an alchemist, apparently…

October 18, 2016


‘And who is Mr Karswell?’ inquired the Secretary’s wife. She had called at his office, and (perhaps unwarrantably) had picked up the last of these three letters, which the typist had just brought in.

‘Why, my dear, just at present Mr Karswell is a very angry man. But I don’t know much about him otherwise, except that he is a person of wealth, his address is Lufford Abbey, Warwickshire, and he’s an alchemist, apparently, and wants to tell us all about it; and that’s about all–except that I don’t want to meet him for the next week or two.

Now, if you’re ready to leave this place, I am.’

‘What have you been doing to make him angry?’ asked Mrs Secretary.

‘The usual thing, my dear, the usual thing: he sent in a draft of a paper he wanted to read at the next meeting, and we referred it to Edward Dunning – almost the only man in England who knows about these things – and he said it was perfectly hopeless, so we declined it. So Karswell has been pelting me with letters ever since. The last thing he wanted was the name of the man we referred his nonsense to; you saw my answer to that.

But don’t you say anything about it, for goodness’ sake.’

‘I should think not, indeed. Did I ever do such a thing? I do hope, though, he won’t get to know that it was poor Mr Dunning.’

‘Poor Mr Dunning? I don’t know why you call him that; he’s a very happy man, is Dunning. Lots of hobbies and a comfortable home, and all his time to himself.’

‘I only meant I should be sorry for him if this man got hold of his name, and came and bothered him.’

Montague Rhodes James
Casting the Runes

pig-tailed girl

May 15, 2016

Hans Bellmer - Doll’s Game 3

it’s as if
it was on every Herald front page
as if
every billboard caught the moment
of the pig-tailed girl running
from the Rangeview public toilets
baubles slapping scraped back
smudged top torn
blood on thighs and knees
screamingcrying into the park away
away from the man
emerging from the toilet
zippingrunning after bait

the cleaner saw
heard and saw
and couldn’t quite believe until he found
blood on the concrete floor
in the end cubicle
of Rangeview public toilets

five surrounding primary schools reported
no one missing
she’s gone
no follow-up article
him her darkness

12 years later
the Herald front-pages the crime scene:
a man hangs by his balls
from the chain of a Rangeview swing
a severed roll of meat
lies next to bloody HBs
a dog sniffs
then shits
on it.

Selina Tusitala Marsh


From a short distance, the few attending mourners under the blue tarp looked on silently as each ritualistic movement necessary to properly complete the last rites of the dead were respectively adhered to. Not surprisingly, only the constant raindrops marred the utter silence of the occasion, and not a single teardrop fell. Not a whimper or a shudder. Not for this man. Not today. Not ever again. It took all Skye had not to walk over to the hole, lift up her skirt, and piss on the man who had repeatedly raped her as a child. Good riddance, you nasty bastard. Now you are in God’s hands. Have fun with that, you piece of garbage.

Sahar Abdulaziz
As One Door Closes


“For a torture to be effective, the pain has to be spread out; it has to come at regular intervals, with no end in sight. The water falls , drop after drop after drop, like the second hand of a watch, carving up time. The shock of each individual drop is insignificant, but the sensation is impossible to ignore. At first, one might manage to think about other things, but after five hours, after ten hours, it becomes unendurable. The repeated stimulation excites the nerves to a point where they literally explode, and every sensation in the body is absorbed into that one spot on the forehead—indeed, you come to feel that you are nothing but a forehead, into which a fine needle is being forced millimeter by millimeter. You can’t sleep or even speak, hypnotized by a suffering that is greater than any mere pain. In general, the victim goes mad before a day has passed.”

Yōko Ogawa


The day was slowly dying. Street lamps were coming on along the main road, circles of yellow that eat into the gathering gloom. The house stood well back from the road, at the end of its own curving gravel drive.

Yvonne de la Lune was taller than me. She had frizzy, tobacco-coloured hair and freckles with wide, dark eyes and long, brightly-varnished, red-fingernails. She was a dominatrix by nature and profession. Just now she was wearing a full-bodied, black-leather cat-suit that clung like a second skin to her long body.

‘You know why you’re here?’ she asked.

I did. I had agreed to this bondage session with my then girlfriend Leonie. It was the “price” she’d demanded from me. In return she’d promised to forgive my recent transgressions with a young woman at a friend’s birthday party. This “betrayal” had occurred while Leonie had been away visiting relatives, but she’d heard about it from a friend on her return and been less than pleased…

I felt totally ashamed of myself.

Leonie had planned the “punishment” session with Yvonne. It’d be a ninety minute session, and I would pay the £250 for it in advance. I did not know what the session would include –

‘I have four long term slaves,’ Yvonne said to me. One of them stood naked beside a formica-topped table nearby. He was slightly overweight, with thick, wide shoulders and a cock hanging between his legs like a rubber truncheon. ‘I like eager, obedient boys who aim to satisfy my every whim. Are you eager?’ she asked.

I was unable to answer. I had been trussed up naked like the Christmas turkey with a penis gag in my mouth.

‘You don’t know what’s to happen to you today, do you? Leonie has been deeply hurt by you, by your sluttish behavior. She wants you to experience punishments that will scar your memory, leave an enduring impression and serve as a constant reminder of what pain unfaithfulness causes.’

She fingered my limp cock. I felt it stir, stiffen. She stroked, teased gently. Her face was close to mine and I caught a faint smell of garlic and spices on her breath. Carefully she slipped my foreskin down as far as she could get it, exposing the swollen head.

‘Oh, I’m going to have your balls snapping like castanets,’ she said. As if to demonstrate the truth of this, she slapped them violently with the palm of her right hand. I lurched, tears of pain in my eyes. ‘That’s nothing, believe me. What your Leonie has planned for you…” She laughed, shaking her head. ‘You’ll never forget it!’

I watched helplessly as she pulled on a pair of thick leather gloves. She picked up a Marks & Sparks carrier bag from the floor. ‘See what I have here? And just for you…Only you.’ Reaching into the bag she pulled out a handful of greenery.

Realisation gradually dawned. I recognised the handful of plants as Urtica dioica, stinging nettles…

‘Freshly picked by my slaves earlier today. Just for you.’ She smiled cruelly. ‘The little hairs on them are like needles. Touch them, they inject histamine, acetylcholine, and formic acid into your skin. Itchy, painful stings. And I’m going to use them to wank you…Rub that stiff cock with them.’

I struggled. I wrenched at my bonds. But it was useless. She wrapped a handful of nettles round my cock and gently caressed it. She crushed the nettles against the exposed glans paying special attention to the meatus, the eye.

‘Isn’t that nice,’ she whispered. ‘You’re so nice and stiff.’ She rubbed the shaft then cupped my balls with her nettles. She discarded them after a minute or so and picked up a fresh handful.

At first there was no pain. But then as the white speckly rashes grew on sensitive skin, it irritated and burned like hell. After ten minutes my cock looked impossibly inflamed and swollen –

‘Because of where the stings are,’ she said gently. ‘It’ll probably take a couple of days for the irritation to go. But you’ll never forget it…’ She discarded the nettles in a wicker wastebasket. ‘The head of the penis is wonderful, isn’t it? So rich in nerve endings. So erogenous…’

She dug long finger nails into tender flesh and I choked on the gag filling my mouth. She was merciless. Tears of pain spilled down my cheeks. I wanted to beg, but instead made this terrible snorting noise through my nose, and a phlegmy rattling in my throat.

‘The frenulum is so sensitive, isn’t it…?’

The way her nails dug and pinched made me want to scream. I’d never experienced pain like this before.

‘You know, sweet Leonie instructed me to rape you. But I thought it a better idea to have my slaves do that. She agreed.’ Yvonne held up a condom and a tube of Deep Heat. ‘They’ll all wear these,’ she said. ‘And we’ll use the Deep Heat as a lubricant. Give you a nice burny- burny feeling where the sun don’t shine…’ She glanced over her shoulder at the naked man behind her. ‘We need to get him face down.’

I noticed then that three more nude males had entered the room. The first took hold of my shoulders and turned me roughly. His fingernails had been heavily chewed. He was very strong and his cock now was jutting stiffly; he’d obviously enjoyed watching my ordeal.

‘That’s it, face down.’ She came to the head of the bench. I watched as she squeezed Deep Heat onto her slender fingertips and thumb. ‘I’ll lube you up, don’t worry. You won’t have to take them dry. We want to make this as memorable as possible for you…’

I’ve been away. Now I’m back. Good to see nothing’s changed around here. This woman in the States got together with her husbands three mistresses and restrained him at gunpoint before gluing his “John Thomas” firmly to his leg…getting it unglued was the painful bit!