At first her advances were dismissed passively enough, and more often than not put to rest by an appetizer of what she craved, a taste of the tongue, a pair of lips upon her swollen breasts, and warm fingers between her thighs. With each appetizer she felt malnourished and unfulfilled and her own hunger became a voracious entity screaming and screaming at her through the dampness beneath her waist. The more she pushed the more erratic Armand’s behavior became, but the mystery and the passion were still too alluring to be ignored, like the enticing smell of a pitcher plants saliva Janette was an insect who could not wait to be devoured. An excerpt from my slow burner The Heretics Fork. A bit more saucy than my usual horrific work.
Posted on: Tue, 28 Oct 2014 14:11:23 +0000
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