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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2005. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial
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Master of Darkness
by Kelly Berks (kellyberks@yahoo.com)
***
The night belongs to unseen creatures who have mastered
its darkness, waiting quietly and patiently for those
who would recklessly venture into their unforgiving
domain. Violate their space if you dare, but be advised
that you may pay the ultimate price for your
foolishness. (MF, nc, v, murd)
***
He slipped deftly and quietly through the darkness,
passing from one deep shadow to the next, never seeming
to invade the space reserved for those bands of light
projected from the streetlights which punctuated the
sidewalk. She, on the other hand, treated the night as
if it were her own to do with as she pleased. She
walked defiantly through his realm of darkness,
ignoring any thought of fear for that which might be
lurking in those unlit voids - those places which we
know usually contain nothing at all.
She announced her approach with that special sound that
very stylish women make: that clickety clack of spike
heels striking concrete. It's a sound which does little
more than turn your head in the daytime, but in the
deep shadows of night, it is the ultimate announcement
that there is someone available to be ravaged and
extinguished. That intoxicating sound marked her
arrival to this spot at precisely eleven sixteen every
night.
She was a creature of habit; he was a creature who
preyed upon those who were compelled by habit. Their
meeting was therefore not by chance, and the outcome of
that meeting was almost certainly inevitable.
She approaches this spot at the exact time which she
has prescribed for herself. She is a one-woman parade,
confidently striding toward a destination so close as
to nearly be in view, yet so far as to be unreachable.
Each stride produces a motion which arouses the senses
and brings her that much closer to the place where she
will be conquered. Clickity, clack, each step announces
a bit louder, as it delivers her closer.
There is a poetry in what you can see as she passes
through the light and a poetry in what you can hear
when she is lost in the darkness. He always sees and
hears; for him, the vision and sound are inseparable.
She crosses a field of light, her stunning features
betrayed by the harsh glare, then she moves into the
blackness and is rendered only by that seemingly
perpetual sound.
The vision and the sound are repeated over and over
again, until the vision is once again lost in the
darkness, and this time, the sound is no longer heard.
Something has interrupted the nighttime poem. The two
creatures of the night have collided, and in the total
absence of light, we cannot see or even imagine what
has happened.
His reward has now been realized, first in her
resistance; then in her surrender. He has sought and
found his satisfaction in what she was, rather than who
she was pretending to be. Without even the faintest
trace of moonlight to illuminate her pretense, there
was nothing to destroy the brutal honesty which he
demanded in their intimacy.
In the morning light, we'll learn that our lady has
been persuaded to offer herself in a more generous way
then she would have preferred. Her newly-acquired
generosity will continue, as she puts on quite a show,
openly displaying all those things which she had been
so cleverly trying to flaunt when she was alive. Her
silky hair will be spread on the ground around her head
as if floating on the surface of a still pond; her eyes
will be open wide to the bright blue morning sky; her
breasts will be exposed to all would now stare rather
than glance, and her long legs will still offer the
same invitation they always had, but now in a far more
blatant fashion.
They will pick her up and place her in a wagon drawn by
horses or driven by diesel, because this exercise
represents no particular time or place. It is just one
morning which follows another conquest for this master
of darkness. He will seek and surely find more such
victories.
Another day will pass, and another night will approach.
One more fatal pattern will be observed and studied
carefully by eyes buried deep in the shadows. If she
walks quickly and quietly through the night, she may
keep herself out of harm's way. If she is careless and
ignores the perils of the night, she may well survive
her journey anyway; after all, most creatures of the
night are harmless, and most nights hide no evil in
their darkness.
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 36