Ceremony (Fiction)

Two men in ceremonial robes and wearing the traditional paints ran down the hallway. Between them, they dragged a naked girl. She bit and fought with every ounce of strength to be let go, but they overpowered her, faith giving them power.

At the end of the hallway, there was a railing, her last chance to be free. She jumped forward and kicked backwards off of it, throwing the three of them backwards by a few feet. They stumbled and one let his grip slip from her arm.

She punched the other in the face, and he lost his grip. By this time the other had recovered, grabbing her arm before it could throw another punch. She tried to punch him with her other arm, but he snatched it out of the air and shoved her forward and to the ground.

The other man spat blood and stood back up, reaching for an arm again as the girl went limp. They dragged her back to the railing, a crowd below and spread out into the distance cheered. Beneath them was a large vat of turbulent liquid, orange yellow and red, the colors and consistency of lava.

Heat rose in waves while several other men and women in ceremonial robes tended the fires under and around the vat. Sparks flew as the sacrifice’s body drew near, as if the liquid was alive, as if it were waiting for her to fall in.

The men took a breath, she took another chance, suddenly struggling again. They tightened their grip, a grim expression of determination on their faces. She spit at those below, but a fireball rose from the vat, vaporizing it before it could hit any of the faithful.

They grabbed her legs from under her, lifting her over the rail. She flailed one last time, making them slightly lose their balance. She managed to grab the rail, but they were quick to regain their footing and throw her over.

She banged against the side of the walkway and held on, fire rose beneath her. One of the men pried her hands from the metal bar, and she grabbed back on a different spot, slipping lower, but not falling.

She held on for a few more seconds, staring into the eyes of one of her killers. He held a grim determination, the look of an indoctrinated priest. Her atrophied muscles failed her, and she finally fell. A look of surprise and fear showed on her face for the first time, replacing the anger that kept her fighting this long.

He snapped out of it and reached for her at the last second, but it was too late, and she plunged into the vat, a flash of pain showing on her face before she became invisible in a puff of steam.


Originally written Sep 18, 2012. Edited, today. Hope you enjoyed.

Revolution (Drabble)

“See?” She asked.

I was distracted by how she looked, despite the grease. “I’m sorry, mechanics aren’t my strong suit.”

“Keep it spinning or we die.” That broke through long enough to analyze the instructions I was given.

“Why isn’t this automated?” I asked.

“Cylons.” The blank stare on my face led to a laugh. “It’s an old TV show, fiction. AI gained sentience, didn’t like being used as tools.”

I queued it for research. “I think I understand.”

That got a smirk, followed by a nod. “I’ll be in my bunk.”

A subsystem completed the research. It was…interesting.


Drabble is a form of extremely short storytelling, where you are limited to exactly 100 words. This one was written for a challenge, but not submitted in time.

Lost Summoner (Drabble)

Decorations rattled from the boom of suddenly displaced air. A figure appeared in the hallway across from the study. Her eyes met a dragoness on a couch, looking back with a neutral expression. “Where am I? Are you a demon?”

“My home. And it depends on where you are from, summoner.. However, I do enjoy collecting lost souls.” She smirked, “You seem a little lost.” The dragon stood slowly, tasting the fear radiating from her visitor.

The figure held her ground as the dragoness approached, smile growing wider, “Want to make a deal, my dear?”

“What kind of a deal?”


Drabble is a form of extremely short storytelling, where you are limited to exactly 100 words.

Pocket Dragon (NSFW Fiction)

A short work involving anthropomorphic canid characters and a dragon. Inspired by these images (but not directly based on them).


It was just three of us, but we partied like a frat house. At some point I’d been dared to make myself 5 inches tall instead of 5 feet tall. Yeah, I was a little short for my girls, yet alone a dragon, and that was before the dare.

Well, I say my girls, but really I was theirs. A curse had bound me to Leslie, she was the black canine of indeterminate pedigree. Big floppy ears, a wolfish muzzle, but her voice was all fox. Anise was her best friend, a fennec who had to be gagged when her mate came to visit for a night or two.

So there I was, 5 inches tall thanks to Anise, and very very slowly realizing that the alcohol content in my blood did not shrink with the rest of me. If I were any other species, I’d have been dead already, fortunately dragons are a little harder to poison.

After recovering from a fit of giggles, Leslie looked a little concerned. “You okay there-” a snort, “lil.. little guy?” I’d already passed out, still standing.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up with my snout in a small warm divot on a large silky rug of some- I looked up, seeing the hills of my Leslie’s breasts and her face looking back down at me. The divot was her belly button. I blushed, there was a faint scent of musk in there from when she made me paint her with cum, and she hadn’t washed quite enough to remove it all. I got up onto my knees.

“Hey.. C’mere draggie.” Her hand, slightly larger than me, brushed against my back. The force of it knocked me right back over, dizzying me further.

Before I could react, her hand picked me up and pushed me under the hem of her panties. I immediately noticed that she was in only her panties, and the strong scent of alcohol-fueled arousal.

“C’mon dra.. draggie. Come in.. inside.” She gasped as her clumsy movements brushed my rough exterior against her bowling ball-sized clit. An involuntary movement pushed me harder against it, and my legs and tail were enveloped by sticky, puffy labia.

It was far more pleasurable at this scale than I expected, like being caressed by velvet.. that also happened to be a little too humid. The smell got a lot stronger as I felt her open up slightly to accept more. She finished shoving me inside with a moan and I was nearly folded in half in the process.

I took a moment to rest, breathing heavily in a way that made the all-encompassing pink walls around me quiver and further moisten. Thank goodness I didn’t need air for a while, especially at this smaller size, or I could have been in serious danger.

Grasping around – more than a little unsure of where I was with my level of intoxication – I must’ve found a sensitive spot as the walls of my cave trembled and squeezed me tighter. A muffled squeal came from deep within, and the squirt of lubrication that followed tried to drown me.

I don’t remember much after that, the lack of oxygen and booze enough to make me pass out again.

Chocolate (Drabble)

(This post has been imported from an old blog of mine.)

Dark brown stains led down the hallway, a sticky substance showing the path my victim took. The stench of blood rose into the air. I followed the trail, heard ragged breathing from behind the closet door.

He tried to lunge for my knife as I exposed his hiding place, but the furry paws of a teddy bear are not very strong. I stabbed down, and more dark liquid poured from his wounds.

The sound of police sirens came from somewhere in the distance, I grabbed an arm and squeezed the blood into a container before running. Chocolate is so good.


Drabble is a form of extremely short storytelling, where you are limited to exactly 100 words. I wrote this one a long time ago.