Maggie Myers “Forced Pleasure”

“Forced Pleasure”

By Maggie Myers

Water dripped from a leaky pipe some feet away from her. Seeing was impossible because a piece of cloth covered her eyes. The joints in the girl’s shoulder’s had lost their tingling a long time ago, now they were sore and immobile. Her arms were tied behind her, around the back of an unsteady wooden chair. Rope bruised the girls wrists and attempted to slice away at the skin.

Ten feet away sat a man, dressed in military clothes with a gun in his hands. He eyed her thin shorts, letting his mind wonder what he could do to her before giving her to the dealer. He’d never taken his way with one of the girls he sold but this one he couldn’t seem to pass up.

He’d stolen the innocent virgin straight out of her own house. Mommy and daddy were gone for the weekend and the girl had planned to have a night with her boyfriend. But lover boy never showed.

A pleasant night of deflowering turned into terror as he stole her from her bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts and a tank top. The man wore a Michael Myers mask to hide his face. She gave him such a fight that his cheek was starting to swell. With the gun in hand, he placed a rag her nose and threw her to the ground. Duct tape covered her mouth before she could scream. But no one would have heard her, it was for his own pleasure. One thing he loved about rich people: all those trees and privacy fences made his job easier.

A fair skinned, eighteen year old virgin would bring well over ten grand on the market. He’d feed her dry salads and bottled water until the day he had to take her so she wouldn’t be bloated. On Tuesday she’d go to market like a pig and be displayed for all the foreign diplomats, be bidden on and shipped overseas to be drugged and used for sex.
He sat watching her wake from the chloroform and thought of what he could do to her. If he had sex with her once, and left her ass alone he would still get at least eight grand from her. All natural girls were rare and expensive. Should he really throw two grand out the window for a virgin? He did have three others on the way.

Smokedawg “Kneeling to the Fallen”

About the Author

J. Jefferson (aka Smokedawg) is a middle-aged editor and journalist manifesting his mid-life crisis by FINALLY writing the fiction his schoolmates always thought he would have been writing since graduation (but didn’t). In addition to beginning work on a science fiction novel in 2008, he fell into erotica in 2009 by starting his blog ”Better With Smoke” (http://betterwithsmoke.wordpress.com) as a way to explore the smoking fetish (independently and in conjunction with other fetishes) in fiction and commentary. He also has begun writing exclusive smoking fetish erotica for the forum “Smoking Fetish Kingdom” and plans to begin producing non-smoking erotica soon as well, exclusively for the Celis T. Rono Writer’s Collective (unless of course by some miracle some publisher wants to pay him to put it in print).

Kneeling to the Fallen

By Smokedawg

Calamity.

Nothing but calamity on this expedition. Illness, injury, loss of supplies, loss of transportation and repeated desertions. And two deaths. And now, Andrea Cochrane realized, she was the last one left. The one who led the team to find the cavern, and the only one who made it all the way. She had no way of knowing whether the ill and injured had made their way back to civilization or not.

And I have no idea if I can find my way back now, she admitted to herself.

It occurred to her that the entire trip had begun to feel cursed early on. That she, as the organizer and mastermind of it, would be the only one to gaze upon this crack in the cliff face spoke to her of influences beyond those of humans.

Given what she was seeking, that wasn’t such a superstitious notion anymore.

What few clues there were in the ancient texts and carvings matched up with the features around her. And most especially the narrow passage through the mountain in front of her. She had no idea why she had continued after Walter was carried away by the river current, over the falls and into the jagged rocks below—with Hannah subsequently leaving her in disgust.

But not without hurling curses and accusations at me, Andrea recalled. Not without telling me I was stupid to continue, and much worse things besides. And, in the end, why am I still walking toward my goal instead of running away from it? No one remains to witness this. No one is here to help me bring back proof if I survive. I’m like Walter now, being carried by a current I cannot resist.