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3d · 38
not living
I am not afraid
of dying

I am afraid
of not living
3d · 252
your touch
tender
gentle

softly
exploring

your touch
tells her so much
3d · 53
you at my side
there is no delineation
in time

i can not see
with my mind’s eye

the beginning
or end

there is just now
you at my side
3d · 36
dead hand
fog of war
tears of grief

cloud my mind
as i let go

of your
dead hand
5d · 226
afraid to sleep
i don't want to sleep
afraid of dreams
that i'll wake
living a nightmare
of a life
i fear
Apr 6 · 82
h-t-n
ghost queen Apr 6
hold me
touch me
never let me go
Apr 6 · 197
soft kiss
ghost queen Apr 6
a kiss
as soft
and gentle
as a snowflakes
touch
Apr 6 · 31
this too shall pass
ghost queen Apr 6
this too shall pass
the fear and anxiety
clouding your mind
emptying your heart
isolating your soul
the sun will rise
and all
will be well
ghost queen Apr 6
listen, and listen well
the secret to fame and fortune
is not who you know
but who knows you
Mar 25 · 102
abusive relationship
ghost queen Mar 25
the most emotionally abusive relationship i was ever in, was with
MYSELF
Mar 21 · 133
feel too much
ghost queen Mar 21
i feel so much
take it in
too deep
i want to scream
with madness
and ecstasy
Mar 21 · 118
co caine kisses
ghost queen Mar 21
crack
*******
is nothing
compared
to your
kisses
Mar 21 · 94
dream
ghost queen Mar 21
dream
write
make me feel
what i see
in your eyes
Mar 21 · 57
tango with me
ghost queen Mar 21
dance
la cumparsita
with me

slow
sensual

show me

the depth
and breath

of your passion
and femininity

******

dance

tango
with me
Mar 20 · 35
sweet & se*y
ghost queen Mar 20
you are the perfect mix
of sweet and ****
now hush up
and kiss me
Mar 20 · 62
love & worry
ghost queen Mar 20
tell me that you love me
so i no longer have to worry
Mar 20 · 339
lonely spring
ghost queen Mar 20
i can't explain it
but there is a loneliness
a certain type of sadness
to spring
Mar 16 · 452
black & white.
ghost queen Mar 16
i want things to be clear
i want them to be black or white
but to my dismay
all things are gray
Mar 14 · 716
a symptom
ghost queen Mar 14
addiction
is a symptom
not the cause
seek help, find a cbt therapist, cure the cause, stop the addiction.
Jan 20 · 89
halcyon whispers
ghost queen Jan 20
queen of the night
dream me a dream
of psychedelic kisses
halcyon whispers
and mind bending adventures
hold my hand
while crossing the line
between truth and reverie
Jan 20 · 714
indeed
ghost queen Jan 20
the heart is the fragilest of things
said she
yes, indeed, like a tea cup
said he
Jan 5 · 837
human nature
ghost queen Jan 5
history
never repeats
but human nature
does
Dec 2020 · 199
change
ghost queen Dec 2020
when the pain is greater than the fear
is when you’ll decide to change
Dec 2020 · 95
queen's gambit
ghost queen Dec 2020
escape
reality
with drugs
and alcohol
unleash
let go
be free
sink deep
into the bliss
see the queen
on the ceiling
with barbiturates
kiss her majesty
don’t be afraid
she's waiting for you
ghost queen Dec 2020
Brighid walked off the escalator at La Gare Montparnasse and headed straight to a ticket vending machine, entered her destination, Quimper, inserted her EMV chip and pin debit card, and took the dispensed ticket.

She walked into la grande salle, her roll-on in tow, as she passed a group of African teenage males. One stepped out of the group, walking up to her with a grin, and asked, “hey chérie, quel est ton six.” She smiled, having played the game before, flipped her hair, walked away, and said, “dans tes rêves petit.” The boys laughed, mocking their friend’s in vain attempt.

She walked to quay 5, found the blue and gray TGV Alantique, and boarded coach number 3. She wanted to be left alone, so found and sat down in a no-table solo chair.

Tomorrow was a full moon, and Brighid and her sisters were to meet as they did every equinox eve.

The train slowly and smoothly pulled out of the station. Brighid was always amazed at how smooth the ride was, remembering a TF1 documentary that the TGVs used Jacob’s bogies to achieve that smooth ride.

Once outside Paris the train hit its maximum speed of 250 km/h (155 mph), briefly stopping at Rennes, Vannes, and Lorient before arriving at the Gare Quimper terminus.

Brighid waited till the coach emptied of the few passengers traveling to Quimper this time of year, pulling out her phone, opened up the Uber app, and typed in “72 Chemin de Tregont Mab, 29000 Quimper, France.” A driver responded, already waiting at the passenger pickup at the front of the gare.

She got her roll-on, walked off the coach, and out the gare. It was typical Quimper weather she thought to herself: dark, wet, and cold. She saw her ride, a blue Renault Kangoo minivan. An Algerian driver got out, opened the door, taking her roll-on as she got in, and closed the door.  

“Manoir Tregont Mab Madame,” the driver said in a thick Marseille accent. “Yes,” she replied relieved to be home. She leaned back in the seat, closing her eyes, not wanting to chit chat with the driver. She could feel her body relaxing, her pulse slowing, her anxiety ebbing.

The Tregont Mab, built after the French Revolution, was 6 km southeast of Quimper, in a secluded forested area, and was owned by Madame Gwen LeCarvennec, a member of her tribe sworn to serve the Druidesses of Enez Sun.

Madame LeCarvennec was 12 when started working at Tregont Mab, and had become chatelaine in her 50s. The house mother, responsible for the care and protection of young druidesses as they came and went from Quimper.

The car turned off the paved road and onto the long winding dirt road to the manor, finally reaching the crushed rock courtyard and stopping. The driver rushed to open Brighid’s door. A young apprentice girl greeted her, instructing the driver to where to carry and drop off the roll-on.

Brighid walked into the house, relishing the smell of baking bread, stewing chicken, and the slight pleasant musky smell of an old French house. She loved this house and the many memories inside. It stirred deep emotions within her, remembering vividly her coming of age and deep and lasting bonds built with the druidesses. She laid her coat on the foyer chair and walked down the beautiful intricate blue and beige ceramic tile to the kitchen.

Madame LeCarvennec was in the process of taking groceries out of a wicker basket when Brighid walked into the kitchen. Madame LeCarvennec looked up and her face lit up, smiling. “Ah me petite biche,” she said, putting down the groceries, and kissing Brighid on the cheek two times.

“Come, sit, tell me what has been happening with you since the last time I saw you, cherie,” she said. Brighid sat down at the table and Madame turned to the cupboard and pulled out some peanuts, chips, and Pernod, then to the frig for a pitcher of cold water and freezer for ice cubes, setting everything on the table. She put the peanuts, chips, and ice in separate bowls. She poured the Pernod in two glasses and gave ice thongs for Brighid to serve herself the ice and pour the desired amount of water to dilute the Pernod to her taste.

Brighid had never stopped being awed at the Ouzo Effect, Pernod turning milky white when diluted with water. She savored the anise smell, picked up the glass, and sipped.

Madame sat down next to her and placed a hand on hers. “How are you doing,” she asked with a frowned expression. “I am tired,” replied Brighid, putting the glass down on the table, “and afraid of what is about to come.”

“Have the others arrived,” Brighid asked. “They have and are all on the island preparing for tomorrow’s equinox,” replied Madame getting up, opening the refrigerator, pulling out eggs, butter, and ahead of Bibb salad. Brighid watched her in silence prepare an omelet and salad for dinner. She took another sip of Pernod sliding deeper into her thoughts.

Madame placed a plate of omelet, salad, and a big piece of fresh bread in front of her. She thanked Madame and ate slowly, thinking through what had and might happen.

When she’d finished. Madame called the girl to take her up to her room. She followed the girl up the winding green-carpeted staircase to the master bedroom. The girl turned on the main light, turned down the sheets, threw open the floor to ceiling drapes, revealing two all-glass french doors, then turned around, turned off the main light, and closed the door quietly behind her, leaving Brighid in the dark.

The bright silvery light of the waning gibbous moon lit up the room. Brighid opened the doors, cool cold air flooded into the room, as she took off her clothes, rings, earrings, and bracelets , placing them on the chair by the window, leaving only her torc on her body.

She knelt on a sheepskin rug. Next to her was a tray with a carafe of wine, a chalice, a bee’s wax candle in a holder, matches, an athame, a scrying mirror, and a bowl of salt.

She carefully took the items and placed them between the sheepskin rug and the open doors. She took a handful of salt from the bowl and from the center of the sheepskin poured a circle around her. She picked up the athame in her left hand, pointed it down at the circle of salt, slowly turning left, and softly whispered,  

“Earth, Air, Water, and Wind, blessed be Awen, you who are of me and around me, guide me through the night, show me light in the darkness, so mote it be.”

When she had closed the protective circle, she sat naked on a sheepskin rug facing the outstretched forest below. All was quiet, tranquil ‘cept for the occasional eerie, forlorn hooting of a strix owl.

Brighid placed the scrying mirror in her lap, lit the candle, and drank the wine. Slowly she began taking deep belly breaths, breathing through the nose, exhaling through the mouth, releasing the stress in her body, and calming her mind.

She softly began chanting A-I-O, A-I-O, A-I-O, allowing her consciousness to shift and receive the flowing spirit of Awen, the wisdom of the trees, and the life force of Mother Nature.

She was no longer a Gallizenae, a ****** priestess of Enez Sun, but her power of sight had not totally faded. She still could see, albeit hazily, into the near distant future.  She knew the older she got, the more it would fade, and eventually, she’d lose her ability. Her Second Sight

The ****** priestesses were chosen because of their gift of Second Sight. As a priestess aged out, the remaining eight, would look and find girls coming of age who had Sight. Former priestesses from the mainland would fly to her, test her, and if she passed bring her to Tregont Mab for training. Of the handful, only one would be chosen.

A girl’s Second Sight started at menarche, which was starting earlier in modern girls, which made training harder as the girls didn’t have the emotional or intellectual maturity to understand what was happening to their bodies or the responsibilities of being a priestess.

The girls were taught the history, language, and customs of their people and given a new Celtic name. Then they would be taught the ways of the Druidesses, incantations, flight, command of the sea and weather, shapeshift into whatever animal, heal the sickest, and foretell the future. But most of all, they were taught devotion to the pilgrims seeking out their counsel.

When the Honored One was chosen, she’d fly to Enez Sun, and in a ceremony, a brass torc was permanently wrought around her neck, never to be removed, as a symbol of holiness, a protector of her people, a Gallizenae of Enez Sun.

As one of the nine Gallizenaes, and a Sacred ******, she could not be touched by man, and no men were allowed on the island of Enez Sun.

A Gallizenae loses her Sight at 25, the same time the human brain stops synaptic pruning and reaches full maturity. During a ceremony, she retires, flies to the mainland, where she is bathed, washed, and scented with oils. She is led to the center of a circle of her people, laid naked on a bed of flowers and herbs, and given a young ****** man to have sacred *** with. A druidess at their feet and a druid at their head, the young man’s throat is slit during *******, allowing the blood to spurt and spill on her, giving her his vitality. The druidess spreads the blood all over her body and hair, painting her in red from head to toe.

A feast is held, and the body of the young man is burnt in a wicker man, releasing his spirit to Awen as naked women danced ecstatically around the fire.

Brighid vividly remembers looking into the eyes of the young man when he ******* and his throat slit. It was that of ******* ecstasy then horror, as he realized he was dying. It had turned her on, feeling his **** spasming as he came, the sound of the knife slicing flesh, his last breath hissing from his cut throat, his body deflating, and his **** going limp inside her.

She remembered being painted in blood, the frenzied dancing, and going into a trance around the burning wicker man, then nothing else, except waking up the next day, no longer a ******, a priestess, a Gallizenae, and sobbing all day.    

She was still a druidess, and her new responsibility was to protect the nine Gallizenaes and her people. She would be sent out to live in French society, and listen for and report back any threats.

Brighid continued chanting, slowly going to a trance, and looking into the low yellow glowing candlelit scrying mirror. “Mother, maiden, crone,” she repeated, while never blinking or breaking eye contact with her reflected image.

A blackness slowly flooded her visual periphery, till all she could see were her eyes staring back and her. She stilled her mind, taking slow deep breaths. The eyes in the mirror morphed from her brown doe eyes to seductive sapphire blue cat eyes. The face slowly came to light and focus. A woman with shiny raven black hair, alabaster white skin, full lips, and stunning long-lashed sapphire blue cat eyes.

Brighid stared, enthralled by her beauty, her face forever burnt in her mind. She didn’t know who she was, but she knew she was dangerous.
Nov 2020 · 215
white as snow
ghost queen Nov 2020
it is true
i am the beast
you the beauty
give upon you
a white rose
why do you love me so
honored one
pure and white as snow
Nov 2020 · 71
doe eyed girl
ghost queen Nov 2020
how do you do it
tame the beast within me
with a hand on my cheek
you ground me
center of my world
i’ll hold up the sky for you
my sweet soft doe-eyed girl
Nov 2020 · 160
swetha pure and white
ghost queen Nov 2020
swetha, pure, and white, why did i cry when i heard your soft, sweet feminine voice for the first time.

you stirred up emotions that i’d suppressed, afraid to express, for the longest time.

your voice is a soft lullaby that disarms me, a siren’s call to remove my battle scarred armor.

to admit to myself, that i am vulnerable, a man with emotions, who needs and wants  a woman’s touch.
Nov 2020 · 158
even keeled
ghost queen Nov 2020
i am finding it hard
to stay even keeled in this storm
not to drink
to numb the stress and anxiety away
or overeat and self medicate
when all i want is connection
and a sense of safety
Nov 2020 · 60
child soldier
ghost queen Nov 2020
i’ve seen that look many times before
in their eyes, fear, suspicion, of a soul that has died
disassociated, numb, to avoid the pain of what they seen
when pushed, triggered to ****, going berserk with a machete
i am afraid of you, for what you have done and will do
but i am also sad and heartbroken for has happen to you
child soldier of sudan’s janjaweed
ghost queen Nov 2020
i didn’t think i would, but when you came into view, i started to sob.

your hand held high, holding the light of freedom and safety.

all i could do through my sobs, was to recite,

"one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

over and over and over again

wishing, hoping, it stays true
I immigrated to America
"freedom's light burning warm," by Neil Diamonds
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pledge_of_Allegiance
Nov 2020 · 84
gloaming light
ghost queen Nov 2020
in the gloaming light
when the wind stills
and the moon shines
my heart slows
as stars turn white
Omkaaraaya Namaha
Nov 2020 · 73
night fay
ghost queen Nov 2020
she only came when a full moon rose over the bleak and desolate highlands of northern scotland.

i’d see her walking down the moonlit mountain towards my cabin. slowly walking, approaching, through the thickening haze.

i’d open the door, she’d walk through, and sit at my small wooden table.

she was always ****, never wore clothes. her skin, milky white, perfect and flawless. her red hair windswept, tossed, strands in her eyes and lips. her piercing green eyes staring straight into space.

i’d wrap her up in furs. go to the kettle in the fireplace, ladle up a bowl of stew and place it in front of her with a thick slice of warm bread. i’d leave her be, to eat in silence, to eat in peace.

i’d go, sit in my rocking chair by the fireplace, lighting, smoking my pipe, and drinking mead.

after she’d finish, i’d place a sheepskin on the floor. she’d come sit at my feet, place her head on my lap. i’d caress, comb out the leaves and sprigs from her hair.

she’d crawl into my lap, laying her head on my shoulder, as i wrapped my arms around her, rocking her gentle, humming soft.

never a word was spoken, she just wanted to be held, to remember what it was like to be a loved child.  

she’d stare into the dancing, crackling fire till just before dawn, then stand up and slowly walk out the door into the mist and disappear into the early morning fog.

i knew she'd be back, next full moon, as even a fay, needs touch and affection.
For Genevieve, my mother, an abandoned war orphan, who I held in my arms as she died. She gave me birth into this world. I held and loved her as she crossed over, reassured her, she was not and would never be alone.

I miss you Mom

Born November 1st, 1938
Died June 1, 1998
Oct 2020 · 72
express it
ghost queen Oct 2020
channel it
express it
keep writing baby girl
because i feel it
ghost queen Oct 2020
Night was falling, a full bright silver moon was rising, and Seraphine’s hunger had become unbearable. She needed to feed, had to have young fresh female blood, to stay alive and young.

Science had caught up with the reason vampires needed to feed on the youngest, preferably baby’s blood. In 1866 a Frenchman named Paul Bert had conjoined rat’s circulatory systems in a process called parabiosis, and thus the Prize of Experimental Physiology from the French Academy of Science.

In 2012, Cambridge University’s Julia Ruckh found old mice cojoined to young mice physically and mentally rejuvenated, becoming younger, smarter, and more energetic. Subsequent research discovered proteins in the plasma caused the rejuvenation. News outlets had proclaimed, “fountain of youth discovered in ordinary plasma.”

Seraphine needed the youngest, which has the highest concentration of rejuvenation proteins and hormones;  the purest, which is virus-free, and female, which has the highest levels of estrogen and progesterone.

Ideally, a baby girl’s blood would be best, but in today’s modern society, killed babies drew attention. The next best and the pragmatic thing was a 15-year-old runaway girl. L’ Association Assistance et Recherche de Personnes Disparues (ARPD), estimates 1000s of Parisienne girls, ages 10 to 18, runaway each year due to ****** and or physical abuse, ending up on the street, and having survival *** in 48 hours or less for food and or protection. And few if anybody cared. They disappeared, never to be found, presumed dead from a ****** overdose, or stabbed in a fight for food, money, or drugs.

Since runaways had high levels of disease due to survival ***, ****, and ****** addiction, Seraphine focused her attention on young troubled Arab girls living in the Habitation à Loyer Modéré (HLM) or projects of the 93rd, the department number of Seine-Saint-Denis, the poorest, predominantly Maghreb Islamic Arab banlieues of Paris.

Seraphine would undo her ponytail, letting her raven black hair cascade down around her shoulders, so she could fly around and into the projects at night landing on rooftops, listening for arguments, yelling, or shouting of eahira (*****), waqha (****), or haram (forbidden). When she heard those words, she knew a father was forcing old-world customs and religion on his born and raised in France daughter. The daughter, going to secular French public school, knew neither Arabic nor Islam, rebelled, wanting to live a secular, feminist rather than a submissive religious life.

Seraphine had found this month’s mark. She focused her superhuman hearing and sight on a tenth-floor open balcony window of the building across the street.

She could see an older man dressed in the traditional white dishdasha tunic, and taqiyah skull cap worn to evening prayers, yelling and throwing his hands in the air. Further in the flat, Seraphine could see a girl, crying. The man yelled waqha, waqha, then slapped her, and she fell to the floor. An old woman pulled the man back, as the girl got up and ran out the door.

Seraphine knew how this would play out and where the girl was headed. Four blocks away was the Lycée Général et Technologique, which housed a 24-hour crisis center for teens facing physical and or ****** abuse, pregnancy, homosexuality, ****** addiction, or homelessness.

As foreseen, the girl burst out the front doors of the HLM, running, crying down the street. Seraphine leaped from the 13-floor building into the air, silently following the girl like a bird of prey. The girl walked down Rue Bonnevide to Rue Guy Moquet, taking a shortcut through a wooded park.

Seraphine flew down to the ground, landing without a sound, and followed the girl from a distance. She could smell her youth, see her round hips and long shiny hair. When the girl had walked deep into the dark and silent park, Seraphine sprang forward like a puma, tackling the girl to the ground, and slitting her throat before she could scream.

Seraphine savored the ****, drinking the squirting blood from the carotid artery, relishing the warm fresh blood. The girl, in shock, blinked rapidly, trying to process what had just happened to her. She tried to speak but gurgled only blood, tears of fear started streaming down her cheeks. She knew she was dying, was afraid of dying, and wished her father was here to protect her, and make it all go away.

The blood slowed to a trickle. The girl had bled out and her body died. Seraphine continued to drink, ******* harder to get the remaining blood. The girl’s body convulsed then stilled as her brained slowly and finally died.

Seraphine had fed and would be satiated till another full moon.  She got up and licked her lips of residual blood. Her clothes were drenched in sweat and blood. She looked at the girl’s dead body, admiring her clear complexion, and big brown doe eyes, but felt no remorse for the ****.

She picked up the girl’s body in her arms, jumped into the night sky, and flew 65 kilometers northeast of Paris to La Foret De Compiegne in la department d’Oise, a secluded and rural part of northern France. Dead center in the forest lies Saint-Jean-aux-Bois, a small, and forgotten farming village of septuagenarian and octogenarian.

Seraphine flew to a farm a kilometer outside of the village. As she neared the farm, she could smell the putrid stench of pig ****. She started her descent, dropping the girl’s body, which hit the ground with a thud, in the barnyard, as she gently touched down.

The farm was dark, the only light was that of the full moon. She heard a rustling coming from the farmhouse. She saw an old man walking her way, holding a dim flamed oil lamp. He did not look at her, only at the ground, afraid of what would happen if he looked her in the eyes.

Seraphine grabbed the girl’s body by the hair and dragged it to the main pigpen, and threw the body over the fence and into the pit of sleeping pigs. The body hit a pig, startling it out of its sleep, squealing, waking up the other pigs, and realizing they had been fed fresh meat. The pigs sheared the flesh off the bones, then chewed and ground the bones. Within a couple of hours, there would be no trace of the young girl’s body. She was just another disappeared runaway.

Seraphine turned her attention back to the farmer, pulled out a brick of Euros from her coat, and threw it at his feet. He didn’t dare pick it up. He was too afraid of her. He knew what she was. And she knew, he knew what she was.

He’d seen the countless girl’s bodies come through like chicken carcasses at a processing plant over the decades. He knew he would die of old age soon, and only hoped God would forgive him for helping a monster.

Seraphine turned around, jumping into the sky, and disappeared. He was trembling and relieved that she was gone. He won’t see her for another full moon. He painfully bent over and picked up the brick of Euros. His hands were shaking.

******

Seraphine got out of the shower and wrapped her hair in a towel. She looked in the mirror and admired herself, the flawless white skin, the blood red lips, the pear shaped figure, but most of all her firm perky *******. She was brushing her teeth, when the doorbell rang. She rinsed out her mouth and wrapped a towel around her, walked to the door and opened it. It was Damien. She mischievously and alluringly smiled. He grinned back, knowing why she’d called. “I was so glad you were still up when I called,” she said poutingly.

She took his hand and led him to her bedroom. It was softly lit, a low yellowish light, not unlike that of a candle’s. The walls were decorated in red damask wallpaper with gold crown, base, and chair moulding. It was very elegant, very French. The bed was a large four posted red ruffled canopy, covered with a red duvet and pillows.

She got to the foot of the bed, turned around, unwrapped herself, sat on the bed, and shuffled herself to the headboard. She looked at him and spread her legs, showing, offering herself to him. Damien took off his clothes and crawled to her, over her, and leaned down to kiss her. She rose up to meet his kiss, wrapping her arm around his neck, then dragging him down in her.

She kissed him hard, ******* his tongue into her mouth, biting his lower lip. She stopped. He looked at her, a questioning look on his face. Then she pushed him down towards her *****. She had a trimmed and sculpted bush, just enough not to hide her full lips.

He started kissing around her bush, her tummy, and inner thighs. He could feel her squirming, as he circled around, edging closer to her *******. He kissed her lips, sliding his tongue up and down, then penetrating her.

She was wet, and tasted fresh, like sweet spring water. How amazing he thought to himself. I’ve never tasted a woman like this before. He went deeper with his tongue, pulling back the lips with his hands. She pushed his head hard into her. He licked her splayed ******, as she moaned in pleasure and approval. He moved his tongue up till he got to her ****, and lightly rubbed it then stopped, kissing her tummy. She relaxed and sighed.

He kissed his way down to her ****, kissing it softly then circling it with his tongue. She arched her back as he vigorously rubbed her **** with the tipe of his tongue. She moaned, then yelled stop, stop, in breathy gasps, then fell back into the pills. She took his head in her hands, and pulled him up to her mouth, and gave him deep, passionate baiser amoureux.

She took his hard **** in her hand and guided him towards her *****. She slid his **** up and down her *****, lubing up the head of the **** with her wetness. Then she let go, and he penetrated her slowly, as she gasped then moaned. He felt her wetness and heat as he slid deeper into her.

He started to pump rhythmically back and forth, slowlying picking up speed, as she moaned and groaned as he bottomed out his **** into her. He was going to *** and started to moan, when she yelled, “choke me, choke me.”

Taken back, he slowed. She looked up at him quizzically. “Choke me,” she said sternly. “You're a big boy. Choke me,” she repeated with a bit of irritation in her voice. He placed his hands around her neck and lightly pressed and started pumping. He got back into the rhythm and was back on track, getting close to *******. “Harder,” she said, “hard like you mean it.” It turned him on, and he clamped down harder as he pumped harder, animalistically.

He knew she was getting close to orgasming as she moaned and writhed under him. “Oui, oui, oui,” she screamed, and in a blink of an eye, she’d flip him on his back. Her hands on his chest, holding him down, as she rode him hard. She screamed, “ah, ah, ah,” then collapsed on his chest. His ****, still hard, inside her. She slowly rolled over, taking him with her, till he was on top, then rocked her hips, wanting him to continue, to finish.

He started to moan. She hooked her wrist around his neck and pulled him to her mouth, kissing him hard and deep as he came. He convulsed collapsing  on top of her. His **** still inside her, as she wrapped her arms around and rocked him back and forth, kissing the top of his head as if comforting a child.

He rolled over, crashing into the bed with exhausting and fatigue. He looked over at her. She was staring up at the ceiling. He saw the reddish purple strangulation marks he’d left on her neck, and slipped into a deep sleep.
Oct 2020 · 73
feminine lullaby
ghost queen Oct 2020
your voice so sweet and soft
a feminine lullaby
to tame the beast within
with girly girl ways
and doe eyes
dedicated to 0509
Oct 2020 · 159
noon moon
ghost queen Oct 2020
a midnight sun sets
harvesting the season’s last bounty
preparing for winter customs
when winter casts her spell
blanketing land in snow fall
a noon moon rises
Oct 2020 · 77
indian summer
ghost queen Oct 2020
the last touch of summer
sharing kisses and ice cream
under an august sun
endless hours gazing
lost in your doe eyes

the smell of drying hay
while we played
in your uncle’s grain silo

wild children
on the cusp
of a lost childhood

evening cocktails
sipping anisé
dad grilling
mom dancing
as you and i exchange glances

fire pit blazing
a cool night descending
sitting in a papasan
the last night
holding each other
your head on my shoulder

i cherish
savor the memories
of us
that indian summer
Sep 2020 · 1.5k
bad girl (erotica)
ghost queen Sep 2020
you’ve been bad 05-09
get my belt
so i can teach you
some manners

stand before me
turn around
lift your skirt
pull those ******* down

across my lap
your bottom in the air
your skin so white so soft
as i smack my hand
down hard
you yell in pain
and surprise
then start to cry

hush up child
get up
on your knees
look up at me
naughty girl

don’t talk back
when daddy talks
now to your room
without supper
Sep 2020 · 93
damclean sword
ghost queen Sep 2020
a damclean sword hanging over our heads
today the coronavirus
tomorrow climate change
ghost queen Sep 2020
i see the hunger
in your eyes
the flush
of ****** excitement
the hot arousal
boiling over into lust

is it time
that day
during the month
when you feel
the desire
for a man’s touch

lay with me
light my fire
i’ll pay attention
touch your hair
squeeze your *******  

climb on top
start the ride
rock it hard
till you scream
I wan to hear you
*** in ecstasy

collapse on me
hot and sweaty
and be held
in my arms
embraced
all night long
Sep 2020 · 121
highland spry
ghost queen Sep 2020
in the cold and dreary twilight
a vicious wind blows
do i hear a howl or scream
coming far from the isle of sky
fata morganna, banshee or spry
i pull my tartan tight around
samhain night has fallen
i fear the fae appear
Sep 2020 · 308
autumn equinox
ghost queen Sep 2020
05-09
emerald fire
are you mine
the ultimate prize
or merely bait
cauldron boils
a chalice of wine
black mirror scrying
half day, half night
autumn equinox
fall is here
light the hearth
hold me tight
Sep 2020 · 123
addict
ghost queen Sep 2020
i became an addict to forget
numb the pain
and silence their screams
Sep 2020 · 219
purpose
ghost queen Sep 2020
what would you die for
or more
dedicate your life to
money, wife, a child

in searching for purpose
ignoring the evident
that its not outside
but inside

its not about me
but helping others
Sep 2020 · 71
phoenix
ghost queen Sep 2020
i am tired
fed up
stuck in a rut
i want change
something new
novel and exciting

i  want to burn it all down
start fresh
rise from the ashes
like a phoenix
ghost queen Sep 2020
vervain and wolfsbane
blood dripping from finger tips
rising moon
red eyes
the last kiss
a final sigh
Sep 2020 · 1.3k
chained (erotica)
Sep 2020 · 59
spun
ghost queen Sep 2020
05-09
you hurt me
broke my heart
made me cry
abandoned
left me high
and dry
unsure
insecure
spun
out of control
i crashed
cratered
burned to ashes
Sep 2020 · 1.2k
sighs and wetness (erotica)
ghost queen Sep 2020
say my name
say it again
louder
you know who i am
you like it
it turns you on
when you play
pretend
to be a little girl
pulled down *******
spanked behind
when its stings
you feel the welts
rising on your skins
the lack of control
submission
being told
your sighs and wetness
tell me so
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