Erotic Stories from Wylde in Bed - 33: Dark Sex & Erotic BDSM Fantasy - Part II

Episode Date: November 29, 2020

The Masquerade Scene of this Dark BDSM Erotic storythe first steps into the salacious world of bondage and BDSMFate thrusts Dominic and Diane together in the most unusual circumstances. She is discovered exposed and needy, enticing Dominic's darker side to the surface. But is this what she wants? Knowing her career is only helped by her lacklustre relationship with Judge Halland, could Diane be discovering an unknown part of her desires that have remained hidden for so long?This episode of the dark BDSM does involve spanking, self-pleasure and voyeurism.If you want to enjoy even deeper pleasure, or unlimited satisfaction, you can go ahead and come and see me at https://wyldedesires.com where you can grab a sneak preview of next weeks episode, which is even darker, and complete and utter filthy fun.

Please remember this is an adult's only podcast and does contain some very sensual themes. So please only listen to this podcast if you are happy to explore your deepest sensual fantasies with me and are of a suitable age. Hi, it's Devlin and welcome to another episode of Wild In Bed. Your Sunday Night Destination for Salacious Stories. finger-licking good fantasies and sensual satisfaction now continuing on from last week I'm going to be doing part two of Land of the Slaughter

and from here on in it just get rather darker and a lot sexier to buckle up your seatbelt it's time for some wild fun now as you enjoy tonight's little story You can know you can enjoy even more intense pleasure and deeper satisfaction by coming to see me at wilddesires.com So you can download your own free full-length, experiential erotica, just for coming. You can know this podcast is best enjoyed laying on your bed.

Just put your earbuds in, close your eyes. and surrender to the pleasure of my voice, moving over and inside you. Now when you're ready, just take a deep breath and hold it for a moment, and then release it with a sigh, letting go of any tension, any stress. For the next 30 minutes or so, it's just you in my voice. This is your time. Your time to relax. Your time for sensuous satisfaction.

and your time to release that inner woman. As you listen to my voice and feel the story moving through your body, as you enjoyed Lamb to the Slaughter, Part 2, Chapter 5, Dominic, surveying the dark desert of suits in front of me. I'm not what you might call a summer man. The lightest suit I own, being a charcoal grey, that I purchased some years ago.

I can't honestly remember why I chose to buy the thing, but it had to be a damn good reason, as it stands out in my closet like a sore thumb with everything else I own, being black or midnight blue, such things standing out in my carefully organised world do not sit well with me, being that there are only two colours to choose from,

Selecting my attire for the charity dinner this evening is a simple affair. Nevertheless, I will take my time and proceed in a leisurely fashion. One thing life has taught me is that there is rarely a real reason to rush, as it simply suggests a lack of control, which leads to needless mistakes. I do not lack control, not ever. Eventually, deciding that it is a charity night after all. I opt for something a little lighter and select a midnight blue suit. While I hang the suit on the back of a door, I wonder about this evening's event for a moment.

There's a small fundraiser for About Face, a charity I run to help children who are disfigured get aid and support. and in some cases cosmetic surgery as needed. There aren't many things close to my heart, but these children are. Being in a position where I'm able to give to others in dire situations such as these does me good. And I take this particular cause extremely personally, picking up the leaflet about the event.

I allow myself to reflect while I glance at the child on the front. The poor boy reminds me of Jamie, my best friend from childhood. Being an extremely good-looking child, Jamie had been well known for his physical attractiveness. He hadn't been the brightest star in the sky, but made up for it with high cheekbones, still blue eyes, and a deep cleft in one cheek. Tragically, not long after my accident, his own life had been cut short.

A days after my fall, when my scars were still healing, things had already begun to sour between us. Jamie refused to see me and couldn't even look at my face when we did pass each other. I suspected it had been due to guilt, another frail emotion enjoyed by sheep. Self-pity by another name. Bredrail in my world. The brewery that owned the land had quickly offered a generous settlement. They'd taken on full responsibility for neglecting to secure the land properly and remove all the bottles that scarred my body.

In hope of avoiding the public relations disaster, it would no doubt have been. As part of the settlement, they also agreed to fill in the underground story. units were cement, and killing two birds with one son and decided to bulldoze all the broken class into the units beforehand. Most of the gang had spent the day, enthusiastically watching the prehistoric motion of the bulldozers. Some even trying to mimic them on their bikes. Apart from me and Jamie, the rest of the gang had agreed to return the next day when the cement

lorries would arrive and watch the final part of the show. Regrettably, Jamie had taken it upon himself to return to the site that night. And thusly, to the scene of his undoing, death hadn't been kind to Jamie. And just after daybreak, this cement lorries began pouring, and the tragedy was quickly discovered. His body just visible under the river of grey. His lungs filled with cement. The police couldn't decide if it was an accident or suicide,

as the body was already deeply set in the powdery substance at the time they'd arrived. Misadventure was the official cause of death. To save the parents and brewery any further pain, memories of that night bring a slow movement to my lips. Being a man that doesn't often smile, It has been said more than once That when I choose to do so

The bend in my lips make it look more of a snarl I met a German businessman once Who kept uttering Shaden Freud I had no idea what that meant And I still don't Maybe one day I'll take the time to look the word up As it sounds like something I might like

While I slowly and meticulously slip my bow Bulgaria holocaute rose gold, an onyx cuff links into place. A gift from my great uncle. A prize when I took custody of C&E. I stare down at the age photos of my parents that sit where a mirror once was. Mirrors breed of vanity. An activity I decided years ago was best left to the sheep.

I've no need for the senseless pieces of glass anymore. I'd been loved dearly by both my parents before their tragic demise, and I'd loved them equally in return. Yet some things are just destined to change. Betrayal, savagery, barbarity. Their brutal murders had taken place only inches from where I stood now, leaving so much dark red blood that it took weeks to clean most of it. Initially I'd been in shock, numbed, unable to catch my breath, speak or do much of anything.

A week's I'd mourned my loss, grief was heavy in my mind, a deep desolate ache that drained me of all hope. Some days the pain was so unbearable that there were almost tears. The darkened when my mother fell to her death. Still adorns the foot of the bed. A ugly constant reminder of a state run by sheep. Four sheep. How the hell did they expect to protect a young wolf? My dogs, two short-heads, Salukees, lift their heads expectantly as I move past them.

Their golden eyes glinting with hope. Without thinking, I take a moment to stroke both of them. Reassured, they sink back into their slumber. The one thing I did take from the hell of foster care was the loyalty of Salukes. Mr Wood had owned too, and they'd never moved far from his side. I believe that when the Arabs train them, as they are a desert dog, they tie a rope between themselves and the puppy. Within a few weeks a puppy knows all their moves and habits,

better than their masters, and can move in a perfect motion with them. I take another moment to stroke each of them. Their unconditional love, bringing three words to my mind. Brave, loyal, cherished. On the side of my dresser sits at a leather mask, another memento of my childhood. Tonight is a masquerade dinner, just as any public event I hold.

The social gathering will have its usual personal theme to it. To me, masquerades and a certain fun quality to the night. In the same way a murder mystery evening may. Sometimes with less blood, not holding with large showy public events. I choose to be very selective about the people invited. Thusly, they have all been hand-selected, not because of their natural generosity or their concern for disfigured children. But because they are arrogant and self-publicizing whores, in each of their conceited ways,

they thrive on advertising the charity to many more people with money than I can even be bothered talking to. Tonight will be boring, mundane and tiresome. But I shall escape and spend most of it in my library. As always, Chapter 6. Diane. Friday 455pm Looking from my calendar clock and surveying my desk

My schedule definitely looks clear As an up-and-coming prosecutor Trying to make a name for myself I like to ensure that my desk is as clear as possible Every Friday before leaving Of course my ambitions are hastened by my involvement With a prominent judge but I have no doubt I am where I am meant to be.

It isn't quite the glamorous career I had imagined, having watched every courtroom drama I could find from the age of 12. But it suits my character. Even in school, I had a strong sense of justice, risking the anger of teachers just to stand up for what I thought was right and just. I'd lost count of how many times I'd ended up in arguments. because I would not back down from the most trivial slight, being threatened in court, as I had been today, always gives me a thrill,

perhaps a little too much sometimes. The excitement is more under control than it was ten months ago, but I still have to admit feeling the buzz of anticipation, sometimes so intimately, when I am faced with an aggressive defendant. so much so that a locked drawer of my desk, which is meant to hold secure notes, remains home to my silver bullet vibrator when I am in court. At least I've never tried to carry that into court in my purse.

Pushing my thighs together as I remember today's courtroom drama. I can feel the sensation beginning to intensify the dampness of my passion already evident. But there is no need for the silver bullet today As soon I will be heading home Where I can enjoy a serious session With one of my more serious playmates As I packed the last of my files into a briefcase

I noticed Bob hanging around outside my office Trying to look inconspicuous At 80 years of age And a senior prosecutor Bob should have retired years ago but the old goat refuses to give up the reins, believing no one else can run the cases as well as him. In the privacy of my own mind,

I often think he is probably getting the same kick as I do, and at his age he's not going to get it elsewhere. His little dance outside the office always means one thing. He wants something, and it is definitely going to be something that will mess with my plans. and, most decidedly, something I won't want to do. As I am angling for high-profile cases, anything Bob wants, Bob gets. It almost amuses me that a man with such a savage reputation in the courtroom

can be so reticent about asking me to do things. He knows I am in no position to refuse, hoping that I can actually make it home at a reasonable hour to satisfy this burning between my thighs. I decide to put Bob out of his misery. With my office being one of the smallest, it only takes three strides before my fingers grasp the handle, and I open the door swiftly.

So Bob almost falls in. Can I help you with something, Bob? Firstly, I've had Judge Reiker call. Apparently you're really reinforcing your calamity Jane reputation down at the courthouse. You terrified the life at a Curados, and that's no mean feat, given how many people he's been involved with the death of.

Good job. I winced at the mention of my nickname, as it brings back memories of Judge Hallen's particular desires. With the throb between my thighs intensifying as a courtroom image replays in my mind, I can only think of one thing. I need to get hope. now.

Anything else, Bob? I'm kind of in a rush. Well, actually, yes, Diane. He responds sharply. I've been invited to a charity function tonight and, to be honest, it would be good for them to see a fresh face. So I was wondering if you might go.

He knows my answer the moment the last vow drifted from his lips. How can I refuse? Of course I'd love to. I respond with a thin smile, hoping it doesn't look too raked us. Thing is, he adds, it's a masquerade event,

so you'll have to pick a mask up, unless you have one already. Offering a weak trace of a smile, I'm not about to give the old man the satisfaction of knowing my personal life. As it was, I do have one. with matching Basque But that is my little secret No, Papa, I don't

Do you know where I can get one last minute As I give my best shot at looking genuinely at a loss I'm not sure I could muster the butter wouldn't look melt I'll email you some stores The chap who's running it, Dominic It's a bit unorthodox But he's good for the state and for us so please, best behaviour

I'll put his address in the email as well Oh it starts at seven so you might want to get on move on And leave a few minutes early He trails off with his last words As he courses down the corridor Three steps back to my desk And a familiar ping Announces the arrival of an email

The old bugger had already sent that why not have hadn't he just sent the damned email and dispensed with the charade So finally I would meet Dominic Deleur The plague that Judge Halland despises with more passion Than he has for anything else So once again my Friday night has been changed on the toss of a coin Out is the long bubble bath

The glass of wine And the group session with my favourite battery-powered boyfriend In is a masquerade dinner with a local lunatic There obviously no one else in the office wants to go near with a barge pole Great Chapter 7 Dominic The party is in full swing That is to say

People are moving around and talking to each other Massaging their overinflated egos Competing with each other over stories of the good deeds they have done Someone saved me from the arrogance of wealth I had to suffer for my success Most of these people wouldn't know suffering if it slapped them in the face Sheep Only with expensive wall

I am no full with these events And always hire help in There is absolutely no way I am spending the entirety of the evening Speaking to these people But the help aren't here just to serve of the drinks and exquisite canapes the sheep demand. They are also here to suffer their intolerable conversation, so I can slip out and not be missed.

And besides, I'm not the reason people are here. They are here for one reason. They're mile-high, he goes. Sliding down the maze of corridors which define my house, a veritable warren of dark passages that are so easy to get lost in. I navigate the familiar route to my library. My second private sanctuary. No one never finds this room, even if they are really lost. And it affords me the chance to relax and indulge in my favourite pastime. I walk past an old shares lodge toward my desk that's hidden

behind shelves of books. My last defence against disruption. See, sinking into a my ox-blood chair. The creek of the leather welcomes me, relaxes me. I take a moment to bask in reverent silence before opening, 120 days of Sodom by the Marquis de Sade. It isn't a first edition, but it isn't far after. First editions just don't exist,

as far as my money can discover anyhow. Having read it repeatedly since discovering the book at the tender age of ten years, I know every single word. Having explored the thoughts and philosophies of the Marquis, I've extended them. What deniesing them for the world as it is today? While letting the antique leather of the chair embrace me, I sink back and let the words drift over me, soothing me on so many levels. Diane, God, how I hate these parties. This is why I'll never take Bob's position.

I just can't ass lick these people well enough to secure the position. Of course, my body missing its date with one of my battery operated boyfriends isn't helping. The burning between my thighs, every bit as miserable as it has been all day. Even the cool air against my legs isn't helping to soothe the infernal. know in my core. If anything, it seems to intensify it. I am here to do a job. I know that. I'm also aware that my conduct tonight will be fed back to the office. No doubt, Dominic DeLure, the scourge of society, is lifetime friends with Bob, as is the whole moneyed world,

it seems. And will shortly be on the phone first thing in the morning. If not sooner, if I don't get my shit together pretty damn quick, with the need to release the pressure of an intolerable lake between my thighs, a quickie with the silver bullet would at least allow me to focus for the next couple of hours and do that whole social kiss-your-ass thing. I ultimately grab one of the staff, wondering who the hell has staff these days, and ask for directions to the ladies' room.

and given the difficulty I had finding the main hall it can't be an easy place to get to but then my God I'm an intelligent woman how difficult can finding a bathroom even in an old broken-down mansion be a few vague directions later and a lot of finger pointing to the sky I give up

and decide to find it on my own The noise of the main hall becomes a whisper As I stumbled blindly into the quiet of the dark corridors Jesus has no one heard of lighting in these places A girl could come to serious injury in these hills with no lighting The cool air grips me Making the ache even more intense I need to find a damn bathroom

Yet the corridors only seem to get narrower And dark at the further I go With no idea which way I'm heading, I just know I need to find a room, anything now, that offers enough privacy for me to have five minutes of quiet. More than once it occurs to me that if I was smart I would be dropping breadcrumbs as I blindly navigate the dark stone corridors. God forbid I actually have an emergency bathroom need. This place was obviously designed by men with huge bladders.

I stumble upon some impossibly large oak doors amidst the paneled walls But each one appears locked Either that or I'm just not strong enough to push them open And desperation bites hard into my core The next door I find I push with every inch of frustration that burns inside Success, it swings open With a quick glance around the darkened room A Chez-Lange invites me to

Relax for a moment. Tati and threadbare at the corners. Right now it looks like heaven. I drop onto the soft material and slide my skirt up, thanking God for stocking since I haven't got time to mess with tights right now. Or sliding my panties to the side with one hand and grabbing my trusty silver bullet from my purse with the other. I push it firmly against my clit, finally easing this constant hot, hot, fire burning through my body since caught today. This far away from the hall, surely no one will hear me. While fumbling with the buttons of my shirt, I'm already grasping viciously at my breasts, pinching my aching nipples through the lace of my bra,

streaks of pain shoots through my body, heightening the burn between my thighs, and God, I need more. I see a leather bookmark on the table next to me and snatch it. spanking the wet seam of my opening. The leather bites enhancing every sensation. My legs tense as I feel the beginning of an orgasm swirling inside me. My pussy clutches are air, longing to feel the satisfying release that I know is only seconds away. As my moans grew louder and louder, each one intensifies this swirling in my belly, the fire in my core.

my ache to come. With my nipples burning and my stomach clenching, my body explodes in hard satisfaction. Oh God! Waves of pleasure thrust up and down my body as I struggle to regain control of my breath and gather my composure. Now at least I can focus on some good old-fashioned ass licking.

Drops of wet pleasure escape my panties, teasing at my thighs. and I part them a little to let the air cool the heat still burning inside and slide my fingers between my folds. With my body still trembling, ways of orgasm continue pulsing through my body like hot lightning. For a quick second I let my eyes slide shut and slide my finger along my tongue

and tasting my release. When a bright orb of light burns at my eyes somewhere in the distance And I hear a gentle growl Instinctively I stand up letting my skirt drop Two dogs sit upright At a detention Staring at me with an unhealthy amount of curiosity Miss Hightower isn't it

A strange man ass in a deep baritone voice I believe you are the proxy for Robert McKeowne Manis and Dominic DeLure at your service. His deep tone resonates with my desire. The low rumble in his voice touching me in ways, I never thought a voice could. And somehow finding their way along my folds that are still exposed to the air.

Above all, this man is most definitely British and has a deep accent that sends shivers at my back. I've always had a thing for accents, but this is different, carrying an undercurrent of a growl, of sensuality of deep pleasure, and provocative sexuality. And don't worry about Amber and Ochre. He says flatly, They won't attack you unless you try and attack me.

And you're not going to do that. Ah, you Miss Hightower. In the haze of post-orgasmic bliss, I really can't decide how much threat is laced in that question But perhaps it isn't a good idea to try and find out Allow me his hands move up the buttons of my shirt Definitely fastening them Your shirt seems to have somehow come undone

As a faint smile drifts across the part of his lips Exposed beneath the bottom of his leather mask A certain kink makes his smile look more of a snarl and the deep tones of his voice drift into silence a small bitter sense returned for fuck's sake how much has he seen as he'd been here all the time

has he seen me touch myself my god something tells me he's seen everything when he reaches a hand to shake mine I instinctively reach back instantly wishing the ground would open up as I feel the silver bullet still very warm and very wet in my hand.

Without a shard of emotion, he takes a bullet and places it on the occasional table, next to the Chegegege, as if it was just a pen, I'd inadvertently left between my fingers. Slowly, my whole career vanishes before me. I am confident that this will not be good tomorrow. Mr. Deleur, her pleasure!

I have heard so much about you. I lie trying to regain my breath and hide the blush rising up my neck. Then I am slipping and I apologise. I am naturally a private man. As he moves forward, I can see his eyes for the first time as they shine in the lamplight. Glowing an Arctic blue, they flicker with promises of unnatural pleasure. I must congratulate you on finding my private library. He says with a small bend to his lips,

most people never get this far, giving up long before they've reached the door. The word private seems accentuated, and suddenly I feel that I've invaded his private sanctuary and overstepped a boundary somewhere. But then, why hadn't the door been locked? If he wants to be that private, just lock the freaking door. Bob was right

The man is a fruit loop Totally and completely With a surprising grace He moves around me You know You might find an interest in some of these books Feel free to borrow any that you might like Some of them are very rare

Speaking in almost a whisper His voice seems to transcend hearing It's ours grow in such a way that I can literally feel them teasing my clit. Every sound he makes seems to pulse between my thighs. How the fuck is he doing that? In what way? I answer currently,

thankful for the opportunity to get a normal conversation going and forget the last 20, most embarrassing and humiliating minutes of my life. Some people have believed pain is the only true path, to freedom, to a place where we can experience true satisfaction. Many of the books in my library discuss that very topic. Reaching down for the leather bookmark I dropped on the Shenzhenge. He raised it only inches from my face.

Inspecting it as a stamp collector, might inspect a rare penny black. When he finally turns his gaze toward me, trembles race from my face. body in the cold heat of desire burns through me all over again. What the complete fuck? A path to freedom? I respond, trying desperately to deny what he undoubtedly witnessed a few moments before. That makes no sense. Ms. Hightower, you're wrong, he argues. We are pulled into this valley of tears, not through choice. It is imposed upon us. You see the pain that people, People suffer every single day. Its gaze turns severe, its voice gnarling at me.

A whole new feeling of discomfort descends over me. Facing killers and psychopaths in the courtroom is one thing. But this is on a whole new level. This man is so mad, he thinks he's sane. If you think of the sheep in the fields, they live their lives in fear and pain. It is all they know, they chew the grass, out of fear of starvation.

They follow the flock out of the pain of loneliness. They never know pleasure. When we learn to embrace pain, it stops being our master. We master it. When we release ourselves from its grip, we are free to experience a true satisfaction of living. We become wolves, Ms. Heidehour.

I can hear his words. I can see his lips moving. But the sounds are having a completely different effect on my body. God, I need to be fucked. My pussy is overriding any morsel of sense I have left. This strange creature of a man is beginning to sound reasonable. The sheep are all around us. We live in a society run by sheep, for sheep,

as long as no one disrupts the flock. The sheep will keep on grazing. Pretending everything is fine. And every now and then a wolf will appear. Someone who will stand up against the sheep. And society will admonish them, caged the wolf, destroy the wolf. For no other reason that the wolf shows just how injustice their society really is. He takes a step closer.

I see his eyes flickering with something unreadable. Be careful of the corruption of sheep in Miss Hightower. And once you see it, Do not be frightened to be who you truly are. Embrace your pain. Make it your own. One day you will shed your sheep's clothing. When that day comes, you will become who you are meant to be.

He passes me the accusing bookmark with another strange bend of his lips. Take it with you. You have experienced a small sensation of what is possible tonight. But there is more. Much more. Console yourself with it first. And when you are ready, you may call me.

I would be very interested in getting to know you better, withering under the intense heat of his gaze, realizing he's studying me, somewhere deep in the dark recesses of his mind. He is thinking about something. God only knows what. And I'm not really sure I want to know. I pride myself on the ability to read people, to read their body language.

Yet his is so hidden, confusing, I'm sure I can sense lust, but there's something deeper, as if he's trying to reconcile a thought he didn't expect to have, almost as if he is confused by his own thoughts and a little destabilized by that. Fingers have shocked grasped me as I try finding a counter-argument. A response of some sort, or my God, anything at all. Jesus Christ, I'm a prosecutor. I can produce counter-arguments on the toss of a coin. So why on earth do I feel like my brains have moved south and taken up residence in the subtropical heat of my panties?

Without another word spoken, suddenly I'm aware I'm the only person in the room. Career or not. This is a really good time to leave, get home and have a large stiff drink of anything alcoholic. Judge Halland was right about one thing. This guy is clearly a lunatic. For the first time in my life,

the cold chill of intimidation moves through my body. Chapter 8 Dominic lurking through the picture window at the natural beauty of the sun rising across the Tascha forest. Her gentle rays dance in the deep oranges and brilliant shades of red. Enhanced for a moment by the simple sensuality of the moment. There's something else in the air.

Something peculiar. Uncanny and somewhat chilling. Every instinct I have tells me something is wrong. Things are about to change. I just can't be sure if it's for the best or worst. surveying my private quarters The growing shadows of dawn crawl across the floor The golden palette of the morning sun

breathes life into the unused room The smallest bedroom in the building High in the eaves I only use it when there is trouble in C&E That demands me staying here overnight There is no particular issue at the moment Just this feeling that has left me struggling to sleep I'd known that I needed to be here last night

returning to my window meditation immersing myself in deep relaxation despite my best efforts I can't shake off the feeling that the calmness embracing me might be in short supply in the coming days and weeks a flock of birds glide over the tree line yet even with my eyesight I can't tell what type of this distance

lost in the thought as I follow their motion. A sudden angry banging at the main door rips me viciously from my nirvana. Leaping two steps at a time down the narrow staircases of the old building, trying to ensure early morning invaders don't disturb the sleeping children. By the time I reached the door, my irritation is boiled into a seething rage. I wait for a few minutes, slowly my breath, letting my ear. hanker subside enough for me to concentrate. Mine isn't the only rage I can sense.

Even through the thickness of the main door, the fury that stands outside burns with volatility. Their mind is confused and unfocused. Whoever it is, they are angry and want someone to vent it out on. What better target than a disadvantaged child to relieve the rage? Suppressing my own boiling vexation

in the vice of my willpower, I swing the door open abruptly. Craig Allen swayes as he stands on the threshold with the riding crop in his right hand. Thrashing it against his left palm in what I assume is meant to be an intimidating manner. With his eyes struggling to focus, I speak in the calm as tone I can manage with him. It's rather early. How can I help you? Rage flickers in his eyes as he spits every word at me. One of your little shit stole my wallet last night? All of my charges were home last night.

I know because I was here. Maybe it was another little shit. Or perhaps you were just too high and dropped your wallet. Do you know who the fuck I am? He raises the riding crop in a vicious upward movement, swaying, despite being almost 20 years my junior. He is nonetheless caught off. guard by the speed of my reaction, as I lash out and grab his wrist, squeezing heart and the

sensation of breaking bone under my grasp offers some solace. While I try to ignore the tempting distraction of his heart beating loudly in his chest, I focus on his eyes. I know perfectly well who you are, Craig Halland. I insist, twisting his wrist firmly and bringing his head down. The feeling of blood pumping through his veins. That beautiful blood. Serenades the darkest of beasts that live within me. While the deafening roar of his heartbeat drowns my thoughts with macabre's seduction.

He is here alone. Who would know? You are no better than all the rest of the bullies in the schoolyard. You're high as a kite, you've lost your money. And you think I will let you inside in order to thrash some innocent child No! Knee raising up to meet his descending head.

He falls back down the stone steps, his riding crop firmly in my grasp. Some seconds later he rises to his knees, glaring at me as a waterfall of blood gushes from his nose. The sight is so tempting. Who would know? No one probably even knows he's here. A vision of Craig Allen's bloodied corpse

swamps my mind. No, it's been 20 years. It's too risky. Get out of here before I make more than your nosebleed. And you come near any of my wards again, and you'll leave as a corpse. Why not send him as a corpse now? It will be so easy.

You haven't eaten in so long. We haven't eaten in so long. While scurrying up the gravel path in a desperate attempt to escape. As he nears the gate, he turns and shouts, My dad will hear of this. Hunt him down. It's still early.

No one else is around. It has been so long, Dominic. You need to feed. We need to feed. We are hungry. Just as he reaches the gate, he meets Rachel's car sharply, forcefully.

Just as she pulls into the door. driveway, he rolls off his body falling into the gravel, but just as quickly he's back on his feet, launching through the stone gates and disappearing into the morning sun. As Rachel pulls her citron beetle in front of the steps, I walk down, opening her door and offer her my hand to help her out of the car. An angry splash of blood on her hood creates a stark contrast to the line green of her car. And I make a mental note to have it clean today.

Early morning delivery is it, Mr. Diller? Her eyes widen at the riding crop. He looked terrified. She adds, her voice bright, singing every word. Hopefully he won't be returning. I lead her up the steps, pushing the main door open,

and follow her through into the reception area. Rachel, can you please call Tyler at the Continental. I asked my assistant. I will be needing my usual suite today. I will arrive about noon. And I will need room service. Of course, I'll call him at 8.

He's usually in by then. Ten years ago, Tyler had been under my wing at C&E. At 18 he had taken a job as a portrait at the Continental Hotel. But within two years was managing the place. He understands the beast needs feeding More than most he knows the need Today I must feed The voices inside me are right

It has been too long I can't deny my hunger any longer So next week Just to give you a sneak preview Things are about to get dark As you can probably guess Very very dark I'm very salacious

painfully so but you know if you can't wait for next week you can go ahead and download the next chapter for free and just by coming to see me at wild desires dot com or you can pre-order your copy of lamb to the slaughter still at a heavily discounted price just not as good as last week but for now and always with your pleasure in mind and this is devil and wild wishing you salacious dreams. Now, as you have enjoyed this show this evening, you can go ahead and subscribe to my podcast

so you don't miss another salacious episode. And you know you can go ahead and visit me at wilddesires.com and grab your own free experiential erotic story just for coming.