Her skin is so pale as to be nearly translucent. Sometimes I wonder if she’s really there, or a ghost who will dissolve into vapor at the slightest touch. I never risk it. I must make sure. I whisper things into her nearly phantom ear. I whisper what I want. I whisper what I know she wants and cannot or will not say. The blush begins in her cheeks, a rosy, frosted red. It flushes her whole face and down her neck. That’s where I kiss her first, even before her lips, to feel her pulse. To know she’s real.
The Obsidian Lens and Crimsonian contain links to password-protected stories from the Erotic Writers with darker themes. For more information on Obsidian Lens, click here. Email William Crimson directly for admission to the Crimsonian.
This blog contains adult material. If you are a minor, please go. If you are an adult, you are welcome to stay but be warned, this blog contains erotic fiction and images - sexually explicit content abounds. The themes sometimes tend toward the darker and weirder corners. Be your own judge when deciding what to read.
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