Another Brush Stroke (The Carnal Exhibitions Book 1) by Barefoot LW

Author:Barefoot, LW [Barefoot, LW]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LW Barefoot
Published: 2015-11-11T08:00:00+00:00

Harper

I free fall in a dizzying rush. Propelled towards the never-ending journey I travel every single night. Endless darkness wraps around me and consumes all understanding.

I’m lost until I hear his voice calling to me. Panic and unyielding fear spreads through me like wildfire as his footsteps approach. The clanking of his metal belt sounds in alarm. It’s a familiar song I never want to hear again, but it gets louder with each heavy footfall.

I crash at his feet and I will my heart to stop beating. My fingers brush across canvas and I feel his wretched fingers touching my skin. I cover my ears and shut my eyes, but it’s no use. I feel him on my skin as his fingertips scratch like sandpaper across my throat. My lungs convulse.

‘My love. My muse. Crawl to me, I’m the only one that can release you.’

I’m trapped here with him. Pitch black with inky threads slither into me as his featherlight touch moves across my jaw.

‘Stop toying with me and open your filthy mouth.’

I wail trying to climb away from him. But his hold is a vice grip and he pulls me back under.

‘I’m going to fuck you until you love it. Until you beg me for more.’

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

Don’t look at his face. Don’t look in his eyes.

‘How flawed do I find you? How can I sculpt you to be the perfect cock-sucking slut you need to become to keep breathing?’

My vocal cords follow my brain’s command to work, begging my lungs to cooperate. Just like every night before now, I struggle. But somehow tonight is worse. It feels different because it lasts too long. I continue to claw my way to the surface, praying for redeeming rays of sunlight. It doesn’t matter how much I fight, I’m stuck, drowning. That fucking belt chatters in his swinging grasp and I wait for the sound of it dropping on the ground or the tickle of a feather that makes me hate every thing that has them.

I scream because I have always been able to wake up before it gets to this point. His breath is burning ashes and terrible hell. I can hear his chest pumping with excitement and desire. The sound of his zipper comes undone and the Sculptor’s perfect face now stares right through to my soul.

As he reaches for me, I’m ripped away from him. I tumble and land in a pool of ice. The cold seeps into my pores and I feel its cruel kindness deep in my bones. Light blinds me and warm tears run down my face. I welcome their heat.

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