Caught in the Riptide of Fae

Eat Him Whole

Here's Chapter One from one of my novelettes featured in Caught in the Riptide of Fae - a collection of dark erotic folklore coming out this month!

This is a draft copy and is subject to change before publication.

The Hot Spring

By: Letti Lustcraft, writing as Violet Grey

Content Warnings: Abusive relationship dynamic, non-consent, abuse, restraints, 

"There is pleasure in the pathless woods."
Lord Byron

Chapter One: Eat Him Whole

My fingers rest on the keyboard. My mind is as blank as the screen in front of me. The story I want to tell is twisted and buried in my thoughts and I can't find the thread to pull that will make the mess unravel.

Just a few hours ago, I escaped my boyfriend's prison. Ex-boyfriend.

Ex-Master. No, ex-captor with penile hubris and a severe God complex.

My phone buzzes across the desk, breaking the heavy silence in the cabin. I know who it is.

Silas.

He's been calling from various unknown numbers since I blocked him. I don't want to hear whatever new fucked up manipulation tactic he devised to reel me back in.

I'm done with him. For good.

I made that perfectly clear when I hacked off the metal collar around my neck and left it in the toilet for him to find. A final fuck you adieu.

My hand drifts up to my neck where the collar used to be. I graze the now bare skin. It's a strange feeling to be uncollared.

I feel every terrible feeling all at once when I think about Silas. But when I think about what that collar was meant to represent, about the power exchange dynamic I thought I agreed to, about who I thought he was... it feels like part of me is missing.

I feel naked.

And I hate that I feel anything other than anger right now. I'm sick to my stomach that some deep and involuntary part of me actually misses the prison I escaped from.

I will never go back. You're safe. Safe here. Safe.

A flashback rips through my mantra —

I'm in his dungeon. It smells like a dentist's office; isoprene and latex. The air tastes sterile and metallic. It's purely functional, his dungeon. No music or symbolic art. No comfort. No frills.

It reminds me of a laboratory and I imagine Silas as the mad Sadist. He even wears a lab coat when he experiments.

The restraints are cold and tight around my wrists and ankles, pulling my limbs apart and keeping my legs spread open. I'm in the chair, but it's not really a chair at all. It's a thin metal bar that sits right between my legs. All of my weight balances on that one sensitive spot, building an excruciating pressure as Silas delivers electric shocks to the metal bar and all the sticky electrodes he strategically placed on my body.

He sits back at his desk and makes me scream with just the press of a button. He salivates over my suffering and the power he has over me.

And I loved it, for a while. I relished in that pain and the fire that flickered between us in those moments. The Sadist fanning the flames of the masochist. God, the way we burned together — we were explosive.

A violent chemical mess.

It's hard to feel anything else when you're burning. It's hard to see when smoke wraps itself around you in a thick toxic cloud. I breathed in that cloud until I forgot the taste of clean air.