Friday, September 7, 2012

*NEW* Live and Grind Erotica: Pink Cookies (Part One)


" I was...having...intimate relations with those...gentlemen..., " Lana Soleil begins.

"And was this BEFORE.." Fabien Halworth pauses,"  or AFTER you murdered them?!?"

"Excuse me?"

" "THOSE" twelve service men. The deceased. 'Those' soldiers who were slaughtered as they slept in their army barracks!"

Lana snorts audibly, in spite of herself.

"YOU. The Accused. You find all of this amusing, do you?"

Fabien Halworth sneers menancingly, long and protractedly, embodying the well of fury he has undoubtedly incited. The maddening crowd has gathered to crow in macabre assembly at the feet of the fallen.



Fabien pivots perfunctorily, swiveling half-mast in his firm, shiny black crocodile loafers. He positions himself forebodingly in front of the triers of fact. 

Leaning in paternalistically, he squares his back to shield the people from the face of this diabolical entity. This amoral enemy of all things pure, just, and measured.

The absence of sound is deafening, yet, despite any sign of provenance, a cool draft gradually appears to take hold and swirl about omnisciently, mingling amidst this stiflingly hot inferno. 

This slight breeze encapsulates the staid pallor of the halls of judgment in welcome contrast against the relentless sun on this scorching August afternoon.


"Would you like to explain for us here today exactly what, pray tell, you find humorous in regards to the charges of willful, pre-meditated homicide, Ms. Soleil ?  Or do you wish to continue to make an absolute mockery of this court?"


"No, sir, "Lana counters, "I would like only to make one thing unabashedly clear. And that is all."


Lana proffers without reserve, " I find.... YOU....absoLUTELY....beyond belief."


Lana stares straight ahead, looking directly into the statesman's parched face and blonde coif, trimmed to exacting precision.



Lana mentally traces the outline of Fabiens sharp-shooting, piercing blue-green eyes. 

Leading her visual study slowly down from the tip of his ruggedly handsome profile, she trails along the tip of his pious roman nose to the proud jut of his adam's apple on display.

She works her way back up, right between the triangle of his profile. 

She peers once again into the eyes of her fate, which have hardened and narrowed into iron-fisted slits and closed off his insides.

Fabien is hooded.

Imperceptible to the uninitiated, it has become apparent to Lana that the veil of Fabien's mastery will remain in play perhaps awhile longer.

She relishes the challenge.

Lana's flippant disposition attracts sharp, incessant whispers throughout the courtroom as she continues to meet the glare of the contemptuous crowd, non-plussed.  

She relaxes her shoulders, parts her lips, and smiles with false modesty, like a maiden in a meadow ---not the shameful repose of the damned.

Lana holds this same soft smile until the room is hushed once again. 

Then stops. 

Lana elongates her spine and winks haughtily.


"Naturally," Fabien announces broadly in her direction as he turns to face her again, positioning his body in direct proximity to her elevated position on the witness stand.



"Naturally," he repeats evenly, as the heat of his escalating anger begins to give rise to an involuntary stiffening of his junior member.

Fabien clears his throat uncomfortably, mid-stride, struggling to retain a semblance of civility, restraint, and undefiled impotence.

Fabien has kept the public transfixed up to this juncture, their collective fury hanging onto his every syllable of condemnation--- divine utterance. 

His sudden pauses, growls, bellows. 

His every inflammation, intonation, and glittering generality.  

Dazzling and mesmerizing.

Fabien's spell is finely measured-----ravenous, meticulous and intoxicating.

But, now, if he could only look away.

In one fortuitous meeting of the eyes, he is becoming undone. 

He is preparing to resume his living theatre exposition. 

Until this instant, this had been otherwise old hat.

Fabien is intending to provide a good finish----

But not quite like this.


As Lana's lids, etched in onyx, begin to lower slowly over her golden-brown eyes, her attention is drawn down towards Fabien's mid-section. 

Her eyes dart back up reflexively, dancing, and full of impish surprise. She erupts, devolving compulsively into a hushed, raspy, girlish giggle that hastens into a feverish pitch.

Lana can no longer contain her composure.  

Her golden-brown breasts rise and fall in perfectly sculpted unison, each nipple becoming increasingly erect at the center of each mound of full, well-rounded flesh beneath her plain, loosely flowing peach blouse.

Lana's mouth, inherently full and rose-colored, forms into a tightly wound circle as she allows each throaty, seasoned peal of laughter to escape her lips unbridled. 

The long, thick curls of her auburn-tinted mane are thrust forward as she gives into the whims of her fit of pathological merriment.

Fabien can hear the startled cacophany of the masses, buzzing incessantly behind him. 

He can feel the weight of the curious glances of the jury across from him, the whispers swimming in waves of flurry as his head swells, making all things incongruous, absurd, and out of the realm of his control.

Fabien dares not display the betrayal of his own manhood---- this inexplicable stirring of vulgarity and passion. 

This lustful, wicked, animalistic urge to shove his seed right down, deeply, into Lana's pagan belly.

Anything to wipe that sick, sadistic grin off her pretty little face.

Whatever it would take to turn that raucous, bawdy laughter into a riotous scream of release.



Fabien's pants tighten painfully, accomodating his appetite. 

His thighs give way to the gatherings of beads of sweat and splendor.

The Honorable Claudius Rutherford Napoli interjects, beating his gavel furiously from way up high.


"Enough!" Napoli affirms brusquely, looking pointedly at Fabien Halworth.

Lana jumps in her seat at the culmination of this intensity.


Her overt derision has, at least momentarily, run its course.

Fabien will remain immobile.

Ruddy. Steady. Flushed.

Swollen.

Mute.


"That is ENOUGH for today," the Honorable Napoli concludes.


****End of Part I ****


**(Temporary?) Pictures from "Vampire Art Now" book and my refrigerator magnets =)


"Pink Cookies: Part One" erotic short story written and finalized by Sandra London on September 7th, 2012 in Los Angeles, CA at 3: 58am

Follow The Grind

No comments:

Post a Comment

Hello, sexy beings!!! I love to hear from my Live and Grind Readers. Please do leave your thoughts, commentary, questions or suggestions when the mood strikes. ;)

xxxo, Sandra LONDON of Live&Grind (Los Angeles/Europe)
@ImSandraLondon
LiveAndGrind.com
PlaytimeWithSandra.com