Author: MBBlissett

Writer. Working on book-length projects and posting fiction and poetry here.

You can find more about me here: http://wp.me/P4B2tw-1

Represented by SMART Talent Agency (http://www.smart-talent-kent.co.uk/)

I am available for writing projects via my agent, Kelly and I look forward to hearing from you.

Categories
grief love short fiction women

Baby, It’s You

Photo by Pedro Figueras on Pexels.com

Tomorrow would have been a day of splendid heraldry.

Five years to the day.

We had picked out every detail, lost in the tremendous, anxious excitement of a day celebrating our love.

The start of everything.

That last evening was full of mundane details in which tragedy lent a mythic resonance

I had undercooked the spaghetti.

You complained for forty minutes about your job, then started work on a spreadsheet.

The headache was down to stress; you said. We kissed, your eyes were dull with fatigue but you whispered for me to wake you in an hour and cupped my crotch.

I still feel the squeeze of your fingers against me.

You did not wake up and the world ended. If the devil had come and asked me to trade places, I would have in a heartbeat.

The flat became unbearable. Selling it was like chewing a limb off to escape a trap, and it hurt as much.

I could recite the memories, large and small, but I need to say this without crying.

Let me have my stoicism. Just once.

A smaller apartment. Your family became feral in their grief, but I asserted my primal, mourning authority and was the first to take the share of the treasures your passing made of simple things.

They are in the spare room. Boxed up with the lids unsealed so I can torture myself and mourn in one visit.

Lying there last night, I had left a light on. Which I don’t do, do I?

It used to irritate you how I would turn off the lights when we were not in the room. My way of showing you I had your security in mind. I figured you knew, but it got lost in translation.

The light came from the spare room. I had spent the evening reading the blizzard of post-it notes you left around the place. An oversight, but I got out of bed and check.

I opened the door, expecting to turn off the light, see all I had left of you and go back to bed, wounded and feverish.

Lights strung along the ceiling. Bunches of willow branches dusted with glitter hung on the walls. Throw pillows piled in the corner.

It brought me to my knees and I laid there, fetal and sobbing until my pills kicked in.

In the grey light of morning, it had all gone. Wiping my eyes did not make it any better.

The lights still coiled into a wreath. Pillows mummified into a vacuum-sealed bag. Branches resting in a pool of glitter.

Madness would be a relief. I could discount it as my imagination. The gesture, though, baby, it’s you.

I am seeing the doctor later. I wanted to run it by you first before I say anything.

Are there rules over there? Are you twiddling the dials on a celestial radio, looking for a song you need to hear?

Sitting here talking to a lump of Italian marble with your name carved into it makes as much sense as anything else these days. It all boils down to a binary decision.

Pills or poltergeist?

I will leave the things where they are tonight.

I hope it’s you rather than me.

OK, got to go. I love you.

I will look for you, baby.

Categories
fiction man short fiction women

Chickens

Photo by Thought Catalog on Pexels.com

‘If we lived in a world where women were murdering men en masse and men genuinely had reason to fear they might be murdered in their beds by a gang of marauding feminists, I would agree with your concern,’
Clementine Ford.
We found it hiding underneath the bleachers. 

Anita had gotten a righteous shot in with the crossbow, punched through the right thigh before it broke off into a loping, awkward run into the corridors of the high school. It left a trail of blood which we followed, shaking with fear and excitement as its cries echoed off the walls.
Karen cradled her baseball bat close to her chest as she glanced at us, grinning with anticipation.
‘This is the last one, girls, then we’re clear.’ she said.
I looked outside, saw the younger girls dragging bodies onto the smouldering bonfire as their songs and cheers of victory reached us.
The element of surprise had guaranteed us a head start. They were stronger than us, faster and adapted for violence at a genetic level.
We moved into the gym, heard it pleading from the corner as the four of us spread out to cover the exits. Karen turned the bat over in her hands and tightened her grip as she walked towards the bleachers.
‘Come out and we’ll make it quick.’ she said.
One thing I admired about the harder ones, they never gave up. Wounded or mutilated, they fought to their last breath and some of them would look you in the eye as you came for them. They had been in our homes, our schools and places of work forever, but still they fought hard to live.
After the first one, it got easier for me to do it. I made it quick with the machete, aiming for the head or the neck wherever possible. Anita liked the crossbow because it lent a sense of theatre to proceedings, she said, but I knew she enjoyed the pursuit, heightened until the last blow landed. One night, she confided in me how it made her wet when she killed one. I said nothing, but ever since; I looked at her with detachment and questioned her motives.
I did not do this in public. Apostates got demoted to support our infrastructure. Repeated infractions were a ticket to Central Processing, which no one spoke of aloud.
Karen and Anita moved to either side of the bleachers. I guarded the entrance, gun in my hand as I flipped off the safety and waited for the signal.
The sharp twang of the crossbow followed by a guttural scream was my cue to move in.
It clutched at the bolt in its stomach, eyes streaming tears as it gasped and pleaded for life. Blood pooled and soaked through the ragged, stained t-shirt as its hands grew slick. Karen walked forwards and smacked the bat down into its face. She swung the bat down twice before she stepped back and reviewed her work with a grim nod of satisfaction. They both looked at me with an unspoken question in her eyes. I tucked the gun into the back of my jeans and I pulled it out, cocked the hammer and levelled it at it.
They had always been a threat, hadn’t they?, something happened. I remembered Tommy floating in the pool whilst Mom waded out of the water. Dad had been in the study, with his throat opened in a thick, red line. It was us or them, and yet as I looked at Karen and Anita, I wondered who we were.
The gun was heavy in my hand as I aimed down the front sight. At least, I told myself; I was offering mercy as I pulled the trigger. It looked me in the eyes and held my gaze until the shot snapped its head back and it slumped like a puppet with its strings cut.
Karen and Anita dragged it to the bonfire. I noticed the class ring had come off its finger, caught on the edge of the door frame, and I pocketed it before either of them saw it.
The cries of women rose in the air as I slipped the ring into my pocket and followed them outside, grateful they were not looking at my face.
It had asked me out last summer.

 Anita said it was disgusting and I was too ready out with the likes of something so base and toxic. It took the hint and left me alone but would exchange hopeful glances with me in the corridors until Principal James ordered them to avoid direct eye contact in the halls under the micro-aggression policies.

Today had been the first time we’d seen one another.


It looked up at me as the others dragged it through, but I couldn’t hold the gaze. The smell of burning meat wafted over and my mouth watered as the bell rang for lunch. It was easier to pretend this was all fine, so I did.

Did it used to have a purpose? Talking about it gets you wrote up, and when I think about it, my head hurts and I go away for a little while.
I walked away from the bonfire and walked inside, found the drinking fountain which used to look tall to me, but now I have to squat in front of it and strain my neck to reach the spout. The water doesn’t taste as good, although we’re told it’s safe.
It is safe now, isn’t it? 

Categories
fiction love women

CONFERENCE IN THE TREEHOUSE

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Her voice, small and trembling, woke me like an alarm clock. A single word had me tumbling from the womb of warm sheets.
The drive is quiet, my teeth ground together by the tension, knowing that at any moment, I might arrive to some horror scene, blood and rage. Frightened by what I might do if she’s not alone.
I call when I am outside. Parked a block away, she sobs as she tells me she’s alone.
 Treehouse games and stories we only ever told to one another, and when the inch of space between door and frame shows me a livid bruise around her left eye, I want to give it a violent, violent ending. Inside, I’m all business.
‘What have you packed?’
She looks down, auburn hair hung in her eyes and lean arms wrapped around herself. A runner’s build, but this is one trail she’s been gearing up for, for a long fucking time. Grey vest and faded track bottoms, translucent at the knees.
‘Becky. Get something together. Where is she?’
She shakes her head without looking up. I remember reading an interview with Sean Connery once; he said that there were worse things done to a woman than hit her.  Becky argued death penalty cases, wrote papers that went to Supreme Court Justices and here she was, unable to tell me if she had packed a bag or not.
I sigh and she flinches, which makes a small series of knots, made of of guilt and anguish from palate to bowel, slip itself tighter together. Pressing my palms together as I take a small step forward.
‘Becky, we have to go now. You called me, and I want you to come home with me, but you need to get some things together.’
She nodded and cantered into the bedroom. The hallway was heavy with framed pictures. Even in an age of Instagram and Snapchat, Becky appreciated representations of her history. Lots from her gap-toothed childhood, earnest eyes that looked too old for an apple-cheeked face and fine, windblown hair with my arm around her. Self conscious enough to make sure I sneered in every photo. Little brother, that I was. First boy in the family.  Honour roll, certificates, qualifications, college with the haircut, shaved at the sides and long on top that nearly got her kicked off. 
Jennifer. Five feet tall, ninety pounds. Not insubstantial or weak. Compact. A dwarf meteorite. Beautiful compression, her existence lived like a tape on fast forward. Words all pressed together and an intense line of patter that made you wonder how she drew breath.
Becky didn’t stand a chance against being loved like that.
I’d gone into the academy.
 When they announced that they were moving up to SF. 
Jennifer had landed a great gig working the diversity angle with tech companies eager to avoid being crucified online, Becky, in a resigned voice, said that she could practice anywhere. Thanksgiving was with her family and then Becky shut down her facebook without telling me. A couple one came up instead, Jennifer’s idea.
On the phone, talking like a bad audition for an awful movie. 
Into my career, blue flames shooting out of my ass, looking at making detective and living like a monk. 
Maintenance communications with my family and not even noticing how Becky doesn’t really talk to anyone anymore.
A call from a payphone, sobbing with the pain of it all.
No details, but fuck that was enough. If you had looked at Jennifer and Becky together, you’d have guessed wrong about who did what to whom and the nature of it. No one wants to be a victim, inventing reasons that justify a course of action because that’s easier to saying that life is, to quote Hamlet, a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
She came out with a suitcase. Looking around, my forehead furrowed as the silence bothered me. She had everything swamped beneath a sweatshirt that hung past her.  Taking the case, she bit her bottom lip and lowered her eyes. I told her I would use the bathroom and she swallowed heavily. She limped out to the car and I swallowed another slick burst of rage.
I walked down the hall. My apartment was smaller than their bathroom, one of those showers that had multiple heads at angles, black marble and chrome. Their toilet looked like performance art.
I took a quick piss and flushed. The door to their bedroom was open and as I shut the bathroom door behind me, there was the scent of something dark and heavy. My heart was heavy in my chest and I reached for my hip, embarrassed that my instinct outstripped my actual reality.
A lump beneath the duvet, goose feathers hung in the air and the smear of black hair against the pillow. Illuminated by the light from the hallway. The reason she had called me. We had both worked within institutions that served and protected people. Knew that the law was like sausages, that you might enjoy them, but if you saw them made, you’d never eat one again.
The implications, the armchair quarterbacks who would look at her and wonder why she didn’t ask for help, would haunt her. Remembering a bit from a Doug Stanhope show.
‘I don’t like when minorities tell me I can’t understand racism because I’m white. I go: “No, you can’t understand racism ‘cause you’re not white; I hear the shit they say about you when you leave the room! They don’t hold back on my account.”
Same applied to sexism. That, and we both knew how cops and lawyers fared in prison. This was not Peter Harris with his broken arm, but the principle was the same. Love is not a statement that you can rely on in court, My handkerchief came out and wiped everywhere that I had touched.
She sat in my front seat, chin tucked to her chest and hands folded in her lap.
The knife was in the suitcase, wrapped in a hand towel and a plastic bag.  I put my hand on her arm, told her we would figure it out on the way.
Her first smile, cold but familiar to me. We always covered for one another.
The front seat of my car.
The treehouse in the backyard.
Just one more body, that was all.

Categories
film short fiction women writing

The Olivias

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com

The wig made his scalp itch like an addiction, and the lipstick tasted of something extracted from a marine life form, but Heath looked up at the gold statuette with its mother-goddess curves and blank face and bit back a shudder of vulgar joy. He would get away with this, he thought, as he followed the media people down into the auditorium.

He had practiced with heels, but they had delivered their punishment by instalments. Walking the length of the laboratory had been one thing, but hours spent waiting to get in whilst the nominees and celebrities stood for photos and interviews with the press. He wouldn’t risk talking to one of them, although it would be quite something to ask Melissa McCarthy about playing Winifred Churchill in Her Darkest Hour or Mercedes Carrera as Connie The Barbarian.

Heath loved the cinema of this world the way God loves: from afar.

Security ushered them to their seats. Heath sat down in a way which appeared feminine but he felt awkward, already sweating under his arms and at the small of his back. There are whoops and cries from the audience, a hubbub of chatter which swells like an orchestra before the lights fall down and the presenter comes out. Something pinched the back of his ankle and he cursed the shoes he had chosen, but he wanted to fit in with the beautiful people.

It was controversial this year because a man was hosting, which made Heath chortle when he read about it, but as Michael Gyllenhaal walked towards the microphone, Heath felt a foreboding bubble in the pit of his stomach.

They were the only men in the building. He wished there weren’t restrictions on sharing his work. They enforced the department guidelines on contact and interaction with a rigour which verged on the pathological. A Latin woman, in a black suit walked down the aisle, shot Heath a look which raised gooseflesh before she moved down the aisle. Michael made a few jokes about men, and the audience cackled with a fierce glee. He was playing to the crowd, Heath thought, and good on him. Men had it tough in this parallel universe, but the politics didn’t interest him because he was here for the culture, which was always upriver of politics, anyway. His throat was dry and he rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth to generate saliva.

The first guest hosts were the stars of Bitch, Where’s My Car?, stunning despite the goofy smiles and snapback hats, heavy bracelets and midriffs carved from wood, scarred with tattoos which made Heath stir in his seat. He had taped everything back and had to take a deep breath to control his reaction. When they announced the winner as a supporting actress in Thora Gump, Heath tutted and shook his head. An elderly woman shot him a look, and when Heath uncrossed his legs, she scowled with a cautious suspicion before she returned her attention to the show. His mouth was like the skin of a baked potato and he had a headache building at his temples.

Thora Gump was awful. Heath suspected Zemeckis knew enough story structure to adapt the best parts of the book, and Hanks was subtle enough to avoid parody, which he’d been saying long before Tropic Thunder came out, but here Jodie Foster had suffered under Nora Ephron’s affectations to create a saccharine clown show which felt like a cheap satire of the original.

Heath loved the cinema of this world. For every Thora Gump, there was a Saving Private Rachel. Joan Allen was amazing as the determined school teacher and Greta Gerwig as Rachel provided an intense, but brief introduction in the last act. Their failures and successes held the same allure for Heath, but here he was indulging his appetite for novelty and risking his life to do it.

His money was on The Running Woman, Karyn Kusama had done an amazing job on the direction and Saoirse Ronan had proven a ballistic and credible lead. He rated Frances McDormand’s role as Killian the equal of Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight, but he couldn’t share it with them. He shook with pain as his mouth cracked and bled with thirst.

The speeches. The tearful calls for action to the faithful. He needed the bathroom but his legs had gone numb and his calves were hot coals grafted to his bones as he struggled to his feet. The old woman scowled at him and he avoided her piercing gaze as he staggered from his seat. The Latin woman looked at him with frank interest as she walked towards him.

His leg shook and he remembered the pinch on his ankle. A subtle display of tradecraft as good as anyone in the department. Culture was upriver of politics, but as he pitched forward onto his knees and watched the Latin security guard walk towards him, he marvelled how his story had turned out.

Small but capable hands lifted him to his feet.

He knew where he was going. A room outside any jurisdiction. He hadn’t come to watch The Olivias as his work, but his passion. As he focused on the blank, beautiful faces, his knees bumped against the step as they loaded him into the van and shut the door. He wanted to tell him how much he loved this world, its achievements and tragedies, how terrible and beautiful a world of women was, but they lowered the hood over his face and someone thrust a fist into his trachea before throwing him to the floor of the van as it sped away from the auditorium.

Categories
books erotica women writing

My Books

If you’re looking for where you can read my books, here are the links. I value your support and in return you’ll get stories which will entertain and engage you as a reader. If you’re a reviewer, get in touch and I will be happy to offer a copy of these in exchange for a review across the internet.

My first book

As Dahlia Bliss

Categories
love nature poetry wildness women

No place, but here,

Stood savage yet gentle,

Rooted, yet there is motion

Come forward,

Remove yourself from the mind

The ceaseless quest of knowledge,

Building defences against the unseen and insane,

Within

Without

All the same,

Place your palm

Against the rough bark of

My trunk

Listen

Shelter is here

For you and your world of thought

My leaves drink in sunlight

Bright and pure as your kisses

Close your eyes

Test my solid position,

My strength,

In the silence,

Rest awhile

The burden is yours to give

Mine to take,

Knowing my needs are not blind, grasping things

But the simple physical fact

Of you, at rest, at play against the solid length of me,

Rough, soft, kind and wild,

Here, a single tree

With dreams of a forest kingdom

For every wildness to make itself known

The gentle truth of love without sentiment

Growing, ever growing

Upwards to the canopy of sky above

Invested in the loam and dark of older selves,

But long since let go,

They rotted away

To become fuel

For this becoming.

If you sleep, if you seek solitude

Then do so,

Here, about the work of my growth,

Equal to yours yet,

Different and how we intertwine,

Kiss the chlorophyll from my leaves

Feeding from but remaining,

No place, but here,

No

Time

But

Now

https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B007Y536PA
Categories
books erotica women writing

My Books

If you’re looking for where you can read my books, here are the links. I value your support and in return you’ll get stories which will entertain and engage you as a reader.

My first book

As Dahlia Bliss

Categories
blogging creative writing

1300

Sometimes, these things matter, sometimes they don’t. However, I’ve now got 1300 of you who have subscribed or are following my website.

THANK YOU SO MUCH

It’s a great feeling to have work to share with you all that you can purchase, so having cast aside the title of aspiring, and then just writing, now self-publishing and making my work available, it is climbing one mountain then seeing an entire range of them ahead.

When no one else, even loved ones, gets excited for your work, then you have to find the excitement for it within yourself.

I think of it like regularly playing a gig for an audience of 1300 people. So thank you for your support, and if you like my work, don’t keep it to yourself, share it with your friends. Or your enemies, if you really don’t like my stuff. That will teach them to mess with you, I’m sure.

Categories
writing erotic writing women lust fiction romance

Nothing Keeps Me Anywhere by Dahlia Bliss – Chapter 10 – 13. (NSFW)

Start here: https://mbblissett.com/2020/05/11/nothing-keeps-me-anywhere-by-dahlia-bliss/

If you’ve enjoyed these, then please look out for the ebook edition, coming soon.

CHAPTER 10

The lights went out and the roar that came to replace it made my ears ring and my heart pound in my chest.

Jennifer, the contender, came out first, rolling her shoulders as she got between the ropes. Cornrowed hair, the sheen of sweat and petroleum jelly and her mouth looked canine from the size of the gumshield. The lights threw her eyes into shadow as she bounced as she moved around the ring.

Andrea shook out her arms and then bowed to Jennifer before she went to her corner again.Jennifer strode forward as she swung punches but Andrea skipped backwards and brought her left leg up. She swung her shin into Jennifer’s left thigh and the smack cut through the roar with the force of the impact.

Jennifer came in, Andrea checked each advance with a kick to the left leg. Each time Jennifer would be a little slower, bitten by each blow until they flushed her left thigh with blood. A black bruise was visible above the knee, a slowly spreading stain that was poisoning her will to dominate.

The crowd did not seem to get the subtlety. Andrea saw nothing beyond the woman in front of her.

Then the bell rang and they returned to their corners.

Jennifer limped and Andrea walked.

Jennifer went into a takedown attempt and Andrea leapt to one side before she snapped out her left foot so it punched into her ribs as she landed on the canvas. Jennifer got to her feet and clutched her side before she came at Andrea again. Andrea did not move, but she brought her hands out and pulled her into a clinch.

As she clutched at her, Andrea threw her knees up, pumping them against Gennifer’s thighs and midsection. Jennifer struggled against her grip, but Andrea pulled her forward as she kept her off balance. The crowd howled around me as Gennifer fell over. Andrea followed her down, using her left hand to keep connected whilst she threw short, hard punches wherever she could land them.

Andrea positioned herself so she straddled Jennifer and threw punches until the referee pulled her away as she howled with her victory.. Her corner came out and lifted her up as Jennifer laid there, whilst the medical staff looked at her. She raised her shoulders off the canvas as she looked around in disbelief. Her face was purple and swollen and something glazed her eyes over with concussion and defeat.

Andrea glowed as she stood there, already surrounded by well-wishers as the announcer called out her name.

A woman came out, red hair and a lean, athletic came out, grimacing as she folded her arms around her chest.

‘She didn’t think you’d come.’

She looked pretty and tough, in a black sweatshirt and jeans.

‘I gave my word.’

She grimaced as she looked around.

‘She’s got someone here. She said she was sorry.’

I breathed through the disappointment that bloomed in me.

‘This is shitty. Fuck.’

My hand came up to interrupt her apology.

‘Tell her she fought well.’

I booked the room for two nights, but there was a flight I could catch.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. A cigarette tasted of self-pity, but the swim of nicotine felt pleasing to me as my thumb swiped across the screen to unlock it.

‘Don’t hang up.’

Her voice was bright and thin.

‘You could have told me.’.

She gave a heavy sigh as I took a deep drag of the cigarette. It suited my mood to feel the burn in my chest.

‘I wasn’t expecting you to fly out from England. I mean, come on, who does that?’

‘I do.’

She swore underneath her breath.

‘Then you can’t expect me to swoon and accept it, can you?’

Her tone cut, and a laugh escaped me as her words stopped me in my tracks.

‘You’re neglecting to mention that you had a boyfriend, Andrea.’

She sighed as I came to a stop.

‘I wanted you, and that’s separate from the rest of my life.’

I blew out through my nostrils.

‘My radar for bullshit can be a touch oversensitive.’

I swallowed as I kept my voice level.

‘OK,’

I let the cigarette fall to the ground and crushed it beneath the heel of my shoe.

‘John, please.’ she said. ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’

She swallowed and her voice was soft with need.

‘I’ll come see you. In fact, fuck it, come back. We’re going on somewhere.’

My irritation welled up, forcing me to press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, but the earnest need of her drew my attention.

‘Am I to be the funny story of the evening, because I’d sooner go read than endure feeling like a spare prick at a wedding?’

She laughed, and despite everything, it brought a smile.

I chuckled.

‘You should have told me, Andrea.’

‘It’s complicated.’

She came out, smiling despite her injuries.

Her hand rested on my shoulder. She looked exhausted. The surrounding skin of her left eye was tender and Elizabeth’s punches had split her lower lip in the middle, but she still made my heart thump in my chest. An oversized sweatshirt and long shorts.

‘Your feelings weren’t my priority, John.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I said I would come. I have. Now I am going.’

She clutched my shoulder.

‘Please. Where are you staying?’

She tried to hide the grin that came when I told her.

‘Jesus. What room?’

The silence hung between us until she welcomed my smile with a grin on her face as she touched the backs of my hands. I gave her my room number.

‘ I will see you in the morning.’

A finger pointed to my cheek as my eyes bore into her.

‘Congratulations.’

She darted her head forward and kissed me on the lips.

‘Thank you. I never thought you’d come.’

My eyes moved from the centre behind her, then fell onto her face again.

‘I will see you later. You should enjoy tonight, you earned it.’

She brought her mouth to my ear.

‘Stay in bed. I won’t need to knock.’

She turned and walked back to the centre with a slight hitch in her left leg.

The cab driver was listening to talk radio, a barking monologue about the economy, and the fear in the DJ’s voice could have been mistaken for rage. It passed the time.

A shower, then a knock at the door with my order of steak and spinach with an enormous glass of red wine and a pot of coffee. A slice of pecan pie followed that and a healthy dollop of double cream, dusted with cinnamon and chili powder.

A few chapters of the book made my eyes burn beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling, everything slipped away.

CHAPTER 11

‘Hey.’

Her whisper was loud in the room’s darkness.

She lifted the covers away. Her skin was bare and chilly at her calves and warm on her tight, lean thighs.

She squeezed me between her thighs. She ran her fingers over my scalp as she pulled back.My hands rested on her hips, but she stopped me and pushed me to the sheets.

She leaned back and whispered again.

‘I want you to throw me around. I want you to make me yours again.’

My hands found her wrists as she whimpered. She carried the scent of clean sweat and beneath that, arnica and lime blending together with her own musk to create something narcotic to me.

‘Get on your knees.’

. She laughed and reared back, which made me pull her down harder towards me.

‘Do as you’re told.’

She laughed again and pulled back with ease.

‘Make me, sir.’

My right hand shot up and my fingers closed around her throat.  She whimpered and stopped struggling.

‘Now, get on your knees.’

She gasped as my right hand reached to switch the lamp on.

Her hair was still in cornrows, and there was a livid bruise on her jaw and a slight cut over her left eyebrow. Her eyes shimmered as she looked at me. She ran her tongue over her lips, and the split on her bottom lip had opened up. She shook her head.

‘It’s ok, it doesn’t hurt like that.’

My right hand gripped her braids between my fingers.

‘Get on your hands and knees and keep your eyes closed,’

The belt came out of my luggage. I looped it around my hand and returned to the bed. I placed the belt beneath her nose.

‘Smell it.’

My voice sounded thick to my own ears as she pressed her nose against it and inhaled.

‘What are you going to do?’

I bent forward at the waist and whispered in her ear.

‘Punish you.’

She whimpered and went to pull away, but my grip on her was absolute and a shove pushed her face against the belt again.

‘Because the only ass I saw getting kicked in that fight wasn’t yours.’

She swore again and nodded her head quickly.

‘I’ve been so bad.’

Her right hand went between her legs. A gentle tap on her fingers made it retreat.

‘I decide when you do that.’

She nodded again and looked up at me with a beatific smile on her face.

‘That’s right, that’s why I came to you, sir.’

I smiled and pulled the belt away.

I let a foot of the belt hang from my fist. I swung it against her left buttock. She looked at me, her mouth hung open as she ran her tongue over her lips. She gave a choked grunt followed by a breathy sigh.

‘Too much?’

She laughed and shook her head.

‘Not enough.’

I brought the belt back and swung it down. She gasped and she grinned with pleasure.

‘Sir, can I touch myself?’

A nod was all the permission she needed. She lowered her shoulders to the bed and parted her thighs. She whisked her fingers in a cautious semi-circle around her clit before she found where she needed to be. It took only a few moments of knowing exploration. She shuddered and gave out a slight cry. Her hamstrings stood out against her skin as she arched her back. She settled down and rolled onto her back with her hand over her eyes, wiping away the tears as she smiled at me.

The belt fell from my fingers as we embraced on the bed.

‘I’m ok,’

She shifted down the bed and took me with her as she put her arm around me. She played with the hair on my back as we looked at one another.

She ran her hands down my back and cupped my backside as we kissed. She lifted herself, pushed her hips towards me, giving the gift of an awkward burst of friction that kept my erection urgent.

She pushed me onto my back. She touched my cock with her left hand as she smiled at it.

I looked at where her eyes had fallen as she gently rolled my cock between her fingers.

‘Thank you.’

I ran my tongue over my lips. My mouth was dry as she fixed me with a knowing, wanting look.

‘For what?’

‘It’s difficult to ask for the things you want. It grosses people out or they go too far with it.’

She bent forward and blew gently against the shaft.

‘I enjoy giving women what they want.’

Her fingers went to her mouth, and she licked them until they shone with saliva before she slid them around my shaft and changed her stroke, working my cock in a corkscrew motion.

‘What do you want?’

My eyes glanced down at my cock and she put me in her mouth. My head fell back as she took me in slowly. My erection throbbed as her lips and tongue fed the pressure that was pooling in my joints and muscles before she lifted her mouth away.

‘I want to feel you inside me.’

She took the condom from my fingers. She climbed on top of me as she went up into a squat as she guided me inside her. She was so hot and wet there that it felt like she breathed as she bore down on me.

It was slow for her as she rolled her hips around. She studied me as we found one another’s rhythms and she came quickly again. She arched her back and I felt the head of my cock press up against a point that made her eyes roll back in her head as she lost herself to the rhythm of her need.

Her body was a wonder to look upon, bruises and ink draped over muscle as she clutched at me. The lights were brighter; the shadows grew thicker with a force that came up from everything and she held onto me as she accepted all I offered her. The rush of my orgasm was pneumatic and her muscles clenched around me as every muscle charged and then sagged in the same moment.

 

 

CHAPTER 12

In sleep, her face had smoothed out into something softer and brighter as she laid there in the crook of my arm.

‘Good morning.’

A heavy blink. A smile. Her mouth was warm and soft against mine and her hair hung around her face in kinked waves from where she had undone the braids.

‘Good morning to you too.’ It was a little after nine. My arms came around her and she rubbed her nose against mine. My palm on her left buttock made her wince and she rolled onto her front for my inspection. There was an enormous round bruise that was spreading and blacken. My frown made her pat me on the cheek and wink at me.

‘No one will notice these.’

We wrapped ourselves around one another, but my hands were careful to avoid where the belt had left its mark.

She winked at me as she nuzzled my neck, which made me sigh with contentment.

‘Want to get some breakfast?’

She asked if we could stop at her place so she could change. She gestured to the pile of clothes on the floor and raised her eyebrows. We were tactile and attentive beneath the shower, working around the tender places on her skin.

Over breakfast, we talked about her situation.

I asked her when she hoped to fight full time and she shrugged smoothly as she frowned.

‘I have to make rent and eat.’ she said. ‘If you’ve any suggestions beyond having a job, then I would love to hear them.’

Thoughts turned over in my head until we were at her apartment. She changed and then came back out in a t-shirt and yoga pants that clung to her thighs and ass over engineer boots and a leather jacket. She had applied a splash of lipstick: coppery red and had run a brush through her hair.

CHAPTER 13

The diner was walking distance from her apartment, and when we walked in she waved to the old guy behind the counter and called him Costas. He grinned at her and we sat at the counter. She introduced me as her friend and told me that Costas made the best breakfast in the city. We shook hands. His palms were rough with calluses and his fingers were thick, tapering to points as he pressed my fingers in his. Andrea ordered for the both of us, speaking to Costas in stilted Greek as she pointed to the booth.

We sat there across from one another. The waitress brought over two cups of thick black coffee served in white china cups and set them down in front of us. Andrea smiled and thanked her in more of the Greek that she seemed, if not fluent, then practiced enough that they forgave her any mispronunciations she might have made.

‘So, why d’you ask about me fighting full time?’ she said.

A sip of my coffee and a sigh of appreciation at the taste was enough time to collect my thoughts. It was very strong, with enough caffeine that it made me shiver at the first sip.

‘Breakfast first, I can’t think straight when I’m hungry.’

She sat back against the chair as she shook her head.

‘It’s just that my radar for bullshit is a little sensitive, you know?’

My tongue ran over my lips as our eyes met.

‘OK,’

She leaned forward on her elbows as she brought the cup up again. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity, but she kept her face still as she drank her coffee. The coffee cup went back down onto the table and my fingers turned it around.

‘We can discuss it after breakfast. I’m just thinking aloud, but wanted to run it by you first.’

She frowned at that. She put her hand out and rested it atop mine as she stroked between the knuckles of my left hand.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that. I’m not rejecting the idea completely,’

She bit her lower lip and we were both grateful when our breakfast arrived. Eggs, bacon, sausage, grits, and she came back with a plate of whole wheat toast. It smelled thick and greasy and delicious.

‘He stirs cheese into the grits. Costas ruins me for breakfasts now.’ she said.

She grinned as she picked up her cutlery and tucked in.

We made light conversation as we ate. She leaned forward as she rested on her elbows and cocked her head to one side.

‘I’d like to hear your proposal.’ she said.

I swallowed a mouthful of coffee.

‘I watch MMA, I roll around a little so I know that fighting isn’t easy on anyone.’ I said.

I ran my tongue over my lips before I continued.

‘We all have our limits. Same as anyone.’ she said.

She looked down at the table and her brow furrowed before she looked up.

‘I take it one fight at a time.’ she said. ‘I worry little beyond the next one.’

I leaned on my elbows as I set my cup down and looked deep into her eyes.

‘I’m not telling you to do any such thing. Just that I think you’ve got a shot at more than convention centres.’

She frowned again.

‘Be careful. You’re starting to piss me off here.’ she said.

I did not raise my hands; I continued to look at her without withdrawing my gaze.

‘I don’t know what your trainers are like, they looked after you out there and you won. I can’t and won’t argue with that.’

I took a sip before I continued.

‘I want to provide you with the means to move to fighting and training full time. I want nothing for it other than repayment on terms that we would agree to.’

She flushed and I could see that her jaw was twitching as she kept her nerves in check. Her eyes were bright, but she kept darting around the room.

‘What do you want?’ she said.

I examined her over the rim of the cup.

‘I want to help you succeed on your own terms.’

She looked at me.

‘There’s nothing wrong with working to pay the bills. Lots of people do it.’

I nodded in agreement as I put my hand across the table.

‘More people should.’

She put her hand over mine, the lightest touch before she settled it there.

‘I don’t think any less of myself for doing it.’ she said.

I put my other hand atop hers.

‘I want to help you. I’m not buying anything or anyone.’

She cocked her head to one side.

‘So it’s a loan, right?’

I nodded and kept my hand on top of hers.

‘An investment and you can pay me back if it makes you feel better.’

She turned her hand over in mine.

I shrugged. It had stung, but it came to me I was as much relieved as regretful. I looked away because I was afraid that she might see it.

‘It’s done now.’

The waitress came over and refilled our cups before she took the plates from us. I smiled and said that the breakfast was exquisite. She blushed and looked at Andrea before she returned to me.

‘You didn’t come all this way for the food,’ she said.

She gave a wink before she exchanged another look with Andrea and then returned to the kitchen. I checked her out, and I felt Andrea’s hand tap mine lightly. I looked at her and started laughing.

She blew across the surface of her coffee as she looked at me carefully. We did not speak for a time as she tried to extricate something that she had between her teeth without me seeing her.

When I looked up, she was taking a sip of coffee, swallowing whatever was there.

‘What are your plans?’ I said.

She almost caught the wince.

‘Sleep.’ she said.

She looked away as she swallowed.

‘I thought you might have already.’ I said.

She shook her head slowly.

‘I was up from the fight.’ she said.

‘Plus I was thinking about you.’

I felt my cheeks grow warm as I drank my coffee. I swallowed, then lowered the cup to the table.

‘Thank you.’ I said.

I reached for my wallet. She shook her head.

‘No, I won last night. I’m always good for breakfast, John,’ she said.

She looked into her wallet and I watched her face.

It would be a cheque. It allows the promoter to post a profit for the accountants before they paid out.  I got up and paid Costas at the counter. He winked at me, gave a brief nod and then took an order from the couple next to me.

She blushed as she got up.

‘Did you want to watch me sleep?’ she said.

I smiled as I watched her eyes gleam.

‘We could hang out.’ she said.

She glanced down again. My right hand touched hers.

‘We could,’

She took my hand as we left. The sun was shining as we went outside and I shut my eyes against the light as we turned the corner and started walking.

Chapter 14

She sent a message from her phone as we stood in the hallway. She put it away, then leaned up to kiss me again. She groaned as she reached up and took the material of my shirt in her hands as she lowered her head.

‘You’d fuck me again if I wanted you to, wouldn’t you?’

I smoothed my hands up her sides.

She touched my face.

She changed into an oversized t-shirt with her legs bare, pale beneath the bruising, but I still enjoyed how the muscles played with each step. She had brushed out her hair then laid down next to me, on her back as we shifted down the futon so that my face was level with hers.

She giggled as she looked at me.

‘What’s the joke?’

She rolled onto her side as she gave a gentle smile and kissed me on the forehead.

‘This feels scarier than when you were hitting me with a belt.’

I touched her face as she smiled at me.

‘Let’s get some sleep.’

Her face relaxed by degrees as her breathing softened and deepened. We fell asleep in one another’s arms.

CHAPTER 15

It was about two in the afternoon that we awoke.

From sleep, it is a gradual process for us, but we found one another with our eyes closed. She rolled over and then her breath was at my cheek and her hand on my shoulder. Our skins were warm and the tang of our scent hung between us, blended and refined into something new.

Her kisses were sweet and we slipped around one another, her left thigh went over mine. My hand went under the hem of her t-shirt as my fingers brushed the skin over her hip. She murmured something as we turned our heads, trying out kisses from fresh angles until we found an angle that suited us both. Her fingers were in the hair on my chest and we lost ourselves in that state of quiet pleasure.

Her left thigh went higher on my hip as she tilted her pelvis towards me and the warmth of her pussy through her underwear felt like triumph against my thigh. I moved my right hand up and she winced when my fingers went over a point on her ribcage, but my touch had other places to go. She stroked my nipples before she touched the bars. My gasp made her stop.

She chuckled and took the bars between her fingers as she tugged at them lightly. I grunted as she darted her head forward and kissed me on the mouth again.

She kissed me again and my thoughts flew apart as she dragged her mouth over my cheek and then down the line of my neck.With an easy strength she used her left leg to roll herself on top of me.Pinned to the futon beneath her; she brought her hands up to my face and grinned.

‘Fuck, you’re gorgeous.’ she said.

She burst out laughing as she came in to kiss me again. She ground her hips against my crotch as she found my erection and moved against it. My hands rested on her hips as she ran her index finger over my lips.

‘How long have I got you?’

‘36 hours,’

She brushed her hair away from her face as she slid herself along the length of my cock.

‘I will not ask what it cost you to come see me.’

My wink made her move her hips in idle circles.

‘Is this you trying to persuade me to tell you?’

She shook her head slowly as she dipped her hips and her lips slightly through the crotch of her underwear. She gave a lazy grin and arched her back as my hands moved up under her t-shirt and she moved her hands to swat mine away.

‘You’ve had your turn.’

She lifted her t-shirt off and tossed it behind her.

The friction had given me an erection that ached to be free to play between her thighs. My fingers smoothed over her breasts and traced over her nipples, then pinched them between my thumb and forefinger. I drifted, committed every touch to memory until she leaned forward again.

She shut her eyes as she kissed me slowly. She took her time as her tongue and lips slipped over mine. She rubbed her nose against mine and she sighed as she danced against me. She trembled and she put her mouth against my ear.

‘I’m so fucking wet.’

I let my fingertips brush against the damp curls of her pubic hair and let them mingle in the moist heat of her pussy.

My index finger downwards between her lips and felt her suck my finger inside. She gasped and pushed against them.

‘Your. Fucking. Hands.’

Her eyelids fluttered and she rode my fingers for a moment.

‘My. Fucking. Hands. What?’

She hissed at me to shut up and I smiled as I kept my fingers still.

‘I will squirt all over your fingers.’ she said.

She clamped her thighs together and breathed in heavily. She restricted the motions of her hips to light stabs as she went away from everything but my touch.

She glowed with the effort; the perspiration beaded on her forehead as she leaned into it and put her hands either side of my head. She bit her lip and the look on her face made me want to come before I had even touched her.

The muscles in her face went slack as she rubbed herself, growing more urgent as each moment passed. She grew less gentle and her hands went up to my shoulders as she pressed her fingers into the meat of my shoulders.

She looked into my eyes as she drew my right hand between her legs. I used my fingers to open her and she shut her eyes as I found her clit and moved my fingers in a slow, petting motion that made her lean her head against my neck. She kissed along my neck as she took quick, excited breaths.

She groaned and she clung to me as she shuddered through to a state of bliss that made her press her face against the meat of my shoulder. Her cries vibrated through my bones and my fingers were soaked as she thrust herself against them. She jumped again, a series of slight shocks, and I pressed my palm against her pussy to ground her as she grew limp against me.

She chuckled with relief as she lifted her head and rubbed her face against mine.

She pulled back and looked at me as I brushed the hair back from her face with my left hand.

‘I’m glad I made the trip.’

She blushed and looked away as she shook her head.

‘Don’t.’

I brought her face to look at me again.

‘There’s nothing beyond the moment we’re in.’

She kissed me as she wrapped her left arm around me as her right hand circled around my cock.

‘I know you have to go. I should have said about – ‘

I shook my head as she stroked my cock.

‘No.’

I felt the blood pooling in my groin as I heard how rough and thick my voice sounded to my ears.

‘I’m over that. I expect nothing from you.’

She looked deep into my eyes as she considered me carefully. Her hand was still as she brought her left hand up to touch my face. She squeezed my cock with her fingers, which evoked a sigh of pleasure. Then she looked down and gave a wry smile.

She slid backwards as she lowered her head. Her lips wrapped around the head of my cock as her tongue laid over the head and then circled around it slowly. She sighed and the vibration of her mouth chased the thoughts out of my head with its power. It suspended me, an equal distance between vulnerability and power as each motion of her mouth built upon the last.

Every part of me reduced down to the warm power of her mouth. I gave into the authority of her mouth and surrendered with a roar as I struggled not to clutch at her. My pleasure wrenched through me as she gulped me down quickly.

She held me in her mouth until I had gone limp and then came back up to me as she swallowed whilst she looked into my eyes.

‘We have today and tonight, Andrea. What would you like to show me?’

She blushed as her eyes shone with anticipation. The smile she gave made my heart skip as she whispered her answer.

‘Everything.’

 

Categories
books erotica love romance women writing

Nothing Keeps Me Anywhere by Dahlia Bliss (NSFW) Chapters 7 – 9

Start at the link below

https://mbblissett.com/2020/05/11/nothing-keeps-me-anywhere-by-dahlia-bliss/

CHAPTER 7

‘I’d like to continue talking to you.’

She gave a pinched smile. Her arms wrapped around my middle. Our wet bodies fitted well together, and my fingers raked through her dripping hair.

We left the water only when we pruned.

We found one another during the hours before dawn again. My fingers stroked her to a gentle orgasm that made her cling to me and swear into the night air.

It was around six before she woke me with coffee. She had showered and was in her uniform. As she passed me the cup, she asked what was wrong.

‘It’s strange seeing you like that.’

She frowned as she blew over her coffee.

‘You should see me fight.’

I nodded.

‘When are you fighting?’

She shook her head as she took a long sip of her coffee.

‘Don’t. I like you, but don’t say things you don’t mean.’

My smile was a challenge to her.

‘Try me.’

She got out her phone.

She gave me the date and my expression remained unchanged.

‘What time?’

She shook her head.

‘You’re so full of shit.’

My smile widened as she frowned, unsure of how to read my intention.

‘Try me.’

She told me the time. There was space in my schedule and seeing her again appealed to me.

‘I want to hang out with you again.’

She grinned as she shook her head. I watched the colour come to her cheeks again.

‘You’re so, so full of shit.’

Then she turned and kissed me with her hand against my chest as she put her cup down.

She got a condom from the chest and came back to me as she reached beneath her skirt and tugged her underwear down her full thighs.

She looked at me, gave me a grin that made my cock throb with want.

‘I want to feel you real close before I have to take you back.’

She squatted over me as she reached between her legs and placed me inside her.She was already wet and we fucked through the tender soreness from last night. My fingers grabbed her hair, but she touched my face and shook her head.

‘Not in the uniform.’

Our orgasms made us close our eyes to one another and her fingers bit into my shoulders. The stolen urgency was rocket fuel to our nervous systems as we shuddered together. We were a languid, soft eyed knot of tangled underwear and tender flesh.

 

Chapter 8

She dropped me off outside the hotel before she drove around to the staff car park. Ben sauntered up the steps beside me. He had an affable grin and his t-shirt was inside out.

‘Good night?’

There were black circles of fatigue beneath his eyes. He nodded.

‘Is she working today?’

He nodded and then smirked at me.

‘I didn’t sleep.’

A clap on his shoulder and a grin made him stand up and smile at me.

‘A gentleman keeps it to himself.’

He nodded as he looked through the hotel. He rubbed his stomach and suggested breakfast.

Terry omitted the bruise at his temple as he sipped his coffee. A cold, hard stare and then he turned and made conversation with one student.

 

CHAPTER 9

My phone pinged with notifications that people had placed orders for the additional materials and courses.

‘Thought you’d LEFT.’

She brought me over coffee.

‘I’m in no hurry.’

She grinned.

‘It’s strange to look at you and not get to touch you.’

She shrugged as she shook her head.

Something came to her and she was about to speak when a customer caught her eye and she rolled her eyes for my benefit. A quiet glow of pleasure went through me as I scrawled a brief message on a napkin and folded it beneath the plate. Our eyes met across the room. She gave a slow wink before she carried on taking the order of the elderly couple who peered at the menu with a fragile intensity.

Packing was brief, resting my case on the undisturbed bed as the sunlight reflected off the water glass with the napkin still artfully arranged inside it.

Terry was arguing with the receptionist as I set the key card on the counter. He looked me up and down before he shook his head and returned to jabbing his index finger at the receptionist again. She had a resigned expression on her face and a pang of sympathy went through me.

‘Namaste.’ I said.

It’s amazing how even spiritual sentiment can sound like fuck you if you intend it accordingly.

With his left hand below the field of vision of the receptionist, he raised a hand.

‘John. A moment of your time,’ he said.

I shook my head again and walked outside.

He hurried towards me and as we stood outside; the cigarettes came out.

‘I didn’t really feel you were present with the guys this weekend.’

Inhaling the smoke as Andrea’s observations returned to me, then a brief nod to acknowledge the statement.

‘I’ve been refining things a little. Trying to make it less about me, and more about them.’

He winced and shook his head.

 

‘These manlets don’t pay to make it about them. We validate them, your -’ he pointed his index finger at me. ‘personal brand, my personal brand is what they pay for.’ he said

‘Then tell them to spend their money on a good pizza and a fleshlight if that’s really what you think.’ I said.

He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes as he sucked on the cigarette. He patted me on the shoulder and I bit back the flinch that came to me.

‘John, has the little tough girl got inside your head? Thought we’d trained that out of you?’

My eyes narrowed as I turned to face him.

‘Terry. I defend you to the hilt,’

He smirked and my hands balled into fists. Terry was tall and lean, with overlong grey hair and a beard so he could appropriate that fuckable swami look. A vision of his beard matted with his blood flashed before my eyes, but it passed before it seduced me.

‘John, all that matters is what you produce. You’re sleepwalking through this shit and it hurts all of us.’

My eyes narrowed.

‘You know her?’

His eyes widened and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed like a Yoyo.

‘Who?’

A slight crack in his voice.

‘So, did you fuck her or try to fuck her?’

He raised his eyebrows and clapped me on the shoulder again.

‘John, the problem with sleepwalking is that you’re never sure of where you might wake up. That attitude is a direct path to the land of wind and ghosts.’

My grimace at the casual, lazy appropriation he used did not sway him.

‘Hey.’ He grinned. ‘You’ll come back, no matter what barriers you put up.’

He lifted his arms to hug me, but my expression stopped him.

‘Namaste, Terry. See you soon,’

He lowered his arms and flicked his hair back as he nodded.

‘We will see, John. A lot can happen between one moment and the next.’

He walked back inside, the cigarette stub still lit where he had tossed it aside. With the heel of my shoe, I ground it out, finding a grim measure of satisfaction in it.

Sympathetic magic, but it occurred to me that sometimes you can confuse the heel and the cigarette.