For Drusilla

[bloodmarket]

[Continued from here.]Sometimes it struck him that he'd been in this business for too long. That seeing a woman like this, sprawled out on the crushed earth, cold and silent, eyes glassy and empty shouldn't do to him what it did. But sometimes those long nights at the cemetery got long and lonely, and knowing there were scalpel sluts waiting didn't

Comments

[namesthestars]

The freshly dead didn't smell bad. They smelled like their perfumes and their soaps. Like their hair and their sweat and their tears. They often smelled of fear, or better yet, lust and desire. The sweet scent that came from their necks and from between their legs-- the scent that lingered after the light had left their eyes and their hearts had stopped beating the fear and lust through their veins. Drusilla could smell that sort of death on her pantomime dolly body

[bloodmarket]

"Such a good dolly." He whispered to her, eyes half mast and lips to her jaw. It was easy, so very easy to imagine they were somewhere else. A cold stale mausoleum or a grave yard, alone except for the empty rotting eyes of the dead watching them from within the ground below. He could feel those eyes on him the way he had the first time, that first girl all those years ago with her soft dark hair and her flawless pallor mortis. The skin that didn't bruise, didn't break no matter how much he he pushed or how hard he sunk his teeth into the sweet flesh. He shivered in memory, remembering her dainty thighs and the modest panties under her skirt. Remembered how hard it was to not lose his erection pushing into the coldness that first time

[namesthestars]

Playing dead was only fun if she could stay in the moment. If she disconnected and let him play with her like a simple china doll, she wouldn't enjoy it at all. His mouth and his hands slithered against her like snakes and eels, pressing and pushing and leaving cold traces of his touch behind