where she thinks the voice came from—a matted tangle of roots and thorns and filthy wood. “And I’m not fallen. I’m on a mission.” ...
Her hand on your cheek as she guides you down, careful to keep her claws just away from your skin. You’re so close to her, lost in the heat of her body and the smell of her delicious spicy musk. It’s almost too much as you settle onto your knees and look up at her, at the marbled purple and red of her body and the ample fullness of her breasts and the horns curling from her head far above; she’s so large, so strong. She could break you without even trying, and the thought of that always makes your heart quiver and your cheeks burn. ...