the life and musings of a kinky slut

A Darkness

~ a nightmare ~


I laid on my bed, curled into myself, facing the wall.

He walked in.  I heard his boot steps.  Felt the change in the room.  Safety had vanished and wouldn’t reappear until he left.

He threw something on my legs, something soft, fuzzy.  I looked down.  It was a pink patchwork blanket.

“My sister made that for you.  She said she hopes you feel better.  I didn’t have the heart to tell her there’s no cure for being a whore.”

He sat on the foot of my bed.  I pulled my feet away from him.  He adjusted himself, leaned against the wall, tried to ease himself into my eye line.

“How are you feeling since our date?  That’s what whores call it, right?  A date?”

He ran his hand along my shine.  I recoiled, rolled off the bed.  Sat on the floor in a ball, rocking myself back and forth.

How had he gotten back onto the complex?  And now, back in my room.  Back on my bed.

I wouldn’t let him do it again. Not even with the hidden cameras in the room, able to capture his confession or, worse still, his attempt at seconds.

“Oh, little whore, you don’t want me here?”

He brushed his hand on my head.


I couldn’t do it any longer, play coy, weak, acting like he’d broken me.  Confession or no confession, I was done being his victim.

I jumped up, pulled a knife, and held it in front of his face.

“Get out.  Now.”

A wicked grin grew as his eyes lit up.

“Alright, little whore.  I’ll see you around.”

My eyes followed his form as his left.


I ran towards my family.  Collapsed into their center.  Sought refuge in someone’s arms.

“I couldn’t.  I just couldn’t anymore.  I wouldn’t let him hurt me again.  I wouldn’t let him think I was weak, that he could do a harm to me whenever he felt the pleasure take him.”

They caressed my head, held me, rocked my lovingly.

“A festival day.”  The exaltation rang out.

“Let us not allow his darkness to ruin our light.  A festival day.”

“A festival day!”  They sang out in unison, lifting my heart.


The complex sang with people.  They ate, drank, laughed.  Stories and songs broke out filling our expanse of land surrounded by trees and blanketed in grass.  I smiled to see family and friends at my home.

But he was there.  He brought one of his new girlfriends.  I couldn’t understood now how anyone saw worth in him.  But he was a master of deception.  I knew that to be too true.

He caught my eye from fifty away.  A smile broke on his face.  I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of my fear.  My eyes narrowed.  My face hardened.  He would not do it again.

As I ate and laughed with friends, a raucous grew behind us.  He was involved.  It was cheerful, but moved closer and closer to my seat.  He pulled them, backed them up into me.  I jumped, moved away as he tried to grope me.

Over the hill, past the generational tree, down the gravel path I scurried to the gazebo.  It was one of my favorite parts of the complex.  Trees curled around it hugging its frame.  Leaves of orange and amber and red covered the grass leading to its steps.

I sat in the cool wetness of the ground.  Looked about.  Saw a group of six prepping for a picture.  One of them was Maestro.  His eyes were bright, elated to be among us.  He lived so far away.  Everyone was excited he had made the trip.

Once the picture was taken, I stood.  He saw me, approached.

“Oh how I have missed.”
“Not more than I have missed you, my young one.”

His strong arms encircled me, lifting me into his hug.

“This day of celebration is more so because you are here.”

He sat me back on my feet.  I gripped his hands, brought them to my lips, kissed them, caressed them against my cheek.

“Only your face, your joy, could warm me as the mar of one looms over me.”
“What mar?”
“You know him, yet you do not.  He hurt me, harmed me, took a piece of me once I am just now struggling to get back.”
“Who is…”

The raucous, he, had found me, bringing his false revelry with him as his cloaked merriment.

Maestro hollered towards the group in glee.  I dropped his hands and dashed away.


I wanted just a moment alone.  I went back towards my cottage.  Slipped inside.  Stepped into the bathroom and attempted to close and lock the door.  It wouldn’t secure all the way.  The door wasn’t completely shut.  I pulled it back and there he was, predator stare on me.

I shoved the door towards him.  He leaned against my strength, trying to push himself inside.  My frame was no match for his build.  I reached down to my boot, flicked open my knife.  Loomed it by his eye ball.

His smile came back, but he stopped.  Stood up tall.  Backed away and out my home.


I’d called the cops.  I wanted it to be over.  I stood by the front door of the rental house waiting.

The cops arrived, a pair of gentlemen in wrinkled uniforms.  They stepped onto the porch and asked me my issue.

“My Ex will be here shortly.  I asked him to give me his key back.  I have repeatedly told him we are over, yet he keeps pushing for reconciliation, to the point where I fear for my safety.  Please, I have tried filing a restraining order, but because he has yet to be charged with anything I was declined.  I just want my key back and this man out of my life.”

He pulled into the driveway.  Parked.  Walked towards us.

“My key,” I said.
“Of course.”  He threw his jumble of keys at me.  I caught them, located the one I needed, and began pulling it off the metal ring.

I felt, then heard, then saw the click as a handcuff bound one of my wrists.  I looked up.  His predator stare met my gaze.

He turned me, grabbed my other wrist, bound my hands behind my back.

“Officers, please.”
“Thanks guys, I’ve got it from here.”

The two men laughed as they watched him manhandle me.

“Stop this.  Stop this, please.  Why aren’t you stopping this?”

“She really goes for the realistic kidnapping scene.”

“No!  This is not a scene.  I didn’t consent to this.  Red.  Red.  Safeword.  Please, stop him.”

A look of concern entered their faces.

“Kenny, um, are you sure she wants this?”

“I don’t want this.  I don’t want this.  Stop this, please.”

I heard the click of his trunk opening.

“She’s a heavy player guys.  We’re good.”

“What’s going on?”

I turned and saw Maestro in his full leathers.  In the commotion no one had heard him drive up and park at the bottom of the driveway.

“Maestro, the darkness I spoke of to you on festival day.”


Maestro’s face displayed puzzlement, then horror, then anger.

“Son, free her.”
“Poppa, she’s…”
“Free her!”

His booming voice made even the officers jump.  Kendrick unlocked one cuff.  I spun, kicked his crotch, kneed his stomach, and then, with my former lover now half fallen, I punched his face before his body slumped to the ground.

“You will never take from me again.”

Categorised as: Gen Fiction | Moments of Terror

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