It Follows

Valentina

Basic Instinct

 

Fabiola - Part Five

That night, along the road adjacent the Market Square, Fabiola found herself among the women who earn. Having slowly unfastened the lock to her wooden window shutters, she had slid carefully and silently out of her bedroom into the inner courtyard, making sure that the sentry did not see her. The babbling of the water fountain had concealed the ticking of pebbles under her sandaled feet, and a moments conversation between the sentry and one of his fellows had allowed her a chance to unlock and escape through the front gate. She closed it securely behind her, not knowing how she would find her way back into the villa come morning. Right now things like that did not matter. Not here among all these bodies; women, their breasts exposed to the cool night air or--in a few cases--draped in a transparent yellow silk; men, drunken and loud, pushing and roughhousing, fondling the women openly, negotiating their price. Fabiola had heard the warnings of her mother, and knew that these things existed, but those were only stories. This was real, in front of her.

  Suddenly a hand rested lightly on her shoulder. It was a woman's. Fabiola turned to look at her. The woman squinted lightly, inching her head forward drunkenly, as she examined Fabiola's masculine robe. Her other hand, the one not resting on Fabiola's shoulder, held a clay pipe. The woman's words were slow and halting. It was at this moment that Fabiola began to see how damaged and thin many of these women were, how vacantly they sold themselves. "You're new," the woman said.

  She presented Fabiola with the pipe, directing them both closer to one of the torches lighting the street. "It's good," she said, setting fire to a short wooden stick that she then used to ignite for herself the substance in the pipe. Fabiola took in the thick scent of the herbs as the woman dragged in the smoke. "Here," the woman said, exhaling. Fabiola took the pipe hesitantly, but then confidently. The woman held the fire to the pipe for her, and then Fabiola inhaled strongly. Too strongly. It left her bent over coughing for a few seconds.

  In that time some passing men had grabbed the arm of the unnamed woman, pulling her down the street with them, laughing, surrounding her, leaving Fabiola alone with the pipe. Having seen how it was done, Fabiola used a piece of straw on the ground to take another gentle toke. Nothing seemed to be happening, and she did not know any better. When the drug finally took effect, Fabiola was reaching the end of the earning district, among the brothels, where things were quieter. Standing dazed, she could feel the warmth of the torches through her clothing and the hardness of the ground beneath her feet. It seemed to her that the touch of the woman had remained on her shoulder, radiating into her skin. Fabiola ran her finger tips across the nearest wall. The edges of the stone read like letters of an alphabet, sharp and distinct and meaningful.

  She could make out the contours of people fucking in the alleyways. A woman pressed forward against the wall as a man thrust into her from behind, his left hand gripping her breast. Another taking a woman laying on her back, moaning and whispering to the woman what to say.

  Fabiola watched, her pupils dilated and mouth open, a slight wobble in her stance. But when one of the men seemed to look up at her, she startled, and shuffled away as quickly as she could. Realizing now how vulnerable she may have made herself, how far away from home she had wandered, Fabiola decided to try to make her way to safety. 

  However, it was in that very moment of rational clarity when Fabiola heard a voice that would eliminate all reason, all clarity. It was the young man from the dinner, Gallus. He was here on the street, talking loudly in the relative silence of the brothel district, oblivious of Fabiola's presence. Looking over, Fabiola could see that he had taken one of the women who earn under his arm, and was heading for the entrance to one of the buildings. An unexpected jealousy crept into her heart. It inspired her to follow Gallus into the building.

This Time, We Boogie!

Instructional Comics? - How To BDSM

This Stuff Looks Complex

Decadence and Waste

La Sorciere

 

Fabiola - Part Two

That night she kept thinking about the lamp. Her mother would keep her from filling it with oil when it extinguished itself, but that had not stopped her from looking. She wondered what it meant, those naked bodies and her leg raised above his head. That luxurious couch. What connected them? Why was she looking back? She'd heard her brother with the slave girls. His quiet moans and their whimpers. Would that be her one day? Once she'd been married? Blood rushed to her cheeks against her will. Returned from dinner, she lay in bed remembering the furtive touch of the young man. Her racing heart and a feeling she did not understand prevented her from sleeping. She did not want to sleep. Not when she could let her mind drift with him. Sleeping would bring this dream world, this glow, to an end.

Awaking the next morning she chided herself for her immodesty. Her mother's words repeated themselves to her. She remembered the importance of her honour. And she remembered her duties as a daughter. Today she was to visit the market. So long as she was accompanied by two male servants she was permitted to go alone. This was yet another rare concession on the part of her parents. She did not really need to go. The servants were more than capable of selecting the fabrics they would use to assemble her brother's new clothing. But Fabiola wanted the market, just as she wanted the dinner. She wanted to walk along the waterfront, watching the ships as they unloaded foods, bodies, and materials into the city; she wanted to take in the scent of people cooking; judge the beggars on their appearance and skill; overhear commerce, gossip, and mundane talk. It excited her and made her feel that perhaps she could, walking behind her husband, one day belong on high priest's road, a citizen rather than a visitor.

Alex - Part Two - The Scent of Her Hair

Airborne molecules of shampoo used by the woman sitting next to Alex touch the receptors in the back of his mouth and nose. They awake neural pathways which he'd long since put to bed. And now, against his will, he can feel his arms around his lover, feel her hair against his cheek, remember his hands along her body. He remembers the acetic acid of her sex. This sensation rises up within him like an increased heart rate, from stomach to chest.

Alex knows that there is nothing he can do but ride this out. I watch him access his short term memory, looking over the things that he needs to do that day. The list exhausts itself quickly. So he tries to breathe like Sergei showed him. The inhale cleanses and fills his lungs; the exhale clears his mind. But this action only brings back other memories. He’s checking the chamber now to see that it’s empty, lifting the receiver, and removing the recoil spring of a muck encrusted late-Soviet era assault rifle. His green-brown fatigues are stained black with oxidized blood.

When the PA announces his stop, Alex gets up from his seat and exits the train, joining the crowd in trying to get through the day.

Jenny Hval - Innocence is Kinky

Batsex

I haven't read the new Batgirl book. Probably won't. Scratch that: definitely won't. But I'm curious enough on account of the hype to scan reviews. This image caught my attention. It's nice to see Babs (aka Barbara Gordon, aka Batgirl, aka Not-Oracle-Anymore) presented as a sexual being. And a voracious one at that! Batman gets to be the 'hairy-chested love god' without losing his authority as a costumed vigilante. Why can't Batgirl fuck randos too?

She grabs his shirt like she wants him inside her. Its a simple way of communicating a deeper passion for life and pleasure underneath all that grim-dark bondage gear that the Bat-family tends to wear. And, really, should we be surprised that Babs likes it a little firm? Christ, Bruce Wayne probably can't even cum anymore without someone slapping him in the face repeatedly, telling him about how she wants his bat-symbol all over her. You need something a little extra extra after multiple exposures to fear toxins, poisonous plant women, and extra-terrestrial possessions.

      Batgirl #35, Oct. 2014  (DC Comics)