n the early morning hours, Syla crept from her bed. Among her elf-kin around her not one stirred, and though she knew that her footfalls would wake none, still softly did she tread. The tribe that she was staying with currently was a migratory one and, though she was not one of them, she knew that they would judge her for her actions that morn should they discover her motives.
Author: Sydney Stone
The Witch of South Cali
On a clouded, windy night, down a dingy backstreet in the City of San Francisco, a lone woman strode boldly and alone. Her low-heeled steps, emitted by knee-highs, crunching audibly upon loose gravel and discarded needles. The sounds magnified against the looming brick walls on either side. Rats, roaches, and other such vermin scurried from her path and those cast-off peoples who dwelled there on the ever-shrinking fringes of society shrunk away, covering their faces so as not to catch her eye.
Between the Cracks
Hear us now, the thrice-scarred youth
Mistress of Wolves
The Mistress of the Wolves
Savage Love
With beast she met on glen on fen
Beasts of Lore
Soft whispers, soft touches
More?
You hungry for more? I ask as I pump The salty, thick serum You lust for throughout your quivering, firm body Slick from night duties Performed with a care Most would deem rare.
The Maiden of War
It was the strange sounds that roused the man from his slumber. The snuffling of inquisitive noses as well as the soft crunching of careful footsteps in fresh fallen snow. Through small spaces in the walls of his cabin, the light of the full moon shone but every now and then one of these meager sources of light would go dark for but a moment as some hulking form passed.
I’ll be Good
With feather-soft touches kissing flesh, I need you,
My Queen
I kneel before you, thusly knighted, Betwixt slick, smooth thighs I dine delighted,
