Ye Olde S33k & Finde

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpt from a book bound in red velvet. Row 409, Bottom Shelf

My Goddess takes many forms, varied shapes, whatever suits her mood. From petite and perky to voluptuous and curvy, blonde or black or red, pale white skin to sultry caramel tan instead. She is the master of disguise, desire, and depth. She is the queen supreme of all my wanton cravings, she is the empress of little deaths.

My Goddess knows no limits, takes no prisoners, gives always of her best, whether nectar twixt her thighs or sweet ambrosia from her breasts, or simply pleasure from her pouting lips' caress. She is the owner of my spirit, soul embodied in her self. She is the ruler eminent of all my depravities, she is my mistress of little deaths.

My Goddess, bless me with your sacred light.

My Goddess, give me strength to carry on your fight.

My Goddess, hold me closely to your bosom, give me comfort in the night.

My Goddess, Mistress of Little Deaths, grant me but one to keep me sane.

My Goddess, in hushed breaths and shuddered sighs, I shall extol your name.

 

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpts from various texts, multiple aisles.

Even through the haze I find the logic in my brain, as much as I pray for blank thoughts and simplistic feelings; plain. I want nothing more than oblivion, nothing less than darkness sevenfold. I want for pain and struggle, need the catharsis 'fore I grow too old.

Cold is the heart that feels no pain, no shame, no regret. And yet, it feels remorse, natural of course, for actions taken without care. Therein lies the truest problem with this heart. It does not know the way to cope with loss, with lust, with love left lingering in despair.

Born of fire, a Phoenix not of feather but flesh given human form rises from the ashes of a past life. No memory remains of the glory once held in the flickering pyre. Only a burning need to set the world ablaze. A heart of molten iron beats like a hammer honing blades of war. Eyes like crimson nebulae illuminate even midnight's darkest stores. And when the end of days has come the Phoenix will burn its brightest; become a supernova star. And when the twilight turns to dawn again, all that will remain are the cinders of a new beginning, promised from afar.*

There are no moments quite like the ones between breaths, resting nestled between breasts. There are no seconds like those just before explosion, at the precipice of orgasm. There is no substitute for warm lips, upper and nether, there is no stand-in for the embrace of a lover.

 

[fr33ks33k]

She's all curves and angles, lips and hips and tits and ankles. She's wrapped in lace and silk and leather. Her name may cross my tongue...then again, it may never...

She's all words and tangles, clips and quips and snips and rambles. She's trapped in place and still and laughter. Her voice may cross my mind from time to time, but maybe never after.

She's all or nothing, here and not. She's a beauty, she's a cutie, she's someone maybe worth a shot, worth a go, worth a damn.

She's all for nothing, growth and rot. She's a virus, she's inside us, she's something maybe death in lady-form, and maybe not.

She's all lies and slander, false and lost. She's all truth and banter, facts with drastic cost.

She's not one, she's many. She's not one, she's any. She's not one, she's every single second, every drop of sweat and droop of eye. She's every moment waiting, every tick and tock of time. She's eternity embodied, she's infinity defined.

She's so much more than superficial, she's a figment in my mind.

 

[fr33ks33k]

Even when a man has it all, he craves more. Even with the taste of her lips on his lingering, he seeks another lover. Even with the sweat of her brow still chilling on his forehead, he makes eyes at another. Even with his seed still warm and trickling from her thighs, he has the next conquest on his mind. Even when the match is perfect, when the arrow strikes true...a man will always want his cake and want to eat it too.

 

[fr33ks33k]

*It is another melancholy night, full of warmth and the gentlest of breezes blowing through the few open skylights in the building. He's been wandering the stacks again, losing himself in the aisles and items and thoughts. None of the mechanized creatures has ventured far enough to find him, though the clockwork spider still crawls from one shoulder to the other, tittering and peering with jewel-shaped eyes at both the man and his wares.

His hands trail over one shelf, replete with trinkets and tomes. He stops at one book, blank black leather covers and yellowed pages. The language is unfamiliar, but he somehow understands it. He smiles and tucks the book under his arm as he turns to return to the front of the shop. He has some reading to do.*

 

[fr33ks33k]

All the words in the worlds in all the myriad galaxies are not enough to express the intensity of a single stare into a single star, a singularity of blinding proportion. I shall try in vain to find the time to spill the strings of all the things that I should have spoken to every person I've encountered. I doubt that any would turn their ear to listen for more than a moment to the mourning in the morning light that the day before has passed on into the afterlife. I feel inspired by the simplest words and mental images to write nonsense on the page until the inkwell has long dried up. And even though my thoughts are not confluent or congruent or true in any sense of the word, they will hold verity beyond my rambling's length. It is in the brilliant mind of a man lost in thought that the greatest concepts are born and die before they can find fruition. My admission is that rhyming whether in prose or poetry has always been my strength; not my physical manifestation, not my emotional dictations, not my mind giving birth to the worries and fears I for some reason desire. I take the words and bend them to my will, and so in a sense I rape these words, force them into juxtapositions and emissions whether they want to or not. And at the end of the day, when I'm covered in the mire of my workday, coated in the sweat of foreplay, and afterglow of some stranger who's grown fond of my self enough to stay beyond dinner and a movie or a drink or two...words are all I've got. So please excuse me while I bang and batter here, banter here, express all of my exasperation here in clips and quips and clever puns and things that only seem like fun...in theory but not in practice, because if you ask, it's...not your concern. And like a candle, I should let it burn until the wick is gone but if I do the day still dawns and I must drag myself from weary sleep with bleary eyes and try to keep perspective and objective without letting all repressed depressing thoughts invest inside my head like ants or cockroaches bent on eating me out of house and home. At times I wish I could drift away to parts unknown or maybe stay off the grid and instead I've slid into a place of complacent comfort known by most as home or at least where they hang their hat. And that, my friends, is how you seal your own fate, hammer nails into the coffin. You think you'll make time for all the things you should have been doing while you wasted time with something petulant like...golfing? Maybe I should choose a better less boring sport, especially since I know nothing of the sort. And of course, as a matter of course, I can start these flows but like a moving glacier, rarely can I find the stopping point, and so the ramble goes beyond TL;DR and skates into the land of nevermore, and nevermore shall anyone read this score of words on the digital page. And while I'm wise, I am no sage, save when others need it most. Even the most long-winded of posts must come to an end. So like a faucet with a leak I'll clip this at the wings, and though it stings to stifle creativity, I shall cease and hit "send".

 

[DarkWarrioress]

She slipped into his shop and after a quick glance around, noting he wasn't present, she pressed a hand into the pocket of her skirt and with drew two tiny objects, setting them on the desk with the others. Lifting a finger to her lips to hopefully keep the other small metallic creatures silent, she turned and quietly left the way she came.

 

[fr33ks33k]

*It has been far too long since the last time he's visited the shop. The layer of dust covering many of the trinkets and tomes and the large oaken counter are a testament to his neglect and absence. As he opens the door, he notices that someone has been here before him. A curious glance about the front lobby reveals them to have departed already. The tinny whine of the mechanized creatures is accompanied by a new sound, the most miniscule of brass instruments rattles and blares from the counter.*

Well, aren't you two just a couple of horn-blowers...

*He smiles and steps over to the counter, scooping up the pair of intricate bugs and lifting them to eye level for further examination. They toot and trumpet from their belled snouts, the buttons of their valves moving as if of their own accord. Setting them back down on the counter, he sets about sorting through the mail. He spies a stray strand of cloth amidst the paper; it is simple cotton, like the lining of a pocket. Must have come from the deliverer of the new additions.*

Hello there!

*Before he can ponder the string further he is bombarded by the clockwork spider and bird. They each clamber for attention and soon he's forgotten about everything but them and taking a long-needed walk through the stacks. There is surely something new to see somewhere amidst the aisles that are much longer and more vast than the simple shop's dimensions should hold. He wanders down a random row, whistling a tune while the duo of trumpet-bugs play accompaniment from his left shoulder and the ticking of the spider's insides keep tempo on his right. The bird flits from shelf to shelf, keeping pace with them and hooting and chirping at random intervals*

 

[fr33ks33k]

Even when I'm sated, my mind is hungry still, slavering and craving for the touch I've yet to feel. There are any number of substitutions, any myriad distractions, but none will do save the sets of eyes I wish to see staring up at me, fear and pleasure flashing in them.

I want more than I have taken. I want her and her and her. I want to be a greedy lover, want to make her cum then make her cum again until it hurts. I want to wrap my fingers 'round her throat and watch her beg to breath. I want to bind her wrist and ankle and strike her supple ass with my palm until both are red enough to bleed.

Even when I'm sated, I seek more, desire all. Even when I've got my plate full, I want to pile it high. One day my appetite will dwindle, but for now I'll simply gorge my mind.

 

[fr33ks33k]

With my fists full of satisfaction, I find myself devoid. I'm missing something but I'm not sure what. I don't even know what I want anymore, except the sweet solace of silence and to break this fucking yoke that I must pull to tow my weight. I don't know why I can't let myself sink into the quicksand and just let the current take me away. Too fucking stubborn to drift down to the level of refuse and admonishment, too fucking stupid to put in more of myself and gain better. Too fucking stubborn to lift my station higher than the clouds I've left lingering like smog. Too fucking proud to be a failure, too foolish to admit defeat. Too fucking human for the animal I wish to be. Too fucking sensible and logical to become the chaos that would set me free. Too fucking simple to untie the complicated Gordian knot with the blade I keep sharpened on my whetstone wit. Too difficult to live a simple life and not want more, too goddammned frustrated with frustration and lack of motivation and falsely placed devotion and all the fucking struggle that is mostly in my mind. I just want to cut these fucking heartstrings and these strands of thoughts that have closed me off in a spiderweb of overthinking. Cut the cord, the curtain rope, the bullshit.

One day I'll put more than pen to paper.

 

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpt from a holo-disc file. Row 3329, Bottom Shelf.

Shafts of moonlight shine down through the crumbling roof of the old citadel. The floor is a mess of bones and armor, blood long dried and swords long rusted. Men and things that were not men lay strewn in chaos, their skulls crying out silently in their final moments. There are only two figures visible in the gloom: A young man, cloaked and armored in tattered equipment. His sword is drawn but whatever threat had brought it forth was no longer a consideration. The other is a hulking monstrosity, something twisted and violent. The beast's wicked claws are sunk deep into the stone floor; its breathing is labored. It is clear that a mortal wound has been struck; thick vile blood pools beneath it.

"You..."

"Yes. I killed your father. He was brave, but foolish to think that he was a match for me. All I wanted was to live in peace. You hunters decided that I didn't deserve that privelege..."

"You slaughtered innocent people."

"Innocent? You are more foolish than your father if you believe that. It matters not...I am not long for this world. You will have your revenge."

"No...I did not deal the blow. I should behead you here and now, but I cannot. It would not be honorable."

"You hunters always talk of honor. This world is less black and white than you would believe...you would do well to remember that."

"Who...who did this?"

"Why? Do you want to shake their hand for a job well done? It doesn't matter. The coward is gone by now, fled in the shadows..."

The young man could sense the falsehood, but knew better than to press the issue. No movement alerted him to a third presence.

The beast lurched to its feet suddenly, glowing red eyes full of what could have easily been rage or deep hurt. It was staring beyond the man, but it looked to the young hunter as though the beast was charging, intent on taking him into the afterlife with him.

The hunter's blade plunged into the beast, the keen edge shearing through muscle and bone alike.

"You...did...this...to me..."

The beast spoke but the man did not understand his meaning. It had attacked him, it had slain his father before him, it had brought this upon itself. He still did not follow the gaze of the monster into the shadows.

As the last of its life left its body, the young hunter sloughed the beast to the side. He cleaned his blade with his cloak and took stock of the room. It was deathly quiet. There was nothing left here but death. It was time to go.

The sound of steel on leather rang out in the large vaulted room as he sheathed his sword and strode toward the entrance of the citadel.

From one of the deepest shadows, a pair of eyes watched his exit.

 

[fr33ks33k]

Into the depths of depravity I dive, to find myself and find the violence on which I thrive. Into the depths of madness I plumb, to find the fragments of my memory and how to cease with feeling numb. Into the depths of hunger I fade, to wither and corrupt my flesh, to find undeath to claim. Into this existence of the damned I drift, with naught even one regret.

And so with reddened tears staining my cheeks, I bid farewell to humanity. I free myself of soul and light and absolve myself of sin. I take the mantle of the darkness, embrace the beast within.

 

[Vailyn]

Into the depths of depravity I dive, to find myself and find the violence on which I thrive. Into the depths of madness I plumb, to find the fragments of my memory and how to cease with feeling numb. Into the depths of hunger I fade, to wither and corrupt my flesh, to find undeath to claim. Into this existence of the damned I drift, with naught even one regret.

And so with reddened tears staining my cheeks, I bid farewell to humanity. I free myself of soul and light and absolve myself of sin. I take the mantle of the darkness, embrace the beast within.

I hope I'm not intruding. *smiles* I've been lurking about your writing and found lots of interesting bits. This is different piece from what I've read of your work and I like it. Whether you intended it to be a poem or not, it sounds like one in my head.

 

[fr33ks33k]

I hope I'm not intruding. *smiles* I've been lurking about your writing and found lots of interesting bits. This is different piece from what I've read of your work and I like it. Whether you intended it to be a poem or not, it sounds like one in my head.

You're not intruding Mz. Vailyn. I'm glad you enjoyed it. I tend to write in a mostly rhyming meter. That it sounds like a poem is up to the reader. Thanks for stopping by. Feel free to peruse the wares as well. Never know what you'll find.

*A gesture is given to the expansive rows of shelves full of trinkets and tomes, accompanied by a smile*

 

[Vailyn]

Aw, thanks! I'll let you know if I find anything that jumps out at me.

 

[Vailyn]

*Rambling About*

Excerpt from a botany manual. Scribbled in its index. Row 720, Bottom Shelf.

With the owner's permission, I wandered about the shop and explored the shelves with my eyes and curious fingers. There are a variety of stories, thoughts and notes that caught my inquisitive mind. This little tidbit that I found held my interest and imagination for longer than the time it took to read it. I could swear that a faint floral scent drifted in the air. Working off intuition, I brought the manual up close to my face, almost sticking my nose into the parted binding and took a sniff. Another.

Ah! It's from here. Small faded flakes of muted color stuck out form the crease of the manual. If I had to guess, I would say that they're bits of dried flowers that have long been lost to press of pages but left behind a ghost if its essence. I carefully closed the manual and continued my aimless meandering.

 

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpt from a book bound in red velvet. Row 409, Bottom Shelf

I'm a demon made of pain and lust with ruby eyes of rage enough to burn this world to cinders. I'm a monster made of "damn" and "fuck" and "may I cum?" and all the words you speak through clenched teeth and bitten tongue. I'm an angel of mercy, but only once I've had my fill of your anguish. I'm a saint of death in minute form, granting miracles in those pulse beats that send lightning from your clit to your brain and back again. I'm devastation, absolution, and salvation all rolled into one. Now on your knees, my filthy dear...it's time to start the fun...

 

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpt from a book bound in red velvet. Row 409, Bottom Shelf

This is not a fist it is a vice, made tight around your wrists and tighter still if you should fight. This is not a kiss it is a bruise, red and purple remnants left on flesh and made by nail and tooth. This is not a life it is a death, as little as the whimper of your breath. This is not a cock it is a knife, honed to split you clean in two. This is not just once and not just twice, this is cumming 'til you've nearly lost your mind. This is not demure and not polite, this is dripping your desire in public sight. This is not for me and not for you, but for the sake of passion facing falsity and finally being true.

 

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpt from a book bound in red velvet. Row 409, Bottom Shelf

If your legs aren't fucking shaking, if your breaths are deep and calm. If your hips are lacking handprints, if you can fucking walk. If your ass has not been reddened, if the sheets are not a mess. If your eyes are clear and focused, if you still have something left. If your lips haven't been bruised and bitten, if you can still compose a thought. If your chest's no longer flushed and if your body's not still hot...

...I haven't done my job.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

The tap of heeled boots announce the visitor even before a small envelope is shoved through the mail slot on the door. Husky alto calls out~

"Thinking of you, Dimples."

And then gone.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

A tin of cookies appears on the front desk. Homemade snickerdoodles.

Happy Holidays, Fr33k.

*leaves a pile of hugs beside it*

 

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpt from a book bound in red velvet. Row 409, Bottom Shelf

Her jeans are around her ankles, her thighs are resting on my shoulders, and my face is buried in her folds. I am a ravening beast devouring every morsel of her arousal as it drips, ravishing her with teeth and tongue and lips. I am not content to make her cum once, nor twice, nor three times. Each arch of her spine forces me to force her back into the wall that holds her steady while I make a feast of her sex. Cries of pleasure bleed into anguish as she rocks and teeters on the edge of oblivion. Each shudder and clench is a tick-mark counting down the final seconds of the year. Each clawed line across my back is a monument to time passed. And every time we lock eyes over the landscape of her curves is a promise that the future can only get better.

 

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpt from The Devil's Heart. Row 666, Bottom Shelf

Violence visited upon velvet in a voracious vortex of venom and vitriol...bruises left violet on a vixen, vertically and varied. Verily, the vacuous, vacant stare of once-vivacious eyes is vexing for not only the visitor but the victim. The fight, the fire, the ferocity of those feral blues or greens or browns has been diminished, been devoured, been damn well drowned. What I wouldn't give to see you struggle, see you battle, see you rage. But where once there was resistance, only sorrow, only softness, only sullenness has been retained. If you should find that spark, that drive, that inkling in your gut, your mind, your heart...I might unbind your wrists, I might undo your chains. But until then...in this dank and dismal dungeon you, my dear, must remain.

 

[GentleValkyrie]

She slips in like the mist, barely disturbing the dust as she walked, bright eyes curious. She smiled toward the main counter, walking by it softly and heading for older aisles, deeper corners, step by step, exploring.

Seeking, seeking she was familiar with. Humming softly, taking her own light with her into darkness. Books and toys and trinkets. Drive and desire without the warmth of human life. So many stories here. So many wishes.

She smiled.

 

[fr33ks33k]

*There is silence, interrupted momentarily by the telltale squeal of the door opening. The hinges seem to resist even the most potent lubricant. Perhaps the place wants a way to warn of new visitors. That tiniest of sounds is caught by his ears no matter where he is inside the building. He makes his way toward the front, but the barest glimpse of movement draws him in another direction.

Darkness is broken by light, a small source. Someone obviously heeded the sign about taking one of the small LED flashlights. A new guest...definitely been a while since one had turned up. Slow steps take him closer. Best not to spook them, whoever they might be. Perhaps better to simply watch and let them peruse. Whatever they find, it would surely be interesting.*