EXCERPT Werewolf
Tim spread-eagled against the wall wrists and ankles shackled, leather
straps across chest and belly pinning him to the wall, the muzzle hangs loose
around his neck. Sondra, looking amused holds an open iron collar in her hand,
the chain leads to a bolt in the wall.
“Just snap it around my neck Sondra, then I’ll tell you my secret,” Tim
urged.
She replied gently, like she’s pleasing a child. “Okay Tim.”
She snapped the collar around his neck, stepped back standing in front of
him; her hands clasped before her, eyes downcast, demure little smile on her
face. “Does that make you happy Tim? Do you feel safe enough to tell me your
secret now? I know I’m only a third year psychology student, but I’d love to
have you explain just what goes through your mind when those shackles slip
on.”
He shook his head making a disgusted sound. He looked at her imploringly.
“Sondra please believe me, I’m a werewolf.”
Simply. “Oh well, that explains so much then.”
He groaned. “Please Sondra don’t just humor me, I’m a werewolf and I’m
going to prove it to you. In a moment I’m going to ask you to throw open the
shutters and let the moonlight in, then you’ll see.”
“Oh but I do believe you Tim, I’ve seen one or two in all my long
centuries.
Detective
An older but classy hotel room. The Décor was dark brown wood paneling,
and red: red carpet, heavy red damask window drapes, a dark vermilion bedspread.
Made of silk, it would feel cool and soft on your skin, inviting comfort ridden
slumber as it cradled you in its determined embrace. Wall scones light the room
softly, the subdued lighting of a mortuary viewing room. The room however, is
destroyed, signs of a vicious life or death struggle portrayed in every
corner.
The bed sheets are tangled on the floor, furniture knocked askew as if
violently heaved in an effort to keep some stalking predator back. The windows
drapes have been torn down, to lie like a murdered bird, its broken wings askew,
upon the floor. The room is splashed with blood. Arcs of it spread everywhere,
but especially pooled on the bed. More blood covers the walls, the door, bloody
handprints dot the headboard, the desperate grappling clasp of a man trying to
pull himself upright. Through a doorway was a bathroom, the mirror smashed…
blood everywhere.
Ooze
A dark basement room, stark cold concrete floor. A spotlight in the
ceiling illuminated only the immediate surrounds, all else was lost in darkness
and shadows. Steven in only white boxer shorts sat bound to an old plain wooden
chair, thick strong wood, rough-hewn ladder-backed, the headrest rising just
over his head. The chair was bolted to the concrete, thick leather straps with
metal buckles restrained him at wrists elbows ankles and knees. Another pair of
straps, one over his breast the other just above the waistband of his boxers; a
strap over his forehead helped hold his head in place. He can thrash but not
much. Electrodes were taped over his hart and belly, another clipped to a
finger, lines trailing from them to: The Machine.
The Machine sat behind the chair, it looked cobbled together from
spare\junkyard parts. The main body a waist high wheeled metal filing cabinet,
drawers stripped away to leave a metal shell with platforms (the bottom of
drawers left in). Bottommost a pair of computer towers linked together, lights
blinked madly on them. Above were glass jars and plastic vats full of strange
bubbling liquids trailing tubes and wires, plus empty jars with tubes as well. A
monitor\keypad and trackball mouse were welded to the side, the monitor
displaying bio readings. On top some type of iron lung style pump\ bellows
squatted like a warty toad on a lily pad, waiting for prey to fly into range. It
most resembled something a mad scientist might use in a bad movie from the
seventies.
Tubes led off from The Machine to Steven, tubes trail under the legs of
his boxers. Over his bellybutton poised a large nine-inch diameter glass vacuum
tube, inside this hung a four-inch diameter second glass tube more centered over
his button, inside it a syringe waited. Three tubes led into the vacuum tube, a
thick one simply attached to the large tube, two smaller ones led off from the
thick one and attached directly to the large bore syringe.
Tammy looks like a cross between a dominatrix and a mad scientist. Her
hair let down shoulder length. Thigh-high shiny black leather boots, a lab coat
buttoned to the neck, her breasts fight to pop the buttons. It goes down to her
hips showing flashes of her red panties as she moves. She still had her glasses
on, a clipboard in hand.
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Children`s Fiction
Erotica Fiction
