Passion's Invocation, Stories That Need A Home

Of Possession and Dispossession

Of Possession and Dispossession


There was no win or lose in this decision. Keri couldn’t stay with Victor though leaving him was killing her. Still, there was no other choice. Her mind was made, if not her heart.  

“Why are you doing this,” Victor asked in stunned disbelief. 

“Clare. That’s why.” 

“Clare? What about Clare?” 

“How can I explain what you won’t hear or will twist to suit your argument?” 

“Don’t do this Keri. Leaving me won’t fix this.” 

 “Staying hasn’t fixed this and it’s killing me.”

“Wait a minute. Just stop and explain this to me,” Victor asked. 

Keri paused and went to the window. Painful silence filled the spaces between them as she stared out at the distant moon. She gathered her thoughts and battled for control of rioting emotions.

After a moment to collect, she spoke the first words that came to her; words she never wanted to speak of again, “Don’t ask for things you can’t deal with, Victor. This is your out. I strongly suggest you take it.” 

Victor said nothing, not wanting to push her over the precipice of the emotional cliff she was obviously teetering upon.  

Keri continued, “Your wife has been deceased for more than a decade and you are still one.” She paused awaiting his inevitable denial. 

“Keri,” Victor tried to make her see how unreasonable she was being, “How can I make you see? You’re jealous of a dead woman,” he accused. 

“No I’m not,” she snapped sharply, “Clare is very much alive and,” Keri concluded bitterly, “she is in you and of you. Clare is everything that comprises you. She lives in your thoughts and resides in your heart, where there never was any room for me.” 

“For Christ’s sake, Keri. Of course you’re in my heart,” Victor reasoned. 

“Shut up,” she cut him off angrily, “Just shut the fuck up! Because of you, I’m dying a million deaths! I’m hemorrhaging emotionally! My heart is bleeding out and it’s your fault! You pursued me. You accepted my heart among your other demands.” 

“Honey, you’re imagining all of this,” he stated with quiet incredulity. 

“Oh yea, right,” Keri argued flippantly, “I invested two years of my absolutely- alive heart, mind, body, soul and life in you; in loving you with everything I am, only to be crowded out by a ghost.” 

She retrieved her suitcase taking pains to stay out of Victor’s reach. He lay back on the bed holding his head with hands over his face.  

“Why is Clare an issue all of a sudden?” 

You think this was sudden,” she asked, infuriated, “You asked me to give you two years to get on firm footing. This was not sudden,” she yelled slamming her suitcase shut, “Sweet Jesus, I envy Clare!” 

“Envy,” Victor muttered his confusion into his hands. 

“Yes. Clare is dead! She feels nothing! Shit! I envy her that!” 

“I asked you to give me two years and I made a home for us,” Victor stated the obvious, trying to maintain dulcet tones while untangling her rage. 

“No. You didn’t. We found a place to live in together, where we exist around each other,” Keri stopped the torrent of words to follow, struggling to regain self-control. She knew this battle was over long before it began, before she had ever crossed Victor’s path, much less his mind. 

Victor patted the bed saying, “This is where we lay together, the place where we express our love for each other.” 

Keri sat next to her travel bag exhausted, “I thought so once.” 

“You don’t think so now?” 


“Why not?” 

“It’s obvious that my love for you is not enough,”

“To do what?” 

“To exorcise her from your soul, from all that you touch, breath, think, feel, are… prefer.” 

“I’m lost. You’re not making sense, Keri. Give me an example.” 

“You persistently run from reality to hide in Clare’s possession of you. For instance: When was the last time we made love that you weren’t thinking of her?” 

Victor lay silently stunned. He had no idea that Keri felt his very thoughts, and not just in bed, in everything.  He dragged his hand through his hair remembering all the times he had looked into Keri’s eyes, how frequently her soft smile had touched his heart, how many times she had held him or they had made love, while all he ever felt or saw was Clare.

It was Clare’s eyes he had looked into so deeply, her smile that Keri’s resembled so. It was Clare’s arms that held him close and her body he had loved so intensely. Keri kept her silence for two years, giving him the space and time he had asked for. Victor was acutely aware of her pain and frustration, leaving him ultimately in the wrong and If it could get any worse, it did.

Both knew it wasn’t exactly his fault, neither asked for what they had gotten. Keri knew as well as Victor, that he was well and truly possessed. Had it been less than his true love, Keri would have called out the clergy to exorcise his demon faster than he could blink.

“You see,” she said, interrupting his thoughts, “I’m no good at ménage à trois and you’re a man in love with a corpse; a spirit that can do no wrong; an eternally perfect ghost. That’s a competition I can’t… no, won’t live with any longer.” 

“Wait,” he implored softly, “Don’t leave.”  

“And stay for what,” Keri questioned, “You have immediately, and permanently, turned down any and all help that I’ve offered to get for you, or assist you in getting for yourself.  Apparently, you are happy living in your misery.” 

“No, Keri, I mean, I just realized. I never meant to…” 

“Apparently, you never meant anything,” she laid her cards, face-up, on the table.

“Keri, stop. We can work on this. Don’t leave. Not now.” 

“‘Not now?’ As though penciling it in later would be better? Maybe Clare has no expiration date, but I do.” 

“I didn’t realize what I was doing, but now that I know we can start over,” He reached to extract the bags from her. 

Keri moved to dodge him, whispering, “Maybe you can. I sure as hell can’t.” 

She stood in the doorway wanting to drop everything and run back into the safety of his arms but she already knew with certainty, anything she’d felt in his arms never belonged to her.   

“Why would I,” she wept, “Start over letting you love her and you use me like some morbid conduit,” she stated more than asked, hauling her belongings from the bed. 

Victor followed her to the door hoping for one last chance; hoping for words that would convince her to stay, “I love you, Keri. Yes, I’m always going to love what I had with Clare, but I love you!” 

 “Oh, you think so?” 

“I know so.” 

“Guess again, Victor. Do you remember, before we lived together, when I busted my ass and my bank account to fly across the country to see you?” 

“Yes. It was great.” 

It wasn’t,” Keri yelled, losing her tenuous grip on self-control, “It was a God damn, unmitigated disaster!” 

Victor was holding onto the very end of his rapidly fraying rope, “That’s not how I remember it. We spent the whole week together.” 

“Yes, we spent the week doing anything you could think of to please you. I rented a car. I drove your sorry ass all over town. I paid for everything and you still weren’t happy. You were hell-bent-determined that nothing short of Clare’s resurrection was going to make you happy. Also,” she screamed, completely unraveling and unable to stop now, “I asked you about the social site you’re on.” 

“What? What about it now,” he yelled back at her. 

“I gave you two years that you asked me for. You couldn’t wait two days until I was at least on an outbound flight, before befriending a skanky slut. I found out after I’d twisted myself into a pretzel trying to please you. I wish I’d known it was as easy as dying my hair and posting an ad for a smarmy, sickening  affair!  

“You are! You’re jealous and you don’t trust me,” Victor couldn’t have chosen a worse time for denial and childish accusation.

Say that just one more time and I swear I’ll knock you onto your lying ass so hard you’ll never stand up again! Your actions always spoke louder than your words, Victor and they were always in direct opposition.” 

“Nothing happened! I swear I never met the girl!” 

“Doesn’t matter. What do you think that did to me? You said you hadn’t even been on the site. You lied. So what the fuck else have you lied about? In my shoes, would you trust you? If your daughter asked for similar advice, what would you tell her? I gave you two years. I was woman enough to keep my word. My obligation is over.” 

Keri opened the door and half-turned back to finish, “It’s not lack of love, Victor. Between your lies, Clare’s presence, and your terror of our real, live relationship, I didn’t see that I was the only one in it. So go now. Run away. Fuck the skanky slut. Fuck a million of them. They’re all Clare anyhow. I’m setting you free with fierce pity for any woman who ever falls in love with you. Goodbye, you two. I now pronounce myself dispossessed.” 


By Wildfire8470



© May 08, 2015 – 03:50 AM – All Rights Reserved Registered & Protected  X0BO-8IWH-KOGE-RRWC



DISCLAIMER:  Any similarities to any person(s) living or deceased are strictly coincidental.



#breakup #drama #dispossessed #diverse #diversebooks #fiction #ownvoices #shortstory #read #readers #relationship #ghost #lostlove #widower #surrogate #substitute #possessed #possession

Fiction, Passion's Invocation, Romance

Reclaiming The Key, Part 1

Part 1:  College Changes Everything

Reclaiming The Key


Daveed was first her childhood crush, then her high school sweetheart, next her college love, and throughout their courtship, he became her world; her veritable everything.

In her innocent youth, she had indulged in fantasized certainties that are promised to none; eternal, infinite love and a marriage that would be the envy of all her friends; a supportive, nurturing husband constantly by her side, and she his unfailing font of more, ever increasing, in return.

Prompted by high school girlfriends, on a lark she had looked up the meaning of his name:


Origin: Hebrew

Meaning: Beloved

Pronunciation: (DAY vid); (da VEED)

Form of: Itself (David)”

Following which, she teased him mercilessly calling him beloved, especially in front of a crowd. Though he would punch her softly on the arm and wink, he never seemed to mind.


When left to her own devices, she scrawled his name and the meaning in her notebook as artfully as she could

 Daveed: beloved.”

In later years, the scrawl became:

Daveed, my beloved.”

Even then, in her wildest, naïve dreams, she hadn’t a clue that he would become so much more to her than that. God himself could not have predicted the breadth, depth, and magnitude of what was to come.

In her first and second year of college, Kalista was timid, fearful, and at times, outright terrified of what and how deeply he made her feel. Daveed had worked long and hard to win and keep Kalista’s heart his own; loved, cherished, encouraged to grow, yet protected.

She was his hard-won prize when she finally accepted the certainty of him and their fantastical future together. Reward to both was their full and open hearts, his consistency of unwavering devotion, and her will to constantly, ever-presently, renew their love threefold.

Neither could let the other down. They were only one together. Theirs was a love so deep and strong it was the stuff of fairy-tales, which they happily lived daily. She was the air that allowed him to breathe freely and drink in her unending supply of love and affection. He was her earth, her rock, her reality-touchstone in times of trial, despair, success, and ecstatic happiness. They grew to share more than any married couple they knew.

Though they resided in separate dorms in college, Daveed waited outside, on the sorority steps, each morning while Kalista dressed hurriedly, donning any clothes that would make him proud to call her his girl. Invariably, she skipped breakfast to be in his arms as quickly as possible. It was all the sustenance she could ever want or need.

Several weeks prior to his graduation, her third year of college, he had gifted her with a choker collar so beautiful she couldn’t believe her eyes.

On a day like every other day, she had rushed out the door to greet him, but found him in a tumultuous mood. She gathered that he was troubled, possibly torn about something, and caught her breath. Daveed took her hand gently, tugging her with him, saying, “We need to talk. Let’s go someplace more private, most beautiful one.” It was his pet name for her. Kalista hadn’t a clue that Daveed had done the same as she, in looking up the meaning of her name.

Immediately, her face was deeply grooved with concern and a little fear, though she complied responding, “Of course, my beloved.” Kalista looped her arm through his and he led the way through patchy woods to a bench long ago forgotten. Daveed explained his acceptance to medical school in another state. She looked deep into his eyes then, with torrents of pleas that lodged in her throat.

In that moment, she couldn’t breathe or speak. She felt as though air and gravity had suddenly ceased to exist. Daveed retrieved a box from his pocket, pulled a gorgeous choker from it, and placed it around her neck declaring, “I claim you. Wait for me, my most beautiful one. We’re worth it. You know we are. We will marry and be the one couple who does live happily ever after. You’re my destiny,” he whispered, and paused to see tears welling in her eyes; a look he never wanted to be the cause of.

He pulled her into an embrace that spoke of never wanting to let her go, and continued, “I want to provide for you as a husband should. Please wear the choker. It’s our acknowledgement that we are the key to each other; that we hold the key to our future together. It’s engraved beneath with our initials inside locked hearts.”

To Kalista, his words were elation, as much as devastation to the world they had created and lived in together for so long. It was the proposal she had longed for and exile to a life that she couldn’t possibly begin to bear.

For a moment, she clung to him for dear life and then pushed him away. She sprinted deeper into the woods, running as fast and hard as she could, trying to outrun the wailing scream that threatened to shatter the earth around her, just as her heart had shattered in the space of a breath.

She stood there alone, bereft, her world shredded, letting racking sobs, and small screams escape, until dizziness forced her to sit down on a patch of dead leaves fallen from the trees. Nothing mattered anymore. She felt as dead as the leaves crackling beneath her. Kalista stayed all day, grasping the key on the choker, not possessing the strength to return to campus. A life less her everything was too frightening to contemplate.

When she finally did return, she took cautious comfort in her sorority sisters. She let weeks of classes pass unattended while all she could do was weep. They approached tentatively, keeping her abreast of classwork and social functions, in small doses.

Understanding her need to grieve, they comforted and cajoled her back to functioning somewhat normally, and then worked to help her catch up with term papers and responsibilities. Barring time for her to sleep, they took shifts, working around the clock to beef up her fallen grades, just to enable her to stay with them.

Through years of study and infrequent letters to and from her beloved, she could not remove the choker. It was all she had left of the beauty that was them. It had become her darkest despair and highest hope though, in her heart of hearts, she felt there was no hope.

By her own graduation day, she knew she owed her sisters a huge debt of gratitude never realizing that hers was such a giving heart, there was never a need to feel indebted. Many times, she had done the same for them without a single thought for herself. Her debt was repaid long before she ever needed to indulge in their many kindnesses.

On graduation day, Kalista removed the choker from her throat and mailed it back to Daveed with a note tucked inside that simply read, “Best to you, beloved – always.”

Now, thirty-three years and one failed marriage later, she brought the mail back to her apartment, as she had on every other typical day. It wasn’t bills or letters that made her catch her breath. She held a box that she unwrapped hurriedly. Inside, was a familiar choker collar with a note that read, “Most beautiful, missed you at the reunion. Drinks?”

Suddenly, air and gravity ceased to exist…

By Wildfire8470


© October 20, 2015 – 12:54 PM – All Rights Reserved

Find Part 2 (Small Shocks) here:

Dangerous Women, Violence

Blind Rage

Blind Rage

You wound me deeply, finding some kind of perverse pleasure in it, and I am thinking of all the things I want to say… do, while you stand there in the doorway, lazily smoking your cigarette.

There’s a self-satisfied smirk twisting your lips and I close my eyes, picturing myself slapping it from your face, hearing the resounding crack, letting it echo through the halls of my mind and feeling the fulfillment of my hand connecting with your cheek.

I can almost taste the delicious feel of my palm to your skin as the smile dies from your eyes, and I want that; want it so much I can feel it coursing through my veins, but I will not give you the satisfaction. I won’t let you move me to violence; I’d sooner resort to that than tears. I am determined to never surrender… never ever fucking surrender that!

You look to me with a smug coolness that makes me get up and pace the floor, and that is a path that is too well worn and deeply grooved, so I throw on clothes and grab my keys, meaning to do whatever I must to fill this emptiness.

I fumble through my drawers, tossing this and that aside, digging for the cross that I never leave without. Finding my precious memento, I press it to my lips and murmur a quick prayer, knowing that I will need my very dear friend that it once belonged to, with me tonight.

With my eyes still closed, I turn to leave and crash directly into you. I was unaware that you have been watching me, waiting for me to reach my breaking point. Pulling me to you hard, you tilt your head down and kiss me. Everything in me wants to give in to you, but I wrestle myself free and run through the door, bolting out into the night; not knowing where I am headed and not caring. The only thing I know with certainty is that I must, must escape you.

I jam the key into the ignition and offer up a fervent prayer as I push the accelerator to the floor,

“C’mon! Start baby! Start!”

The engine roars to life: wings to my wounded soul. I fondle my treasured cross, car wheels screeching, as I pull out onto a road that may never end.

I drove blindly for nearly an hour, racing the highway and weaving recklessly, before finally stopping at a bar near the edge of town. Knowing that I need to collect, as my new speeding ticket will attest to, I utter an oath, get out, and slam the car door behind me.

I order my first drink, your drink, and inhale the wonderful liquid, feeling it sting my eyes as it burns all the way down my throat. I’ve never had hard liquor before but I think to myself, “All demons exorcised by degrees.” I roll my eyes and toss my head back, swallowing hard to inhale the shot of Wild Turkey in one mouthful. By my fifth drink I stop counting and place an order for another, when a voice cuts me off.

“I’ve got that.”

I turn to see a cowboy standing close behind me. Removing a bill from his wallet, he speaks without looking at me,

“Hello miss. Are you alone?”

The question stuns me momentarily and I consider my options.

“Y, yes” I stammer and look away, really feeling just how truly alone I am right now. I wince in my seat and offer him a “thanks,” hoping that he will go away and leave me to the insanity of this night.

I really want, need, to fall into a tolerable, drunken anger. Needing to at least have the solace of that, and then that voice,

“So what’s your name, cutie?”

By now, I am fiercely trying to hold it together, and failing. Without forethought, I spit out my acid reply,

“My name is fucking force of nature that you don’t want to fuck with tonight cowboy!”

I light a cigarette, praying that he will leave me to my rage.

“Whoa, little miss! Who pissed you off?”

But I am in fine form this night, and I promptly replied,

“Mad at the world, cowboy.”

Nonetheless, his eyes are smiling, quite obviously amused at my discomfiture.

Well that’s good. I’m not from this world.” He said, beginning an old pickup line.

I shoot him a warning glare and lift my purse onto my shoulder. One more person wanting anything from me right now, might be the thing that shoves me over the edge. I gather my keys and cross, and turn to leave.

Feeling the blood drop from my face to my feet, I realize that this may not have been the night to slam hard liquor, so I steady myself at the barstool and straighten my back.

Trying to appear as dignified as I can, I walk quickly past the cowboy, in a less than straight line, and head down the hall to the door. I am almost free, almost in the clear, when I feel a large hand clamp around my upper arm, spinning me around.

I look directly into his eyes, where he can see the venom in mine.

“I can tell that you’ve got a determination, little miss, but I don’t want you to be driving around in your condition.”

Automatically, I rifle through my mind for the best assurance that I’ll be fine and open my mouth to voice it.

“Let me just take you back to my place for the night.” He says kindly.

I whirl on him, glaring daggers into his eyes and then bolt for the door, but he has a firm grip on me and I am stopped in my tracks.

“I promise. No funny stuff. Scouts honor.”

My skin is prickling as I am bristling at the large hand keeping me from…

“From what,” I questioned myself silently.

Just for a moment, I relent. Seeing me relax just a little, cowboy tries again.

“Look, I’m not gonna take advantage of you. I can see you are fit to be tied, but don’t get any ideas or I’ll have to hog tie you.”

Finally, I chance a look at the speeding ticket in my partially open purse and heave a troubled sigh. He can see that I am defeated.

“Wait right here. Let me pay the bar tab and I’ll meet you right back here,” he orders as he begins to walk off. Then he turns back, in one step.

“Give me your keys.” He demands.

He holds out his hand, palm up, and I realize that I am less afraid of him, than I am of what I’ll face driving drunk and furious, so I dig into my bag and hand the keys over.

Cowboy walks away without a backwards glance and I bang my head against the wall, wondering how I got myself into this fine fix. Then I pull my cross out and palm it, muttering a prayer under my breath.

“Stay with me my angel. I need you.”

Cowboy returns and wordlessly takes my hand. I freeze and then wrench my fingers from his, but he just smiles softly and opens the door for me. I slip into the seat of his truck with some unease, but he is careful to keep his words soft and his movements slow.

I smile to myself, briefly thinking, “First battle won.”

But remembering that he still has my keys. Then, finally, I take a deep breath and exhale, feeling like it may be the first time I’ve breathed all night.

“What’s that ya got there?” His eyes are on my hands.

“Nothing. None of your damned,” I ground out, but my voice trails off as I realize that cowboy has been nothing but kind to me and likely doesn’t deserve my rage, so I struggle for a slightly kinder reply.

“Never mind. Just keep your eyes on the road cowboy.”

Just then a smile lit up his face.

“Okay, little miss. We’re home.”

He unlocked the door and held it open for me. I stepped inside his log cabin with trepidation.

“Don’t be afraid. Just make yourself to home,” he said as he hit the lights on.

I stood in the middle of the room, rooted to one spot, with thoughts racing; wondering how many bedrooms he has and how many beds, but there was something comforting about the place.

He gestured toward the couch, with a bowing motion, his arm outstretched, and it brought a smile to me.

“Nice to see your pretty smile, little miss.”

Assailed with the rage and pain that brought me here, the smile died on my lips.

“I’m going to get wood for the fire. Can I get you anything?”

But I don’t really hear him; I am lost in the reliving of my last experience of you. I sat silently, on the edge of the couch, as he went back outside and reentered again, arms filled to capacity with logs.

He lit the fire and I watched him make his way into the kitchen that seemed almost too small for his tall, stocky frame. I hadn’t taken notice earlier, of how he towered over me and I am somewhat surprised that I wasn’t astute enough to be very afraid of him.

After disappearing into the kitchen for some time, cowboy reappeared with two drinks. Approaching cautiously, he handed one to me and took a chair facing me.

He seems so relaxed, so comfortable, and the air is crackling with the contrast to my tension. I sat, still silent, staring into the fire; images of you in the arms of someone else assaulting me, seeing the words I’d read in black and white: “Meet me at the Motel-6 near you.” I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, trying to force you from mind.

When I finally look up, I realize that cowboy is gone. Hearing kitchen noises, I got up and went to investigate, then found him in the kitchen with milk and Kailua on the counter.

“You like mudslides?” He asked cheerfully.

I nodded my approval and returned to the couch, hugging my knees against several kinds of coldness, and unable to stop shivering.

Cowboy returned with both drinks in hand. Sitting them down gingerly on the hearth, he walks slowly towards me. Before I realize it, I’m on my feet. He has my shoulders in hand, gently steering me across the room, to sit in front of the fire. He then joined me at my side, close enough to be touching, but making no move to put his arm around me. I return my attention to the flames, making a concerted effort to burn you from my soul, knowing I would happily leap into the fire if I thought it would drive the pictures from my eyes.

Failing that, I began drinking heavily enough to stay somewhat sedated.

“Want to talk about it,” he asked without looking at me.

Dragging my thoughts back to the cowboy at my side, I stumbled,

“Huh? What?”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He queried again.

I stare harder into the flames and form the only response that I have.


“I realize that you are going through your own personal hell, little miss. Might help to talk about it.”

His eyes were filled with compassion, but I have no voice for this yet. I draw a deep breath and hug my knees tighter, while we sit together in silence for hours. Cowboy does not move, except to refill our drinks on a steady basis, and the last time he returned, he sat next to me, extending his arm around me.

“May I,” He asked quietly.

I wasn’t sure that I had it in me to care anymore. Declining to answer, I looked down into my glass, stirring the ice cubes with my little finger, a small but necessary distraction.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

I grimace slightly and reply, “I told you.”

“Oh C’mon. Give a guy a break, okay? ‘Fucking force of nature that you don’t want to fuck with tonight cowboy’ is too long to fit on your driver’s license!”

I can feel the amusement in his voice and it makes me giggle at the picture of us; me there in the bar, so small at all of 5″1″, verbally blasting this very tall, muscular cowboy, and it makes me laugh out loud for a second. Then he is smiling into my eyes.

“Well let me in on it!” he grins.

“I was just picturing our ‘scene’ at the bar,” I smiled.

“Yeah! Scared the hell outta me,” he responded, nearly falling backwards laughing.

Finally, I am laughing and I let him pull me a little bit closer, but then turned my eyes back to the hearth.

“Please don’t do that.” It is almost a whisper.

“Do what?” I queried softly.

“Please don’t retreat back into yourself. I just got you to laugh for the first time. I like your laugh, little miss.”

Genuinely smiling now, and still playing with my ice cubes, I reply, “I like yours too cowboy.”

Cowboy reaches to tilt my chin up and places a soft kiss to my lips, and I am instantly aware of the heat given off by the fire, and the heat that he is giving off.

Suddenly filled with nerves, and some guilt, I pick up my glass and jump to my feet, but the floor rises up to meet me and I am sprawled on the rug. Laughing heartily, he helps me to a sitting position and picks up our glasses.

“Better let me get those, little miss.”

Then he takes our glasses into the kitchen.

Feeling terribly foolish, the color rushes to my cheeks, I make a serious effort to stand. Watching from a distance, cowboys quickly returns to gently, but firmly, push me back down to the carpet.

“I told you. Don’t get any ideas or I’ll have to hog tie you,” He teases me.

Still blushing furiously, I tease him back. “You wouldn’t!”

As he returns from the kitchen, he asks, “Wouldn’t I?”

Without thought, I respond “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me.” He states, cutting me off.

His tone is now dead serious and his eyes are burning into mine. I hesitate for a long moment before breaking the tension.

“You’re such a kidder cowboy!”

“And you are no match for me, little miss,” is his staunch reply.

There is no anger in his voice, but an authoritative determination that floors me. I am opening and closing my mouth, trying to form words that will convince him that he doesn’t scare me; something that will make him believe that I am in complete control, regardless of what condition I’m in.

Then I square my shoulders and level my gaze at him.

“I can take you anytime, anywhere, cowboy,” I said, gritting my teeth for effect.

I hold his stare with my own, not even daring to blink, and then he stands, hauling me over his shoulder in one swoop of his arms. He walks toward the bedroom as I land my fists to his back, squirming and pushing against him, but fighting a losing battle against his strength and my inebriation.

“I’ll scream,” I threaten to the best of my drunken ability.

“So scream,” he responds with no intimidation.

“Wh, What,” came my confused response.

“You’re in the woods, little miss. No one will hear you.”

With that, he threw me down on the bed while I was still sputtering. I fought for a dignified position on the bed, never taking my eyes off of his.

“You can glare at me all you like, but you better do as I tell you,” he commanded.

My rage returns in full force.

“You arrogant! Hateful! You actually think! What gives you the right to,” but my voice trails off, not knowing how to finish.

“What gives me the right is that you are my charge for the night, and somebody’s got to control you.”

His slightly amused tone grates on my nerves and I lock my jaw. Chin set defiantly, I am prepared for an all-out war, but he peels off his shirt and walks purposefully towards me, as I clench my fists.

“Give up, little miss. You can’t win.”

He is calm and controlled in the face of my frayed nerves and fuming ire, and it grates on me.

With one more step I lunge at him, full body weight contact, but he does not stumble. He picks me up and dumps me, unceremoniously, back onto the bed. Then he holds me down at my shoulders and warns,

“Don’t move.”

His angry eyes search mine for compliance and he finally let go. For a moment I wonder if not moving is the better option, knowing that I can barely stand but when he returns with restraints, I push back onto the bed and prepare for an all-out, no-holds-barred, fight-to-the-death. Seeing blood in my eyes, he smiles derisively,

And he leans into me. Unable to free myself from the grip of my inebriation, I am throwing punches, flailing, slapping at him, and cursing a blue streak.

“Fuck this cowboy! Fuck you!”

“If you must,” he responds with a smirk that I wanted to slap from his face.

Then I suddenly feel my palm connect and I am filled with instant gratification.

“God that was good,” I scream, but his smirk turns into a grin.

“You’re a little spitfire. I didn’t expect to have this much fun tonight, but the fun is over, little miss,” he states matter-of-factly.

That being said, he lunged with precision, catching my foot midstream to his family jewels.

“Nice try,” he says without emotion, and then drags me to the edge of the bed while I struggle, with what little might I have left.

“You won’t get away with this,” I scream but, somewhere inside me, I realize the futility of my argument. Still, I persist.

“Stop now cowboy, while you still can,” I warn loudly.

Then I throw myself into a last ditch effort to escape; twisting, fighting and writhing, until he slips restraints over my wrists and ankles, with a noted certain ease.

Then he binds me to the bed while I’m still fighting, knowing that it is a losing battle, but struggling nevertheless. Then he holds me down firmly, letting me push and pull, trying the restraints with everything I’m worth. Suddenly, he presses a gentle kiss to my lips as the last of my fight is draining.

We stayed like that for some time, his lips to mine, murmuring softly,

“Let it go now, little miss,”

And suddenly I could feel the fire all the way in this room.

Finally I collapse, surrendering to his kisses, and with none of this making sense, he deepens a kiss that makes me panic. With nothing left but my voice, I use it.

No! No! Nooooo!” I shriek.

“Shhhhh.” he whispers, and I’m completely confused.

My voice gets smaller while I’m lost in all of my tormented emotions.

“Nooo,” I groan at him.

“Shhhh,” He continued.

“No cowboy.” I whispered weakly.

Gently, he repeats, “Shhhh.”

I nearly crumble as his lips set me on fire, but I know I won’t go down without a fight, and I struggle for the final time; flailing and lashing out as best I can, being restrained, and he let me fight it out.

“Shhhh. Let it go now,” he whispers, again and again, as he kisses me softly.

Still kissing me tenderly, he begins to strip away my clothing, still whispering as I struggle lethargically.

“Shhhh. Don’t fight me. Don’t fight anymore.” His voice is soothing and somewhat seductive.

“No.” I fight to reply.

“Shhhhh,” he continues.

Then he kisses me deeply, stealing my breath as my blood begins to boil, and without breaking the kiss, he tugs the last piece of fabric from me and cups my face in his palms. I feel his stare lay waste to my determination, as strokes the curve of my waist.

Fire courses through me at his touch, but I fight for some logic through my exhausted, drunken haze; trying to find the surface to break through.

Again he whispers, “Shhh. Don’t anymore. Shhhh.”

He moves slowly then, standing to strip from his jeans, and then stretches out to lie against me. His hardness against my thigh is nearly more than I can stand. He parts my lips for a deeply hungry kiss, and finally, I return his kisses with passion.

Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with the need to feel his hands on me, all of me, and then I do. His fingers and palms explore me, squeezing my breasts lightly, caressing the flat of my belly, while his lips trail kisses down my neck and shoulder.

Then I’m lost in him; in what I’m feeling; what he’s making me feel, and my pussy is soaking wet as he slides his fingers down to stroke my hard clit. My breasts ache with every rise and fall of my breathing, while his lips and tongue suckle my nipples into hard pebbles and my labored breathing comes faster.

He feels every inch of me, leaving nothing untouched, with his hands, his fingers, and his lips. Moving lower, he kisses me down one thigh and up the inside of the other, until his hot breath comes to rest at my pussy. Then he hesitates, long enough to draw a whimper from me, as he touches his finger to me there and spreads my aching cunt lips.

He slides his fingers up and down my slit, as he slowly moves closer, and then his lips are on me; his lips sucking my clit while he strokes me with the tip of his tongue, drawing small whimpers from me.

His hands hold my hips firmly as he drives his tongue into my smoldering cunt; darting in and out of my pussy, and driving me into white hot desire. Then he suckles my clit harder as he presses his finger into me, and I cry out with need of more; needing him to fill me with all of his hardness, needing him to quench this burning desire.

“Ohhh yesss! Yes!”

Then he slips two fingers into my tight, little, pussy. Unsatisfied with less than my everything, his fingers wiggle hard and deep inside of me, while the heat of his breath pounds against me. His tongue laves my clit, forcing me into a delirium I’ve never experienced, and I’m am whimpering and writhing with renewed vigor.

Then he drags his wet fingers to my lips and then I suckle them, slowly drawing his fingers into my mouth, as he pushes the head of his cock to my burning cunt. Barely entering me, at first, I close my eyes, drawing on any strength I might have left.

Then finally, he thrusts his granite erection into me, fast, deep, and hard, as he kisses away the scream that is rising in my throat. The, slowly, starts to withdraw, teasing and taunting me, forcing me to arch my back to pull him deeper.

Then he stops, and I am too far gone to understand, until he asks,

“What do you want, little miss,” knowing that this evening’s trauma is the furthest thing from my mind now, he is asking me to say the words.

Having reached the end of my tether, and craving him with a vengeance, I shout,

Fuck me, damn it all! Fuck me, please!”

Then he drives his steel-hard cock into me as deeply as he can, burying himself up to his balls, in my hot, wet, snatch, thrusting harder with every stroke, pummeling me over and over, while I’m twisting and writhing beneath him. My whole body is shaking as my orgasm builds, and I let myself feel every ounce of his intensity. I let him push me beyond myself, until my scream split the air and he shudders on top of me.

The full, firm, length of him is throbbing hard inside of me, as my pussy contracts around his cock, with both of us still pushing and thrusting, refusing to stop until we’re too both spent to go on.

Finally, he claims me in a kiss that envelopes my soul, gently clipping my wings in that moment, and then holding me close as he removes my bonds. We both quickly entwine, wrapping our limbs around each other, as we let our breathing slow, just as the sun rises in the window and a whole new day begins.

By Wildfire8470
Wildfire8470 Digimarced

© copyright May 08, 2015 – 02:36 AM – All Rights Reserved Registered & Protected  FASR-Z6YC-MALG-OEOM
Prior © copyright 2013-03-14 20:21:33 – All Rights Reserved

Passion's Invocation, Romance, Tuesday Teasers

Wrath Of An Irish Maiden

Wrath Of An Irish Maiden

Storm - Blackhead - Sea - cliff - Ireland - county Clare

Kathleen waited in her modest home, with the parish Priest and her family, listening to storm reports. The breaking news announced the flash flood that brought down a bridge. Kathleen knew he was on it, crossing that bridge to get to her, even in this horrid storm.

Digesting the news she’d just heard, Kathleen sat stock-still for a moment, letting the enormity of it hit her. Then she bolted, still in her wedding gown, running into the wind of a storm that County Clare had not seen the likes of for twenty five years.

The cyclone blew its fury, dashing waves and spray over the tops of nearby cliffs. With storm clouds surrounding her, blacker than night, she screamed her frenzied grief into side-slanting rain that blew her long, red hair straight back, “You took him from me! You godforsaken bitch! You took him from me” she wailed and sobbed, screaming at Mother Nature and any god that would listen.

With gale-force winds whipping her slight frame to and fro, she edged dangerously close to the slippery, black shale, cliffs. She was barely discernible in the driving rain and the cold splashing of the Atlantic. Only bolts and flashes of lightning that split the sky gave enough illumination to make out the shape of a mad woman, with her entire body twisting, cursing, and fighting an unseen enemy as she pummeled her own demons.

Kathleen was far beyond fear of storms that once terrified her. Tonight, she feared nothing, including death. She shook her tiny fists at the gods, at all of the legends and lore about hearty, Irish, men and women who had survived worse.

She could not imagine worse than a life without her love, and continued her raving madness, “There is no worse,” she shrieked, “This is worst,” she screamed, releasing her unrelenting pain into the raging tempest that spat it back in her face with its howling winds.

Bolts of lightning dodged her small frame as though fearful but the deluge answered her, splattering her soaked body with a vengeance. Her pearl-white gown clung to her, filthy, tattered, and shredded, with her beautiful face now contorted in utter insanity. Outrage and agony tore through her, as nothing ever had.

She was mad with grief, incensed ire, and beyond the ability to return from her own hell, but the storm pitched everything it had at her. Kathleen fought, swore, and cursed, as though boxing the merciless onslaught.

Finally, she leaned into the wild winds, screaming her wrath that matched the raging, furious cyclone and then charged the jagged cliffs, swearing to join her love in death.

Out of nowhere, strong arms encompassed her waist, hauling her back to safety. Exhaustion claimed her as she fainted into merciful blackness, not even realizing she had fainted into the arms of her fiancé.

By Wildfire8470


© January 15, 2017 – 10:08 PM – All Rights Reserved Registered & Protected

Reproduction or republication of this content is prohibited without prior written permission.


Tags;  Cliffs of MoherFictionGriefInsanityIrelandIrish Legend, LossRageRomanceTantalizing Tuesday TeaserTrue LoveTuesday Teasers, Wrath, WiP, Wrath