What do all of these have in common? For me, the realization you can mix raw emotions, dark hungers, intense sensations together is perhaps the most intriguing aspect of sexuality. Rage can bring a heightened level of passion, one spilling over into the dark side. You’ve read about many serial killers who use sex as a method of capture before the slaughter. For some this may seem very sick indeed, and I’m not suggesting you go out and beat, maim or otherwise injure your mate for any reason, I’m merely saying the combination is fascinating to write about.
I’ve been listening to a lot of very dark music lately. Perhaps my rather wounded psyche needs some reflection time by killing and maiming my characters. Then again, I love writing thrillers far more than I do erotic pieces. There’s something so intensely beautiful about getting into the mind of a mass murderer or an otherwise psychotic. Yeah, I’m perhaps a little deranged myself. There’s a metal band called Red and they have a new album out titled Of Beauty and Rage. There is one song in particular I can’t stop singing, hearing, playing in my head. The Darker Side of Me is a portion of the love story they write with this album. Every song is a build up to the next and tells a very dark tale about two lovers.
They filmed this as separate music videos and to me, they are utterly powerful and breathtaking. I’m absolutely mesmerized and truly had to place myself in the very dark place the hero is in. I won’t spoil it for you, but hunt and watch. So a few of my short stories lately are very dark indeed. I take the reader to the very edge of a person’s sanity with regard to rage and passion. This piece is part of the Dark, Dangerous, Delicious volume 3 collection titled Beware the Night. Just a taste for you today…
Of Beauty and Sin
The whip sliced against her naked back and he remained mesmerized by the welts, as well as the string of blood trickling down her back. He breathed in her fragrance, exotic perfume and the scent of terror, and wanted nothing more than to rip out chunks of flesh.
Sebastian Walker had a stable full of women hungering to feel the harsh strike of his whip. He was a consummate romantic, passionate about his art. He was also a killer, his rage requiring constant trips straight into Hell. He wiped sweat from his brow as he studied her, his thoughts turning dark. Women. There was nothing he craved more than the taste of skin and tendons, butter-in-your-mouth sweetness allowing a woman’s true beauty to explode. The sinful act was always scintillating.
She whimpered, her body struggling against the chains wrapped around her wrists and ankles.
He took the final drag of his cigarette, stubbing out the ember before walking toward her, dropping the whip. The photographs would be amazing, a thrilling addition to his very private collection. Grabbing his camera, he took several more, capturing the anguished look on her face. She was indeed a beauty, a woman to be admired. She’d been his model before, one kept alive given her fascination for the extreme. “You did very well.”
She also knew her place. He rubbed his hand down the length of her back. She yelped and his cock swelled. Another whiff of her sweet essence and he almost lost control. Tonight he’d have to hunt, find the perfect subject. Of course the prey wouldn’t survive, but the trinkets he’d soon possess for his growing collection would enthrall him for days.
She sagged against the cool metal, her chest rising and falling. For a few second she struggled with the tight leather bands keeping her arms stretched wide. When she went limp, a single moan erupting from her mouth was cut off sharply. Her body shook as if anticipating another hard strike.
From where he stood he could see tears glistening on her cheeks. There’d been a time he’d pull her down from her shackles, comforting as he soothed her aching skin. No longer. He wanted nothing more than to beat her unconscious. He was a sick man. The thought brought another smile. He held his breath, admiring his work. Just a tad more.
Crack! Whap! Strike!
“Ah!” Her back arched, her entire body tense from the harshest of blows.
His balls were fucking full, ready to explode. Panting, he licked the sweat from around his mouth, visions of sinking his teeth into a cherry red cunt nothing more than an aphrodisiac. Tonight, he’d place the very option on the menu.
He released her from her bindings and when she fell against him, he issued a growl. A moment of weakness settled in and he held her as she cried, her body shivering. He lifted his arm, finally stroking her arm. “You really did very well. I’m proud of you.” His voice seemed odd to him, almost surreal, but he refused to become soft. Weak. He loathed weakness. Pushing her away he turned, dropping the camera on the table. “You’ll find your payment in the envelope. I added extra for the session.”
Her breath caught and she whimpered. “Okay. I mean, thank you Master.”
Sebastian could read her thoughts, realized she wanted more from him. He knew enough about the girl to know she’d be his slave, his regular whore if only he asked. A knowing settled in. No woman would be enough for him, not for anything other than beating and fucking. “Next week. Same time.” He gave her a harsh glare. “But be prepared.”
“Yes Master.” Her lower lip quivered but there was excitement in her eyes.
“Pain slut.” He heard her scampering off, her feet stumbling as she cried softly to herself. Remorse wasn’t something he’d ever felt, not during his rampages of rage or even when settled to the point he lived what some called a normal life. He was nothing but a monster.
After gathering the whip and camera, he proceeded to walk into his study. The dark surroundings were comforting in a way, allowing him to function on a daily basis. He tossed both down on top of his desk and scanned the room. His difficulty experiencing sensual highs had brought him to the edge of his sanity. He was well aware he was on a very steep precipice, ready to fall into the depths of Hell.
The thought remained a constant. He eyed the garish picture hiding the safe keeping his most prized possessions and sighed. Perhaps gazing at his amassed collection would ease the beast bridging the surface, ready to consume and destroy.
He jerked the picture off the wall and his eyes flashed memories of the past, vile deeds completed while under the influence of his other being. The demon haunting him continued to filter into every dream, consuming his daily thoughts. His anger at the surface, he resisted thrusting his fist into the colorful canvas and set the painting down with care, rubbing the top of the frame.
Tasty or a little too much? Imagine the rest…
Kisses and spanks…