Goddamn, it’s cold in here. From where I sit in the common room, I can hear the other patients bitching and moaning about how cold they are. Fuck the temperature; they are cold in their cunts and in their sad, lonely hearts. Plus, the bastards that run the place keep the thermostat so low it damn near freezes your tits off. Pneumonia runs more rampant here than herpes simplex virus 2, and trust me when I tell you that that is saying something. I’m so glad you could come tonight. I miss you when we aren’t together, you know. It’s no fun jacking off alone. So let’s focus on a warmer, happier time, shall we?
As I drift slowly upwards into consciousness, I become aware of the fact that I’m blindfolded and ball-gagged and bound to a hard-backed chair, my wrists behind my back and my legs apart. The wiry fibres of the cord cut into my skin, not unpleasantly, and trickles of sweat trace their way between my naked breasts. I’m drooling. It's hot as a motherfucker in here. Where the hell am I? And suddenly the beast beside me roars into life and I realize that I'm in the boiler room of the asylum, naked and sweating. And I wonder how it can be so hot down here when the rest of the place is as cold as our poor broken hearts. Dim orange light flickers through the shadows and I feel myself getting wet, feel my nipples stiffen, feel my body swell with blood in anticipation. The ropes tighten as I strain forward. The heat is unbearable.
And then there you are, my sadistic saviour in the shadows. You snag your fingers in my hair and pull my head back violently. I feel your teeth against my skin and my body convulses as you bite into the smooth pale flesh of my neck. I am delirious with pleasure. Now those teeth are on my nipples, nipping and biting and I feel your tongue, your lips sucking at me, and in this darkness and this heat my entire body is aflame. I arch my back and thrust up involuntarily, my cunt is aching to be touched, and then I feel your breath warm against my wetness and your teeth scrape my clit as you suck me while saliva trickles down my chin. I feel the rope burn through the skin of my wrists and ankles, feel the sting as blood mixes with sweat, and I come violently against my restraints in waves of savage pleasure.
I'm still moaning weakly, the taste of stale rubber on my tongue, as you remove the gag, wipe away the drool, untie my wrists and ankles and kiss me softly on the lips. I become dimly aware of the sound of your footsteps fading and I realize that I am alone here as the beast beside me ceases his roar and is silent.
January 29, 2010
January 1, 2010
Happy fucking new year!
Well happy fucking new year! It seems like ages since I last wrote to you. My sincerest apologies for the delay, but I accidentally cut myself right before the holidays. Slipped on a banana peel during cafeteria duty and landed wrists down on a couple of paring knives. Unholy stigmata. It was the strangest goddamn thing. I couldn't do it again if I tried. I wanted to write to you, really I did, but there are no computers in the infirmary, and I couldn’t hold my wrists up long enough anyway. But here I am, back in action and horny as ever. I hope you've missed me...
My mouth is watering. I'm salivating like a good buddy of Pavlov's, and all I can think of is you. I'm wet, alone in my room, and I remember how your lips felt on my neck, how your nipples felt between my teeth, how your tits felt in the palm of my hand, so like and yet unlike my own. I cup my breasts with both hands and feel my nipples harden and I remember the first time I kissed you, how soft your lips were against mine. I remember the taste of your cunt, musky and vaguely salty, so like and yet unlike my own. I slip my fingers between my legs as I remember lapping at your clit like a hungry kitten, the way you shuddered and moaned beneath my lips as you came. And I shudder and moan and all I want is to be out of this godforsaken asylum so that I can sink my teeth into the pale smooth flesh of your neck and let your copper blood run down my throat.
My mouth is watering. I'm salivating like a good buddy of Pavlov's, and all I can think of is you. I'm wet, alone in my room, and I remember how your lips felt on my neck, how your nipples felt between my teeth, how your tits felt in the palm of my hand, so like and yet unlike my own. I cup my breasts with both hands and feel my nipples harden and I remember the first time I kissed you, how soft your lips were against mine. I remember the taste of your cunt, musky and vaguely salty, so like and yet unlike my own. I slip my fingers between my legs as I remember lapping at your clit like a hungry kitten, the way you shuddered and moaned beneath my lips as you came. And I shudder and moan and all I want is to be out of this godforsaken asylum so that I can sink my teeth into the pale smooth flesh of your neck and let your copper blood run down my throat.
November 17, 2009
salutations
Greetings from the bughouse, fuckers! The funniest thing happened to me today. It was during free time and this inmate who gets caught regularly masturbating to romance novels with long-haired he-men on the cover leans over to me, fingers knuckle-deep in her hairy old twat, and whispers, "What's the big deal with oral sex? They're always having oral sex." I nearly fell off my chair. This from the mouth of a woman who can’t keep her fingers out of her cunt and whose crimes include, well, I can’t tell you about her crimes, but believe me when I tell you that she really is fucking bonkers. Anyway, when she interrupted me I was reading my old dog-eared copy of Violette and I guess I'm feeling rather romantic tonight...
I am wet in anticipation. You are on your knees in front of me, and you give me that little wink as you lower your face to my pussy. I feel the warmth of your breath and it gives me a warm feeling in my belly. Your five o'clock shadow scrapes my thighs. You run your tongue teasingly from my asshole to my clit and it tickles and I grab your head with my hands and push you down. Quit fucking around and eat me. And you oblige, placing your hands under my ass cheeks and raising me up to you like you're drinking out of a goddamned golden chalice. My hands are in your hair as you lick me, suck me, slide your tongue along my glistening lips, a sharp intake of breath as you slip two fingers into my slit and one up my asshole. Heat radiates from the centre of my body; at this moment I am nothing but cunt. I'm panting and moaning and thrusting my pelvis up towards you as you thrust your tongue your fingers into me as you fuck me with your mouth and you focus your tongue on my clit and oh oh oh oh god I'm coming and I'm riding that glorious wave of pleasurepain and I shudder and die a sweet sweet death.
I am wet in anticipation. You are on your knees in front of me, and you give me that little wink as you lower your face to my pussy. I feel the warmth of your breath and it gives me a warm feeling in my belly. Your five o'clock shadow scrapes my thighs. You run your tongue teasingly from my asshole to my clit and it tickles and I grab your head with my hands and push you down. Quit fucking around and eat me. And you oblige, placing your hands under my ass cheeks and raising me up to you like you're drinking out of a goddamned golden chalice. My hands are in your hair as you lick me, suck me, slide your tongue along my glistening lips, a sharp intake of breath as you slip two fingers into my slit and one up my asshole. Heat radiates from the centre of my body; at this moment I am nothing but cunt. I'm panting and moaning and thrusting my pelvis up towards you as you thrust your tongue your fingers into me as you fuck me with your mouth and you focus your tongue on my clit and oh oh oh oh god I'm coming and I'm riding that glorious wave of pleasurepain and I shudder and die a sweet sweet death.
October 23, 2009
a message from the asylum
Ah there you are! It’s Fornicator. You must remember me; you spurted all over your monitor the last time we were together. You’re welcome, by the way.
Holy Christ, people around here have been miserable. Is it like that out there in the real world, too? The wind howls outside my barred window and I have terrible dreams and winter threatens, my sweet lovelies, and that Winter, she's a cunt. But don't let her get you down. I'll keep you warm, if only for a little while...
I'm naked, straddling you as you lay on the bare stained mattress on the floor in the corner of this filthy decaying crackhouse. People lay around us in various states of intoxication-whores with needles still hanging out of their veins and their tiny addicted babies who won't shut the fuck up, kids high on cheap beer and LSD, bums drunk on Listerine, everybody trying to stay out of that godforsaken wind. It's dark and the place reeks of piss and vomit and sex. I reach down between my legs and feel the thick wetness there and smell the metallic musky smell of my blood on my fingers. I paint my name on your chest in my blood, marking you, staking my claim, and your erection is my reward. I lower myself onto you and suddenly we are alone here in this foul room, and my cunt is alive, slippery with blood, and I fuck you until the heat flushes my body from head to toe and I come in spasms and I feel you come violently inside me and the thought of all those poor sperm surging uselessly forward makes me throw my head back and laugh, banshee laughter rising with the wind.
Holy Christ, people around here have been miserable. Is it like that out there in the real world, too? The wind howls outside my barred window and I have terrible dreams and winter threatens, my sweet lovelies, and that Winter, she's a cunt. But don't let her get you down. I'll keep you warm, if only for a little while...
I'm naked, straddling you as you lay on the bare stained mattress on the floor in the corner of this filthy decaying crackhouse. People lay around us in various states of intoxication-whores with needles still hanging out of their veins and their tiny addicted babies who won't shut the fuck up, kids high on cheap beer and LSD, bums drunk on Listerine, everybody trying to stay out of that godforsaken wind. It's dark and the place reeks of piss and vomit and sex. I reach down between my legs and feel the thick wetness there and smell the metallic musky smell of my blood on my fingers. I paint my name on your chest in my blood, marking you, staking my claim, and your erection is my reward. I lower myself onto you and suddenly we are alone here in this foul room, and my cunt is alive, slippery with blood, and I fuck you until the heat flushes my body from head to toe and I come in spasms and I feel you come violently inside me and the thought of all those poor sperm surging uselessly forward makes me throw my head back and laugh, banshee laughter rising with the wind.
September 28, 2009
oh Humbert...
Hey. Fornicator From The Asylum here. As if you didn’t know. Cocksuckers. So, what have you been up to? This could be a two-way street, you know. Selfish bastards, looking to me to get yourselves off and never offering me so much as a sliver of fantasy in return, not the tiniest taste of what makes you cream in your silk panties, not an iota of what makes you come in your perfectly-creased trousers. Bunch of uptight assholes. But here you go anyway. I'm feeling generous. Not to mention horny as hell...
You sign in under the name Humbert, which cracks me up. The desk clerk hands you the key to room 9 and we drive around to the back of the motel, away from the noise of the highway. As you turn the key in the lock, I become aware of the sound of my heart pounding in my ears, sending blood pulsing to my nipples, my lips, my pussy, engorging me, getting me ready. You flip the lightswitch and the bare bulb throws its glare over the faded pumpkin-orange carpet and almost-matching curtains, which hang limply from the rod. Hopefully not a portent of things to come, I think to myself, and giggle. You slap me across the cheek. Sorry, daddy, I smile, and you slap me, not unkindly, across the other cheek. I grin.
While you pour yourself a drink, I perform my striptease, seductively unbuttoning my blouse, letting it slip from my shoulders, stepping out of my schoolgirl miniskirt and pink panties, until I am standing in front of you wearing only a thin black bra and matching thigh-high stockings and heels. And then you are on top of me, pushing me backwards onto the burgundy bedspread and its pattern of cigarette burns and old cum stains. I feel the mattress springs pressing into my back like some twisted form of acupuncture, I taste the bourbon on your breath, I feel your dick pressing its way into me, carving me out, filling me up. You kiss me wetly and pinch my nipples beneath my bra until I cry out. Fuck me, I plead. And you do. I dig my stilettos into the backs of your calves, drawing blood, and I scrape my fingernails down your back as the mattress protests and you fuck me fuck me fuck me until I am raw. You come in one final violent thrust and I press myself up, rubbing my aching clit against you until I come, too. We lie together, still breathing heavily, while you reach over to the nightstand and light a cigarette, exhaling into my mouth. I feel you beginning to soften inside me, feel the semen trickling out of my cunt, and when we leave this shit-hole motel room, we leave our own stains on the threadbare burgundy bedspread.
You sign in under the name Humbert, which cracks me up. The desk clerk hands you the key to room 9 and we drive around to the back of the motel, away from the noise of the highway. As you turn the key in the lock, I become aware of the sound of my heart pounding in my ears, sending blood pulsing to my nipples, my lips, my pussy, engorging me, getting me ready. You flip the lightswitch and the bare bulb throws its glare over the faded pumpkin-orange carpet and almost-matching curtains, which hang limply from the rod. Hopefully not a portent of things to come, I think to myself, and giggle. You slap me across the cheek. Sorry, daddy, I smile, and you slap me, not unkindly, across the other cheek. I grin.
While you pour yourself a drink, I perform my striptease, seductively unbuttoning my blouse, letting it slip from my shoulders, stepping out of my schoolgirl miniskirt and pink panties, until I am standing in front of you wearing only a thin black bra and matching thigh-high stockings and heels. And then you are on top of me, pushing me backwards onto the burgundy bedspread and its pattern of cigarette burns and old cum stains. I feel the mattress springs pressing into my back like some twisted form of acupuncture, I taste the bourbon on your breath, I feel your dick pressing its way into me, carving me out, filling me up. You kiss me wetly and pinch my nipples beneath my bra until I cry out. Fuck me, I plead. And you do. I dig my stilettos into the backs of your calves, drawing blood, and I scrape my fingernails down your back as the mattress protests and you fuck me fuck me fuck me until I am raw. You come in one final violent thrust and I press myself up, rubbing my aching clit against you until I come, too. We lie together, still breathing heavily, while you reach over to the nightstand and light a cigarette, exhaling into my mouth. I feel you beginning to soften inside me, feel the semen trickling out of my cunt, and when we leave this shit-hole motel room, we leave our own stains on the threadbare burgundy bedspread.
September 8, 2009
a message from Fornicator
Hello, you sane motherfuckers. Must be nice. To fuck your mother, I mean. Mine never comes to visit me here. Small wonder... Hey, speaking of mothers, did you know that this place used to be run by nuns? I picture punk rock nuns in stilettos and garters, cigarettes dangling. The thought of God attempting to assert His will in this place cracks me up, so vile and depraved and hopeless are we. But I do like to imagine the nuns alone in their rooms at night, furiously rubbing themselves, rosaries shoved halfway up their asses while Jesus smiles benevolently down from his crucifix.
So let me tell you a tale, a tale of depravity and sex. (Why else do you think I come here? To practice my secretarial skills?) Here goes, my lovelies, can you handle it? And by handle it, I mean have you got a nice firm grip on your dick there? A slim, wet finger pressed against your slit? You do? Well okay then…
I slink through the club, the air heavy with smoke and sex, a panther on the prowl. I'm looking for you.
I order a shot of tequila, fuck the accoutrements, and feel the slow burn trace its way down my throat. I order another, and give the bartender a wink. He knows the score. He smiles and wipes the counter as I tip the second drink back, over my lips, onto my tongue, down my throat. Where are you?
And, suddenly, my spider senses tingling, I look over my shoulder, and through the smoke and the sex, there you are. Weak, vulnerable, alone. My prey.
I make my way through the smoke, feeling the burn in my insides, feeling the thrill of the hunt make my heart beat faster, feeling you watching me as I make my way over to you. I catch your eye and you are unable to look away. In that instant, you are mine.
You follow me as I leave the club, pressing through the doors into the warm night air, from darkness into darkness, and I lead you down an alley. The tension is palpable, and in that second before I kiss you, before I push you into the brick wall, I am alive, gloriously alive, despite the cancer burning its black way through my cunt. And I push you into the brick wall, and I kiss you hungrily, all lips and tongue and teeth, and I feel the heat and hunger and sickness radiating from us. And I yank your jeans down and yank my skirt up and I fuck you up against the brick wall in that dark dank alley and, in that second before we come, I know that I have passed it on, my disease is contagious and I have given it to you, my sweetest darkest gift.
So let me tell you a tale, a tale of depravity and sex. (Why else do you think I come here? To practice my secretarial skills?) Here goes, my lovelies, can you handle it? And by handle it, I mean have you got a nice firm grip on your dick there? A slim, wet finger pressed against your slit? You do? Well okay then…
I slink through the club, the air heavy with smoke and sex, a panther on the prowl. I'm looking for you.
I order a shot of tequila, fuck the accoutrements, and feel the slow burn trace its way down my throat. I order another, and give the bartender a wink. He knows the score. He smiles and wipes the counter as I tip the second drink back, over my lips, onto my tongue, down my throat. Where are you?
And, suddenly, my spider senses tingling, I look over my shoulder, and through the smoke and the sex, there you are. Weak, vulnerable, alone. My prey.
I make my way through the smoke, feeling the burn in my insides, feeling the thrill of the hunt make my heart beat faster, feeling you watching me as I make my way over to you. I catch your eye and you are unable to look away. In that instant, you are mine.
You follow me as I leave the club, pressing through the doors into the warm night air, from darkness into darkness, and I lead you down an alley. The tension is palpable, and in that second before I kiss you, before I push you into the brick wall, I am alive, gloriously alive, despite the cancer burning its black way through my cunt. And I push you into the brick wall, and I kiss you hungrily, all lips and tongue and teeth, and I feel the heat and hunger and sickness radiating from us. And I yank your jeans down and yank my skirt up and I fuck you up against the brick wall in that dark dank alley and, in that second before we come, I know that I have passed it on, my disease is contagious and I have given it to you, my sweetest darkest gift.
September 1, 2009
a note from Fornicator
Hey, you bunch of pansies, it's Fornicator From The Asylum. I know you've been anxious to hear from me. Jesus, it's only been a couple of days. I told you not to get your fucking panties in a bind. Sometimes it takes awhile to get computer access around here. You gotta know who to fuck, and when they want it, and even then it’s a crapshoot. Trust me-you try the wrong nurse on the wrong night and you find yourself in fucking solitary. Which is fine if you like sleeping in your own shit. (Not that I'm judging you if scat is your cup of tea. Let she who is without sin, and all that jizz… ) Anyway, you'll be lucky if you hear from me once a month. We've been getting a lot of new inmates lately. Must be the humidity. Humidity brings out the sexual psychotics like the full moon brings out the weirdos. It's a scientific fact. But I promised you something when first we met, didn’t I? Far be it from me to blather on about the asylum when there you sit, lube on deck and dick in hand, waiting…
We are alone in this dim cellar. The air is moist and somehow virile. Furry dark things linger in the shadows in malevolent anticipation. I can feel you looking at me in the dark. You move closer, out of the darkness and into the faint circle of light cast from the dirty bare lightbulb, and your eyes are narrowed and there is a vague smile on your face. I can't tell precisely what it means, that smile, but I know I'm gonna get it, and good. You slap me across the face and I feel the heat rise there. And as you grab me by the hair and shove my face against the wall, I feel the heat rise in other places, too. I feel the cold rough concrete of the basement wall against my skin as you force your other hand between my thighs, parting my legs, opening me up with your fingers, and then your dick slams its way home and you fuck me fuck me fuck me against the wall. You finish and abruptly withdraw, wiping the cum that drips off your dick onto my ass cheeks. And I am left slumped on the cold basement floor, sticky and raw and scraped and bleeding, and I grin.
Until next time, my darling fornicators...
We are alone in this dim cellar. The air is moist and somehow virile. Furry dark things linger in the shadows in malevolent anticipation. I can feel you looking at me in the dark. You move closer, out of the darkness and into the faint circle of light cast from the dirty bare lightbulb, and your eyes are narrowed and there is a vague smile on your face. I can't tell precisely what it means, that smile, but I know I'm gonna get it, and good. You slap me across the face and I feel the heat rise there. And as you grab me by the hair and shove my face against the wall, I feel the heat rise in other places, too. I feel the cold rough concrete of the basement wall against my skin as you force your other hand between my thighs, parting my legs, opening me up with your fingers, and then your dick slams its way home and you fuck me fuck me fuck me against the wall. You finish and abruptly withdraw, wiping the cum that drips off your dick onto my ass cheeks. And I am left slumped on the cold basement floor, sticky and raw and scraped and bleeding, and I grin.
Until next time, my darling fornicators...
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