The #SoSS posts have meant that I am constantly discovering new bloggers out there who write great stuff.
This little lady Pixie Heart (I know she's little because of the name she writes under and there is a youth and naievety in her words, which is so refreshing) populates her blog with diary pieces about her life as a submissive with the Boss man and other females who form her group. Pixie ran a competition 'Something Wicked This way Comes' which should have been judged around Halloween, but events (twin girls!) overtook her and she extended the deadline. Lucky me, as I wasn't on Twitter in October and wouldn't have seen it.
So ... I got a spooky idea while driving (as I so often do on long journeys) and wrote it up, then had to trim it down to the word limit - but here it is! Please also visit Pixie's website to see the other entries and find out the winner.
Chilling Me Softly
I reached inside the broken window, boards nailed there to keep people out were broken in parts.
“Here kitty,” I called, “puss, where are you?” I tried to keep my voice steady and encouraging, despite the fact that this deserted, broken-down house gave me the creeps, chilling me to the bone. I wanted to find the black cat I’d seen weave through the gappy fence panels and climb in this window. I listened for any sound, and heard a faraway meowing.
Determined to rescue the little cat I pulled away a loose board and struggled to get my head and shoulders through the gap. I felt the rough edges drag at my hair and clothes, but no damage until I pulled my legs through, I felt my fishnet tights catch and rip, great holes appearing in the network of threads. Ho-hum, saving the cat was more important, the look kinda worked with my biker boots and black leather mini-skirt.
Inside, the house was dusty and bare of furniture, cobweb coated with a dank chill pervading the air, sinking to my core. Goosebumps broke out on my skin and dread washed over me, something was desolate and menacing in the atmosphere. I should find that cat and get out of there fast, so where was the meowing coming from?
I heard faint noises above me, and ventured into the hallway, where I detected cat paw-prints on the dusty stairs. I hugged my jacket around me, no match for the cold air, my nipples hardened painfully against my flannel shirt.
“Here kitty,” I called, trying to sound reassuring, climbing the creaking staircase. All doors on the landing were closed, except one, so I pushed it wider and entered a once-grand, ornate bedroom. The windows had heavy curtains,, and the bed had wooden pillars draped with curtains, but everything was faded and decomposing, the old splendour cobwebby. I peered around, trying to locate the cat, calling all the time. It must be under furniture, so I bent down to peer under the fabric skirt around the bed.
“Who’ve you brought me kitty?” The voice in the chill air was eerie and whispery, my heart stuttered with surprise.
I tried to straighten up to face its owner, but their cold, steely grip held my shoulders down, unable to adjust my posture, my bum in the air while my face was pressed into the musty, bed hangings. I was assaulted by a mixture of fear, shock, dread and embarrassment, I was exposed, my short skirt hitched up as I bent forward and I hated being held down.
I was startled by soft tickling, the touch of fur on my calves and, hearing a purr, I realised the cat was weaving round my legs. Then I something cold trailed up the back of my legs and under my skirt, icy fingers groped my buttocks before grabbing a handful of my fishnets to rip them, enlarging the snagged holes before insinuating chilly digits under my boyshorts. I was shocked and appalled, but those sneaking fingers stroked and teased my pussy and, appallingly, I realised I was wet. I love temperature play, I frequently prepare my glass dildo in a bowl of ice cubes, and the chilly fingers probing at my snatch were delicious as they trailed through my dew covered folds, spreading moisture.
“I think our visitor likes this, kitty,” the whispery voice of my assailant was creepy but compelling. I sucked in musty air with my face forced in the bedding, while my pussy was teased; one, then two fingers sliding insistently in and out of me, my heartbeat kicked up.
“Who are you?” I gasped.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“What are you going to do to me?” my voice was muffled.
“Nothing you haven’t dreamed of,” came the reply.
I began to make my own mewing sounds as the digits swirling around my clit and labia drove me crazy with arousal. I should have been terrified, I didn’t know who my assailant was or what it’s intentions were, yet I was so turned on I didn’t want the sensations to stop. A third finger was now thrusting in and out of my sopping hole - a cold piston - I loved it.
Could the creature see into my head? My fantasies featured reluctance, I wanted to be treated like a slut, handled roughly as if my sexyness made my partner lose self-control. Holding me down and shredding my tights I’d felt a gush of hot excitement pulse in my cunt.
My assailant massaged my pussy while dragging my torso up onto the bed, I was bent forward at the waist, my upper body supported by the mattress. He wedged a foot between my boots and spread my legs wider. Next thing, I felt a cool hand snaking under my ribs, grasping my shirt and pulling hard. Buttons popped and fabric ripped, my breasts exposed to the cold, gloomy room and that same cold hand pinched and dragged at my left nipple, roughly and insistently, just how I liked it.
A moan escaped my lips and I panted. The creature laughed, my arousal amused it while making me ashamed. The hand stopped mauling my breast and sending stabs of desire into the pit of my stomach, instead it took my head and twisted it to the side to press its cold lips against mine. The finger fucking my soaking sex did not slow, while (what I’m going to call) its tongue probed my mouth. It was cold, like its fingers, but thick and substantial. I sucked on it like I was sucking a cock and that’s what it felt like. My saliva flowed, I worked lips and tongue in a massaging movement. The ‘tongue’ touched the back of my throat; I hoped I was giving pleasure.
I felt crazed with lust, visualising my assailant not as a man, but as a sex machine programmed to fuck me every which way. Groaning to express my arousal, the sex machine sped up thrusting fingers in my pussy while fucking my mouth at the same time. Both appendages felt cool inside me, but I relished the shocking contrast and was soon tightening up inside, colours swirling behind my eyes while waves of throbbing delight spread out from my core. I 'fell' from a height to swoop down into a kaleidoscope of colours and clutching, grabbing waves of happy sensations which washed over me. He continued his abuse of my pussy while something cold spurted at the back of my throat, an inhuman climax. I rode the waves and throbs of my orgasm, and they subsided a little but not completely.
He withdrew his ‘tongue’ from my mouth, and I gulped down some ragged deep breaths. Moments later my skirt was hiked up to expose my rump while the chilled clawing hand ripped my fishnets more, tearing through my knickers. A hard appendage pressed against my anus, and before I could register any excitement or dread, my orifice was plundered. With a burning stretch I accommodated something the size of a penis, but cold like steel and textured like my favourite curved dildo. My anal ring flared out and in and out as my bum accepted the ‘cock,’ he fucked me doggy style, I loved its bumpy texture.
I felt full, yet yearning for more and again the creature read me and reached round to circle my clit until I saw starbursts as I came. I howled and heard myself beg him not to stop. He began to withdraw slowly then and press back in - this drew out the throbs of my second climax. Maybe I had a third, then I blacked out.
When I woke I was stiff and sore. I was sprawled on the mildew spotted bedding, my trembling legs felt like cooked spaghetti. My jaw ached and my rear felt stretched and bruised. Looking down at myself, my clothes were very dishevelled; buttons missing on my flannel shirt and my fishnet tights shredded in tatters. Why was I in this freezing room in a house earmarked for demolition? then I saw the cat.
It sat calmly on a chair, leg stretched in the air allowing it to lick languorously between its legs. It paused mid-wash, fixing me with green eyes. Then it stood and stretched, leaping noiselessly to pad across the floorboards, looking back at me in the doorway. I’d a hazy memory of coming into the house to rescue the cat. Such a beautiful creature shouldn’t get trapped in this dangerous house, so I followed it until it leaped through the gap in a boarded window, then I remembered climbing and tearing my tights. Could I have fallen from the high windowsill and bumped my head? That could explain why I woke up on the bed. Perhaps.
In the daylight the cat walked a short way down the road, then sat to continue washing itself. I walked off unsteadily, in the direction of home.