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.

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.

The Death of Me (Fiction)

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

Somewhere in the distance I see her eyes, glowing green in the darkness. “Tes!” I call out for her, but she is already gone. I stand in the swirling black, watching the pine trees around me sway in the winds.

The world slowly rips apart, brightening and darkening in an erratic fashion. I know what is going to happen next, it happens the same way every time. A glowing white doorway opens in front of me.

I reach out, silently asking for help. A shadow comes to the doorway from the other side. Their eyes briefly show in clarity, an extremely pale blue. Then everything starts to fade, and the shadow’s eyes turn red.

I fall to the floor, and feel the stab wounds on my back. I reach for the doorway, seeing light reflect off of my hand. My hand is wet. With my other hand, I feel for where my guts were a moment ago.

I try to ask for help, but my throat only lets out the sound of a weak gargle. I taste bitter salt, my own blood and bile rising up. I feel ice water dashed across the back of my head, my face slams into the ground. It is concrete.

The cinder-block slides off of the back of my head. I wonder how I can withstand this much pain, and die.

Feathers (Fiction)

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

I opened the door to my room, entered, threw my backpack on the floor, kicked the door shut, and fell to my bed. I lay face-down for a minute, thinking about how my day went, wondering if the school had called my parents yet for ditching half my classes again.

They hadn’t said anything to me when I came in, but that really didn’t mean anything. They were probably too mad to say anything to me about it. I’d really hear it from them later though, I knew that for sure.

I got up again, feeling the slight rush of fresh air after being buried in a pillow. I looked down at my bed, at the small feather laying there. At first I wasn’t sure how to react. Some times were good, some bad.

I started looking around my room, to see if anything was missing or out of place. I had cleaned up pretty well, so this had to mean someone had been in here. I double-checked the window, there was no way some random bird had gotten in.

The last time had only been earlier today, what was this for? Did someone come in here while I was being distracted? Or were they coming after me again this evening? Was it from my friends, or from those who tried to kill my friends?

I thought they didn’t know me – or at least if they did, they had left me alone. I hadn’t done anything to them. I barely knew they existed. It was only when- I stopped myself, shuddering at the thought. No one should die that way.

I was knocked out of my thoughts by the window breaking and a large stone flying into the side of my head. Everything went blurry, and for a moment I didn’t know who I was or what I was. I felt dizzy.. Had ice water been thrown down the side of my face?

I managed to stand up after a minute, and backed into the door to my room. I stumbled to the side and pulled it open. I made it down the hallway and into the bathroom. The mirror showed blood streaming down my face, staining my shirt.

Then everything went black.

Restless (Fiction)

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

A heavy cloud layer, lightning and thunder, the pitter-patter of rain. It was a dark and stormy night. A summer storm though, it wasn’t that cold, I lay down with nothing more than a sheet half on.

A small red pinprick of light comes from my left eye, or should I say, where my eye used to be. The other is closed, I am trying to go to sleep.

I used to be scared of the dark. Lightning flashes, showing off the jagged scar across my right cheek. It looks fresh, but is nearly a year old. Thunder booms. Not anymore.

More quick flashes, my back has claw marks raking down either side. These look fresh as well, but are just as old. Blood doesn’t seep from them anymore, but they look like they should. Thunder booms. I’ve learned there are things much worse to be afraid of.

I am always trying to sleep, but I never get there. It’s strange, if you’d asked me ten years ago if having part of your brain replaced with technology, if that part was still you, if you were still the same person, I would’ve said no. Stranger still is the feeling of having a part of you that is not you, but still is you.

It was five years ago when that happened, a bomb, gunfire, who knows what, something blew away a chunk of my head. I was lucky they’d said, they had been able to repair the damage, replace the section that wouldn’t grow back, including an eye.

I don’t remember much of what happened while I was in the hospital. When I finally remembered who I was before, I couldn’t recall what it had been like to not know. Going to bed that first night had been strange. I feel asleep, but a piece of me was still aware. I felt almost like I hadn’t fallen asleep until I woke up, I could remember staring off into space with one eye all night, but at the same time I felt well rested.

The next night I’d dreamed. I could remember the dreams with startling clarity, I still remember them. Half of me isn’t me but is me, and I’m always awake. That’s why I’m always trying to go to sleep, and never quite make it. Sometimes I want to bash out the electronic eye, sometimes I want to bash out the whole thing. Most of the time it was comforting to be able to wake myself up in an instant if there was danger.

Until a year ago, when I got those scars. Now it’s sleep I fear. Normally it can’t be seen, but tonight the flashes light it up for anyone watching. Blood begins to leak from my back, from my face, spiraling in crazy patterns and slowly crawling over my body until it is covered in black ichor.

The organic part of me is gone, replaced by something else, but I still see for a moment longer as I am lifted from the pillow by a body that is not mine. The blood flows over my eye, but I still hear. I don’t know why they included a microphone, my ear was still there, worked better than new after their surgery. I’m still not sure if I’m thankful for that or not.

Because I hear screams.


So if you’re wondering where that came from, the night before last when I was trying to go to sleep, I imagined myself with strange scars and a robotic left eye trying to sleep, thinking about how the technological part is always awake, imaging through flashes of lightning you see black blood running out of the wounds.

I saw this scene as an ad for a movie, and wrote it that way when I thought to write it down yesterday at lunch over the course of about half an hour. Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed, especially the last line, my favorite. Originally was gonna be titled “I Hear Screams” but that would’ve given away the whole point of the story.

I’m looking for feedback on this one, because I have no idea where to go with it from here, and I do want to go somewhere with it. So please, any and all comments, questions, suggestions, complaints, rambles, general nonsense welcome.