Wednesday, 27 March 2013

Falling Angel, story passage

 An angel laid upon a bed, suspecting but confident in her own restraint never knowing how easily she’d succumb. A devil of seduction allowed too close, a kiss…a few more. It was never meant to go any further. The first feeling was heat. Skilled hands trailing the fires of hell over an untainted body, kisses rough and soft on bare skin, a somersault of breath over a rapidly beating heart. Air became thick and breathing became a quick effort of forcing oxygen into a bloodstream, suddenly drugged with heat. Overpowering, unexpected, a burst of hot molten desire ran like warm wine down her throat, over her naval to the passage of intimacy between her opening legs. Another surge of fire, she was on fire, her skin was burning. If she’d worn her cross it would have stung her sinful skin, it might have strangled her delicate neck. Instead soft hands cupped her throat with powerful dominance, spanning out and roaming down, across every inch of her frame. More, more, more…the words rang like church bells echoing almost spilling from her lips, being bitten viciously to hold them back. What did escape were wanton unfamiliar sounds let free from some wicked fairy caught on breathless waves. With the heat came the mist; a fog of sorts over her once clear eyes. It settled in her throat caging protest, like a drug in her veins, her limbs grew heavy. Her spine arched without control, her fingers clutched at fabric in an attempt to hold onto reality, to not slip, too late the mist carried the angel off, delirious, unconscious of thought. More, more, more. Thrumming, throbbing, wings as damp now as the place between her legs, so wet like summer rain, a rain of kisses on her breasts, more, more, more.

A vague and distant protest tried to break through, somewhere was a voice spitting ‘whore’ ‘too much’ ‘stop it now’ ‘it’s going to far’ ‘you’re letting yourself fall, stop falling!’ …’Oh but it feels so good, so different. I want to be your whore’

Forsake the lord and his kingdom,

I have sinned, I am the devils subordinate

I cannot step where I am forbidden,

So lead me Devil into temptation.

Carry me over the coals of hell

For my angel feet cannot pass through

Catch me, carry me and I’ll let you.

You can face the lord, tell him that I fell.

Poor angel, ignorance has been your downfall, muttering and whispering to Christ as you lay there but he did not answer, he let you slip away. No one could have explained, you never really knew, no boy could have shown you this; it took a man to make you feel like a woman. My wings are heavy, the angel thought, I don’t want to leave this hell fire bed. I want to burn through and through. I want to know how to make you burn too.

“Fall angel, fall and I will catch you.”


Angel sits on a cloud, a flushed face of shame, when did you become so wanton? How could you have let it go so far? Naughty angel! Showing a side of herself so quickly, so openly, a side she didn’t know about. A true virtuous angel would feel regret, but no, sinful fallen angels relish in their hellish discovery of pleasure; they run back and back again into the arms of the devil. You’re a fallen angel. You still want more.






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